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“That won’t bring Mara back! Please!” Renato cried.
Malena crossed the threshold of the villa. Beyond its high, wide windows, the dreaded waters of Lake Como -dead calm, lying blue- spread out behind the two of them. Her monogrammed leather bags weighed on the incline of her thin shoulder for what little they carried—some clothing, a few toiletries. A sheltered life, a charmed life, had thus far hardly prepared her for predicting what those necessities might in fact be. One thing she had decided on though, no mementos. She would carry no trace of the life that Renato had so loved snapping shots of, all those lazy hours with a prosecco on the porticoed terrace waiting for dinner to be served, a Campari on the boat. She would carry no reminders of how Renato let Mara pretend to s
