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“I was the one who suggested a drink.”
He poured two glasses, carried one to her. She took it, sipped gratefully, enjoying the sensation of bubbles in her mouth, chasing down her throat.
“The thing is,” she said, jumping right into it. “I need to be careful here, with you. This. Whatever we’re doing.”
He considered her without speaking.
Portia’s nerves stretched.
“Obviously I’m enjoying…that…” she gestured towards his bedroom, cheeks flushed. “But I’m not an idiot. You go through women—,”
“Yes, I believe you’ve mentioned this before. I like women.”
“Yeah.”
“You have a problem with that?”
She shook her head. “But I’m a realist. I walked into this with my eyes wide open. There’s a clear expiration point on whatever this is. And that’s fine.” She cleared her throat. “You’ll move on, no doubt soon, and everything will go back to normal,” she said with a lift of her shoulders. Except, not normal, because she was different now. He’d changed her, and she’d always be grateful for that.
“But?” He prompted. “What is it, Portia? Are you worried you’re going to fall in love with me?”
“God, no,” she said on an uneven laugh. “Believe me when I tell you that’s the last thing I want. I’m not interested in a relationship.” She shuddered, underscoring the sincerity of those words. “My personal life is a bit of a mess. Actually, it’s a shitshow. That’s my point. I need this to be simple. Contained. It’s really important to me that no one from the real world finds out about us.”
“We have already agreed it will remain secret.”
“I know, but that was when we both thought it would be a one off. And now we’ve done this a few times, and you’ve propositioned meat work, and your brother keeps asking me to call you or come to your apartment and I just think it’s important to make absolutely sure that there’s no blurring of the lines. This is one thing, but my life is separate. Your life is separate. No one can know.”
“I have no problem with that.”
“Dante would kill you.”
Marco’s eyes narrowed. “He’s protective of you.”
“He appreciates my work,” she said hesitatingly and then nodded. “And yes. He is protective of me. We’re friends.” She hesitated again. “His friendship matters to me; this would be…a problem. And I don’t want problems at work.”
Marco’s eyes darkened. “Tell me you don’t have a thing for my brother?”
“God, no. No, no. Not at all. He’sDante.He’s like…I don’t know. Not my type.”
He took a sip of champagne, came to stand in front of her, kissed her, the cold liquid spilling from his mouth to hers. “I’m glad to hear it.”
“I mean, he’s obviously very handsome, and successful, smart and kind—,”
“You can just quit while you’re ahead,” Marco suggested.
“Are you actually jealous?” She couldn’t resist teasing.
“I’m possessive, even when I know things are short term.”
“It’s your passionate Italian temper,” she murmured, blinking up at him.
“Something like that. So? Is that all?”
“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “I’ve never done this before. How does it end?”
His expression was quizzical. “What do you mean?”
“Like when you sleep with women, do you just wake up one day and you’re over them? That’s it? What do you say to end it?”
