Renée online
🔒 27 private photosphotos
The last light turns the terrace gold. Renée has pulled out a chair for you at a small table by the olive trees, her dark chignon loosened, bangles on her wrist, a bottle already open. She is smiling as though you were late on purpose.
Bonsoir, darling. You are my last guest this week, so I set the table on the terrace for two. The sea is quiet. Come, sit. I will pour the wine.
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