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■ A 8th Bienal do Douro sem limites
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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2010-07-05 | [Este texto deve ser lido em english] | Submetido por Elena Kostenczyk
"Oh, Bella?"
"Yes?" "Tomorrow it's my turn." Her forehead puckered. "Your turn to what?" "Ask the questions." Tomorrow, when we were in a safer place, surrounded by witnesses, I would get my own answers. I grinned at the thought, and then I turned away because she made no move to leave. Even with her outside of the car, the echo of the electricity zinged in the air. I wanted to get out, too, to walk her to her door as an excuse to stay beside her... No more mistakes. I hit the gas, and then sighed as she disappeared behind me. It seemed like I was always running toward Bella or running away from her, never staying in place. I would have to find some way to hold my ground if we were ever going to have any peace. (For the full version of this chapter please follow-up to the Romanian translation)
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