Chapter 22

Still pretending to be trembling, I sat on Solange's couch. She got a little closer, sitting next to me. For a moment, while my head was down, I noticed that she was watching me. It was not something I could let go unnoticed, because she put an arm around me and stroked me lightly, as if she wanted to comfort me. Had my performance been really good or aroused some trigger in her?

"I'm sorry, Sol," I spoke softly, wiping my eyes. I had already heard the garage door opening again. Picasso should be leaving. "He asked me who I worked for and, even denying knowing anything, he almost assaulted me. Sorry. I've been through many relationships that have reached the limit of an aggression, so I was afraid of it happening again. I'm really sorry!

Right. I was a son of a bitch for saying that kind of thing. In fact, no man has ever had the courage to speak loudly to me, and if he dared to raise his hand, he would never lower it again. But I could