~ Camilla

We landed in Catania close to midnight. My body was begging for death.

Not in a cute, poetic way. No. I mean actual death. Spontaneous combustion. The kind where I would simply explode in a cloud of shame and jet lag, and leave behind nothing but a faint trace of coconut hair oil and one (1) unbothered man in a suit.

I hadn’t spoken to Stephano since that godforsaken phone call the morning after Alex dropped me off.

I’d packed my bags like a woman on trial for a crime she didn’t commit, grabbing every buttoned-up blouse, every modest skirt, every single item that screamed I’m a decent...