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“Nor did I,” she said. And for the most part, that was true. It was only the text message that had reminded her, that had made her feel a weird sense of being sucked back in time. Missing Jack’s birthday was incredibly strange. Not because they’d been engaged but because they’d once been best friends.
But that wasn’t what had sent her into a spiral of tension for the rest of the time.
It was Marco.
Marco and his suggestion that she still cared for Jack. Marco acting almost as if hewantedher to care for Jack. Would that make it easier for him to end things?
She couldn’t get the thought out of her head, all the rest of their time together.
She’d already been made to feel unwanted and unlovable in her relationship with Jack, and here she was, all those same doubts flooding her, the same swirling feeling of uncertainty in her tummy, scaring the life out of her because Marco was supposed to be her salvation. The last thing she wanted was to be hurtagain.
He’d promised he wouldn’t hurt her, and as far as good intentions went, she believed him completely. But what if this was out of his power? What if she did something really stupid, like let herselflikehim. Really, really like him?
It was so outside the bounds of what they’d agreed. She would be absolutely stupid to forget that. But her insides churned whenever she thought about things ending between them, and in the back of her mind, she began to wonder if the only way around that was to end itnow, before it was too late. Before she became too invested in him, and this, and the way he made her feel. In the beauty of his vineyard and his art collection and the way his beautiful, fascinating brain worked.
“Okay,” Dante, still standing at her desk, shrugging. “Good talk.”
She laughed, even though amusement was the last thing she felt. “Sorry. I’m just in the middle of something.”
“Good. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“I am okay,” she promised. And she pledged to herself as well that she always would be. She was not going to let history repeat itself. Her heart had been broken soundly once: that was more than enough. Portia Mason had learned her lesson. There was no going back.
Ten
EVERY SELF-PRESERVATION INSTINCT Portia possessed was screaming at her to walk away now, before it was too late. Only, she wasn’t ready for that. Maybe that should have been her biggest warning sign that she was in over her head, but she promised herself she’d be strong when the time came. It just wasn’t the time,yet.
But she did need to reinforce some boundaries to stop herself from becoming too deep into this.
Easy boundaries. Sensible ones. Like saying ‘no’ when Marco messaged. Like being ‘busy’. To show him—and herself—that she was still her own person. Just like when she left Jack. No different.
Except, she was different.
She was stronger.
Way stronger.
But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt to say ‘no’ to him. No to an invitation to dinner at an Italian restaurant that served, he said, decent arancini. No to an invitation to his place. No to the suggestion he swing by her flat one night. Until finally, he didn’t text the following night, and her gut twisted as she climbed into the bath, lonely, missing him like she would a limb, knowing she was being cruel to herself to be kind because she couldn’t bear the thought of letting Marco take up too much space in her life, knowing she had to protect herself. But by Friday, she was desperate to see him, and she figured she’d been strong for a week.
She texted in the evening.Are you free tonight?
His response was almost immediate.I’m not, no.
Her stomach dropped to her toes. It hadn’t occurred to her to think of how Marco might be spending his time when she wasn’t available to him. Nor that he might make plans of his own, when she consistently refused him.
But a second later, another message came through from him.I’m flying back to Italy as we speak. Lunch at my parents’ tomorrow.
She read the message with a whooshing sense of relief. She hadn’t wanted to imagine him dating someone else, nor playing mind games with her.
Her finger hovered over the screen. She tried to think what to say, but drew a blank. She wanted to see him. She wanted to tell him she missed him. But that was too serious for what they were, and it undid all the good work of boundary-setting she’d done through the week.
His message came through when she was still considering her options.How about tomorrow night?
Portia’s heart thumped.Are you not staying for the weekend?
No. I’ll be back in the evening.
Her pulse ran faster.Want to come over?She hesitated before sending. Then added:I’ll make dinner.
