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She threw the newspaper in the bin and went to work, but inside, a part of her was dying.
Marco didn’t seethe newspaper personally, but late in the day, one of his friends sent a screenshot to him. He hated it when this happened, but it was impossible for someone with his family’s money to go out and not occasionally get papped.
But this was different.
He fired back a text:
Which paper?
The response nearly destroyed him, because he knew for a fact it was the same paper Portia had delivered faithfully every day. The paper she stood in the kitchen reading with one foot pressed against the other leg, flamingo-style.
Was there any chance she hadn’t seen this? Was there any chance she didn’t think he was here with Charlotte right now?
It was possible, but not likely, and those were odds Marco didn’t like.
“What are you doing here?”Portia was beyond tired. The last week and a bit had caught up with her. She was fatigued beyond bearing and just wanted to get into bed and pull the duvet over her head. Having arrived home to find Marco standing on the footpath in front of her flat was the last thing she’d expected or needed.
Marco stood very still, watching her. Anger fired in her veins, giving her a much-needed kick of adrenaline.
“Marco? I’m tired. I’m going inside. So if you’re here for a reason, spit it out.”
But he just stared at her, as if he’d never seen her before. As if it had been three years not a week and a half. And damn her body for responding to him, for immediately reverberating to his proximity, as if she could just go to him and kiss him and everything would be alright.
“There was a photo in the paper this morning. It happens sometimes, when I go out.”
Her heart twisted. “I saw.”
He nodded once. “I thought you might have.”
“It’s fine,” she said quickly. She had experience with this now—acting as if everything was okay when it really, really wasn’t. “I presumed when we broke up that you’d start seeing other people. It’s no big deal.”
He was quiet in response to that.
“I wasn’t with her. The photo was taken at a moment when she came to speak to me. It was deceptive.”
Portia believed him. Even after everything that had happened with Jack, Marco was different and she knew he wouldn’t come here and lie to her.
“But you will be with other people,” she said, matter-of-factly. “And so will I. It’s only a matter of time. Please don’t feel you need to come and explain whenever that happens. It’s sort of the point of breaking up—we don’t have a say in one another’s lives. That’s how this works.”
It killed her to say it.
Her insides were shredding, but so what? She was speaking the truth, and she was proud of herself, on some level.
“Anything else?” She asked, when he didn’t speak.
Marco shook his head and Portia moved quickly inside before letting a single tear fall.
He foolishly hadn’t thoughtabout it in those terms before.
Even after ending things with Portia, he was still hers. And she was his. They just couldn’t be together.
But of course that was stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. A flaw in his logic.
Because Portia would move on. Maybe she’d even go looking for some other guy to help her get over him, just as she had turned to Marco to destroy the ghost of Jack.
He groaned into his car, swore loudly, banged the steering wheel with his palm.
This was useless.
