“Let’s move here,” Marcus said.
They sat on a wide, granite-clad balcony overlooking dry hills spotted with green, and sinewy rows of vineyards, and mist-covered lakes far in the distance.
“Everyone says that,” Envy said.
“But we could do it,” said Marcus. He took the bottle of Pino Gris out of the ice and topped up their glasses with cold wine. He pushed the plate of food away from him.
“We have a home and commitments,” Envy reminded him, feeling stodgy and old. She wasn’t sure why she was compelled to remind him of what he already knew. It was a habit, a bad one. And the sun was behind him, and illuminated all the stray blonde hairs on his head, and he looked beautiful and saintly, and she wondered why they could not simply indulge themselves.
Envy sank into this memory, as she rode home alone, in the back of a taxi. Marcus would go to prison for what he’d done.
Envy wanted to travel back in time, and stay on that balcony, in the shade, in the heat, with the cold wine, forever.