The main living room of the house was spacious and well—lit. Around it, twelve huge windows offered an exquisite landscape. Quiet, relaxing. The doors at the back opened onto the terrace, and the terrace onto the sea. But getting to know that little universe didn't seem to be in her guest's immediate interests, so Ian settled her in one of the armchairs and went back to the van for her things.

Shadow waited for him outside expectantly, stroked his head and the wolf gave him an affectionate lick. He had done so well with Lia, really well.

When he finally reached the car, Katherine was crying inconsolably, her forehead pressed against the steering wheel.

—Katherine! —he scolded her—. You promised you wouldn't question my methods.

—Oh, I'm not, I swear, I'm not! —she sobbed.

—Then why are you crying? You know I would never let Shadow or the others hurt her.

Yes, Kathy knew. The wolves' training had been perfect and they were very clear about the differences between an order to scare and an order to attack.

—I know, it's not that, it's that... you made her get up!

Ian was startled. Was the situation so critical that just the fact that Lia was walking on her own was such a significant breakthrough?

"My God, what am I getting myself into!"

Restless and thoughtful he opened the back door and pulled out the suitcase. He realized they had forgotten to carry the rocking chair, but that wouldn't be much of a problem, at least no bigger than the one he was up to.

—All right, Kathy, here's what you're going to do —channeling his dominant nature, tidying up, it made him see things in perspective—: you're going to go home, go to work or do whatever you do at this hour, and then I want you to send me an email with all the information you have on Lia, everything you can remember, including a copy of her medical records.

He needed the file to send to Carlo.

—OK —she agreed.

—-Now go, Arturo will pick up the van later at the same coffee shop where we met earlier.

He watched her go down the cobblestone path and turned to greet his wolves properly. They had been great, as usual, and he thought about how much help he would need from them to get Leah back on her feet.

He had to confess he was surprised she had stayed with him. For a second, after the brief jump at the thought of Kinan biting her, Ian thought she would run away to her sister or to him, it was the logical thing to do. But instead, she had stood very still.

—Damn, I wish I was a psychiatrist! —he muttered.

But he was only a photographer. He saw much more in things than they were, he captured essences, he worked miracles with a one hundred and thirty—five millimeter lens, but he knew there was much more to that woman than he could appreciate.

When he returned to the house, she was still where he had left her, with her head slightly leaning against the back of the leather armchair, looking out the window towards the warm, dense jungle that stretched around her. She rested her face on her right hand, and with the back of her ring finger she stroked her lips.

She was tired... tired of so many shadows, of so many endless murmurs in her ears. There was someone out there, someone with a strong hand and a dangerously... seductive voice. But she couldn't see him, too many shadows... too many....

—Give it to her twice a day —came the voice on the other end of the phone as Ian made a note with application—. It's not a strong antidepressant, because so far, we just want to stabilize her right?

—Right.

—Let her take one in the morning and one at night, but I repeat, the most important thing is to be active —Carlo was not exactly a psychiatrist, but he was the best doctor he had ever met and he trusted him blindly—. She needs exercise, occupation, movement. OK?

—I agree. Thank you, Carlo.

—Ian? —At thirty—three years old and with a disastrous marriage, his brother felt obliged to advise him— Do you know what you're doing?

—No, not really; but that's not going to stop me.

—Good —Carlo agreed—. Keep me informed of her evolution so I can help you... And for God's sake, Ian, call mom! Flavia is giving her enough headaches, and she'll be glad to know that at least we're behaving ourselves.

When he hung up the phone, he experienced a strange sense of reassurance, knowing he had his brother's help even if he was halfway around the world. Then he caught Lia watching him. Her blonde hair fell over her shoulders and chest with untidy beauty, and the violet shadows under her eyes made her look even whiter.

Beautiful and weak, she provoked to hug her, to kiss her, to make her....

—I wonder if I'll be enough —he sighed.

*****

Outside, the sound of the van's engine could be heard; Arturo had gone to get it. The robust sixty-five-year-old man was his right-hand man and the only person who entered the grounds with any regularity. His wife Lupe did the cooking and cleaning twice a week, and he held them both in high esteem, especially for their extreme discretion.

Ian saved the mail in his personal file and put the iPad aside.

So that was Lia: twenty—one—year—old journalism graduate, managing editor of a respectable newspaper, author of two books of bedtime lullabies. Smart, bold, determined... until her baby had been born with a double circular after thirty—two hours of labor. The doctors had tried to resuscitate her, but it had been impossible, and for ten minutes Lia had watched her daughter die.

That was all, then only silence. Katherine couldn't help crying every time she saw her, and Johan hardly dared to touch her.

Ian squatted down in front of her, so that he was a little below her head. He stroked one of her hands and the girl intertwined her fingers with his and squeezed it tightly, as a reflex action.

"Maybe that's what you've learned today."

—Lia, look at me.

She didn't move an inch. Ian held her chin and forced her to slowly turn her head toward him.

—Lia, listen to me —he ordered. For a second she stared at him and a subtle shudder ran across her lips—. My name is Ian. This is my house and you're going to stay with me until you feel better, OK?

Mutis on her part. Would she ever answer him?

Ian tried to remember a lullaby and started singing, that was the only thing she seemed to like. She smiled at him for the second time that day, but in that tiny curvature of her lips there was not a hint of joy, there was nothing.

The Italian stood up and walked away from her, held out his hand and his command was firm.

—Let's go!

She waited one, two, three... four seconds. The she placed her bare little feet on the cold tile floor, wrapped her hand around his like a little girl and followed him up the stairs.

—This is your room —He told her as he drew the curtains so she could see the sea—. Do you like it? I know you will like it.

Lia did not answer, she seemed ecstatic at the sight of the ocean, yet she did not make the slightest effort to approach the large terrace outside the room.

It wasn't long before nightfall and the sunset was simply magnificent. Ian rummaged around and found the case he had left there while he arranged his things. He pulled out one of the cameras he used for landscaping and snapped a couple of pictures of the old wooden balcony railing, which gave off an areola of nostalgic beauty at that time of the evening.

He turned around and saw that Lia was watching him. He didn't usually do that in front of anyone, but with her he could make an exception: after all, she was like another wall in the house.

—Come —he called her from the terrace, extending his hand, and it was like a puppy that has learned a new command.

It took two, three seconds for Lia to start moving. She did it slowly, shuffling her feet, but finally reached his side. He carried her until he could brush his fingers against the top edge of the railing and stood behind her. So close... he felt her back against him, the exquisite curve of her ass brushing his thighs... and he gave himself another mental slap.

"Breathe, Ian, breathe."

He put the camera in front of the girl's eyes, wrapped his arms around her, searched for the right framing and fired a burst of flashes just as the high tide was breaking against the rocks. She didn't move, but the Italian found another interesting motif and forced her to turn in the same direction he did.

He broke away slowly, walked back a few feet and realized she was a small, breathing statue. The nightgown came to her ankles, though in truth it didn't cover much; it was light satin and open on both sides to above her knees.

The wind ruffled her hair, blowing her already tangled hair to the right, exposing her long neckline, back and bare shoulders. All around her the sky grew redder and her skin whiter. 

Ian had to breathe again because he felt an intense desire for this girl. He had never imagined that he could feel that way about a woman. He focused the lens and snapped a single photograph: Lia with her back turned, leaning against the wooden railing, looking out at a slowly dying afternoon... just like her.

He mentally reviewed Katherine's mail.

"You have to do everything for her, even feed her".

He let out a sigh and made his way to the bathroom. Bathing her was another thing he was supposed to help her with.

Outside, Lia was singing a sea song.