He takes a long inhale, breathing her in. He savors a spice of star anise running through her veins. Some solvent smoldering just beneath her skin. He imagines she smells of a wished-upon star. The heady poison of her perfume, dismantling him slowly—death by hibiscus and honey. She is bread and warm butter. A million memories swim from these scents. They mingle and taunt him, all in cahoots with a tale the truffle tells. Umberto is transfixed. He has, all these many months, been paying his high-powered road hog of a lawyer a fortune to procrastinate with the divorce proceedings. Because he is
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