REINA

Domenico took me to a quiet restaurant. It was full, but it felt closed off from the city.

The lights were low, and people kept their voices down. I could hear the soft clink of glasses somewhere in the far end of the restaurant.

He’d reserved a corner booth in the back, half-hidden by a tall potted fern and a low partition, private enough that we could speak freely and no one would hear.

He held my hand the entire walk from the valet to our table, thumb stroking the inside of my wrist like he was counting my pulse.

Every few steps the silver balls shifted inside me—heavy,...