"How have things been for you?" I inquired, stepping out onto the private balcony and placing a silver tray loaded with chips onto the wrought-iron table.

I uncorked a bottle of deep Italian wine, poured generous servings into both our crystal glasses, and settled into the armchair opposite him. From this angle, bathed in the soft glow of the estate's exterior lanterns, I had an unobstructed view of his features.

Although sitting directly beside him offered a far more intimate proximity, I resisted the urge. Dialogue was a safer buffer than raw physical contact right now. We needed to yearn for each other during our short separations—not simply out of...