"Why? Why? Why?"
In her apartment in Italy, Vittoria lay stretched across the bed, one leg bent at the knee, the other hanging just slightly over the edge as if she had dropped there without thinking.
The ceiling above her was plain, minimalistic but nice.
It was nothing like the ornate sets she had spent the other day moving through but she couldn't keep her eyes off it.
Her phone rested loosely in her hand, screen dark now, the last message still fresh enough to feel warm.
"It wasn't even a joke," she muttered to herself, staring up. "Why did I send it like that?"
She rolled onto her side, then onto her back again, letting out a breath that sounded more like a laugh than anything else.
Her hair fanned out across the pillow, still smelling faintly of product and studio lights.
Would she actually go?
The question landed and stayed.
She hadn't known Leo long.
A month and a half, give or take.
Not long enough to cross continents for Christmas.
