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Dante’s laugh was a harsh bark, totally lacking in humour. “Oh yeah? How do you know?”
Hadn’t Marco just been having these exact same thoughts?
“I’m serious, Marco. How does this end? When have you ever been with a woman for longer than a week or two? Granted, Portia is probably more your intellectual equal than your usual quarry, so I can see why you’ve kept it going longer, but unless you’re planning to propose, you need to end thisnow, before she does something really stupid and falls in love with you. That’s if she hasn’t already.”
Marco stared at Dante with the sense that the bottom was falling out of his world. “This is not about love.”
“It’s never about love for you, but how do you know what’s going on in Portia’s head and heart?”
“We’ve talked about it. I’m not an idiot.”
“You are, actually,” Dante growled. “Can you honestly tell me that, at no point, have you done anything to give her the impression you might want more from her than a quick fling?”
Flashes of their time together cut through Marco’s vision. Their weekend in Italy.You are mine.The amount of time they’d spent together. The happy domesticity of shared mornings, making coffee, reading the paper.
His eyes swept shut as a wave of panic nauseated him.
“I’ve been honest with her,” he insisted, but it was a defense that now lacked conviction.
“End it.” Dante demanded. “Or so help me God, I’ll—I don’t know. This cannot happen.” He paused, waiting for Marco to look at him. “She’s important to me, Marco. She’s not someone to be toyed with. I care about her. I consider her to be practically like family. Break it off, and don’t call her again. Got it?”
“I am so sorry.”Portia was shaking when she got to Marco’s that evening, and Marco’s first instinct was to pull her into his arms and kiss her in a way that would reassure her that everything would be okay. But he’d been doing that all along, listening to his body and its selfish needs over what he knew he should do.
Dante was right.
He’d let his own fascination with Portia selfishly guide him and in doing so, he’d risked creating a false impression, making it seem as though he wanted more from her than he did. No, that he couldoffermore than he was willing. It was an important distinction, because he wanted everything from Portia.
“I went to the police after work and gave a statement, and I called Jack and told him that if he didn’t drop these charges, it would be the end of any hope of us even being friends, ever. I think he’ll drop it. But I’m so sorry. He sent it to Dante to hurt me, I’m sure of it. God, he’s such an arrogant piece of shit.”
“Yes,” Marco agreed, opening the door wider. “Come in.”
She threw him a look that was part rueful, and part panicked. “Are you okay?”
“Si.” He kissed her cheek, drew her with him into the kitchen, where he’d poured two glasses of red wine, also from his estate. He’d been planning on taking her to view the grapes, which grew on one of his favourite spots of the property, but he knew now that would be foolish.
“How was Dante?”
“You can imagine.”
“He seemed very worried about me. God, what a nightmare. I’m so sorry.”
“Why are you apologizing to me?”
“Because it was Jack who—,”
“We made a decision to do this. The longer it went on, the less likely it became we could keep it a secret.”
Her lips parted as she absorbed that, but before replying, she took a sip of wine. Her hand shook slightly.
“I’m relieved in a way,” she said softly. “I hated sneaking around behind Dante’s back. I value him too much to lie, and the more time you and I spend together, the more dishonest I feel I’m being. I’m glad he knows. We won’t have to pretend anymore.”
Silence throbbed heavily in the room.
“Marco?”
Damn it. He hated that it had come to this point, but Dante was right. This had to stop. He couldn’t toy with Portia, he couldn’t risk hurting her, and the longer it went on, the more real that risk would become. Sure, Marco didn’t want to end it now, he was nowhere near bored, but he was a realist: that day would come. He’d move on, and Portia would hate him for it. Better to end it now, before it got serious.
“Dante values you too. He’s very angry about this—angry at me.”
