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There was no need to cry.
She already thought the worst of him; this was no different.
But it still hurt.
It really hurt.
She was on the brink of sleep, exhausted and satiated and sad, when her bedroom door opened and Dante walked in carrying a plate and a glass of water. She sat up, her heart racing with adrenaline again. He flicked on the overhead light.
“You were hungry?”
She blinked into the blinding brightness, but took the plate from Dante, her stomach clenching when she saw that he’d made her a Vegemite sandwich. The Vegemite—a strong, salty yeast spread—was a thick coating of black on white bread and she grimaced at the thought of eating quite so much. But the gesture was sweet, and compared to what she’d thought a moment earlier, it was a relief that he hadn’t simply walked out on her.
But she expected him to. So when he sat on the bottom corner of the bed, wearing his shorts once more, she took a bite of the sandwich and almost choked on the strong flavour. She reached for her water.
“What happened at dinner?”
She sighed. “You really think we need to talk about that?”
“I want to understand.”
She replaced the water glass. “Okay.” She toyed with the crust of her sandwich, pulling a small, Vegemite-less piece off and lifting it to her lips. “I was annoyed with you.”
“I got that. Why?”
“Because you were treating me like a stranger.”
He frowned.
“I don’t mean—I know we’re virtually strangers. But you were treating me like you wanted me to remain a stranger, just…one that knows the bare details about you.”
“Wasn’t that the point?”
“No, Dante,” she sighed sadly. “I thought you wanted for us to actually get to know one another. Not as a ‘beginning’ or whatever. Just like you might a colleague. I wanted to get to know you, not hear about you. And I wanted the same in reverse.”
“We had a conversation about our past…”
“It wasn’t a conversation. It was an exchange of information; that’s not the same thing.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Don’t be obtuse. You know it’s not.”
He was silent.
“Portia told me she worked for you for years before she started seeing Marco.”
A muscle jerked in his jaw.
“And that you guys became friends.”
He lifted one shoulder.
“So why can’t we get to know each other like that? She was your PA and you knew it was never going to become romantic, but you still got to know her and like her.”
“I wasn’t, and never have been, attracted to Portia.”
Georgia frowned. “She’s very beautiful.”
