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Thirteen
“GOT ANY PLANS THIS WEEKEND?”
Portia lifted her gaze from the computer, meeting Dante’s eyes with what she hoped was a normal expression. In the week since Marco had ended things, nothing had felt normal, least of all herself. “No. Why? Do you need something?”
“Just touching base. You’re okay?”
His concern would have touched her heart if it was capable of feeling anything, but Portia was keeping it locked in ice.
“Fine,” she lied.
Dante was clearly not convinced. He sat on the edge of her desk with a heavy sigh. “Listen,” his voice was a deep rumble and something in the timbre or his accent reminded her so strongly of Marco, her insides clenched. She turned back to her screen, bracing for whatever Dante was going to say. “Marco is a good guy. One of the best. But he’s not right for you.”
She ground her teeth together. She adored Dante, and didn’t want to fight with him, but this conversation was definitely not a good idea.
“He gets bored easily. It’s reliable and predictable. He’s never been with anyone for long. It’s why he usually dates women who have the same expectations he does in life. People who travel around a lot, people who are casual, like him.”
“I’m different,” she said quietly.
“Yes, exactly. You’re nothing like those women.”
She turned to face him. “So why are you so sure our relationship would have had the same outcome?”
Dante frowned. “You’re different, but he’s not.”
“He is with me.”
His frown deepened. “You see the best in people. It’s one of your strengths, but it can also be a weakness.”
She absorbed that, saved from reacting in anger only by the fact it was Dante, and she knew he had her best interests at heart.
“I see the best in Marco,” she said after a pause. “And I think he deserves that.”
“Portia—,”
But her nerves were stretching and she couldn’t take much more of this. “I’m okay,” she reassured him abruptly. “I think you were wrong to interfere, and he was wrong to end it, but I’ll be okay. I promise.”
Marco had decidedfive minutes after arriving at the bar that it was a mistake. But having made an arrangement to meet up with friends, he knew he needed to stay for at least one drink. He didn’t have to enjoy it though.
He put himself in the edge of the booth, only half-listening to conversation, paying no attention when a beautiful blonde came and took the seat across from him and tried desperately to engage his interest. Paying even less attention when a woman he’d been with a couple of years ago came and draped an arm over his shoulders, whispering into his ear an offer for another drink, or whatever he wanted.
He finished his beer, stood up and left, glowering all the way home.
Portia lookedat the photo with a heart that hurt more than she’d known possible.
Marco had dumped her. She’d known what his life was like before her, so naturally his life had resumed its usual patterns. Meaning, he was dating again.
Other women.
Other women were in his bed.
With him.
Being made to feel special.
Being made love to.
Oh God.
