“Sure?” she said, cursing herself for sounding peeved.
“That sounds credible.”
“Yeah.”
“Let me know when you’ve told Meredith and Baxter, and I’ll let my family know.”
Her insides clenched hard. “It’s too late to do it now. I’ll call dad tomorrow.”
“Great. Was that everything?”
She blinked quickly but it did nothing to flush the unexpected moistness from her eyes. “Seriously?” she whispered, but maybe it was too soft for him to hear, because he didn’t say anything in response. “Yeah, that’s everything,” she said, hating herself for being devasted. No, for beingheart broken.Because no matter how hard she’d tried to fight this, she’d failed: she’d given Francesco her heart on a silver platter, and he’d become just another person who couldn’t give her what she wanted and needed. Just another person who’d never love her.
But you never told him how you feel,her brain reminded Willow—always desperate to have the last word. She ignored it. She hadn’t told Francesco because she hadn’t wanted to burden him, but at the same time, if she’d gotten even the smallest hint that he might feel the same way about her, she might have said something.
You are special.
Her heart trembled.
So special he was willing to walk away from this, like nothing had changed between them from that afternoon in his apartment, to now.
“Shoot me a message when it’s done, Willow.”
“Okay.”
“Great. Talk later.”
He hung up and she dropped her head forward, finally giving into the tears that had pooled in her eyes, and letting them run freely down her face. With that, it was over.
Have you spoken to your dad yet?
His text caught her unawares.Still in bed, after an awful night’s non-sleep, and a heart-ache that wouldn’t quit, Willow looked at his message for a long time, before tapping out a message, “I haven’t had a chance.”
She didn’t particularly relish the conversation. She could only imagine how disappointed her father and stepmother would be, but it was more than that. It would be the official end to this, and as much as she knew it was ‘fake’, it had meant more to Willow than that.
Her phone began to ring, and her heart leaped into her throat to see Francesco’s name, in a large font, beaming across at her. If she hadn’t just been texting him, she’d have avoided answering, but it would be childish to ignore him.
“Hey,” his voice was so familiar to her, that lying in bed as she was, it was impossible not to feel a rush of need, love, yearning and desire, all wrapped up in one big, uncomfortable emotion. “Thanks for answering.”
As if he understood how conflicted she’d been.
“Of course, but I’m actually on my way into a meeting,” she lied. “So, I don’t have long. How can I help you?”
If he’d been business-like with her the night before, why shouldn’t she return volley?
Of course, Francesco being Francesco, he seemed totally unbothered by that. “Rocco and Maddie are coming to London next week. There’s some Helebore exhibition she wants to go to.”
“Helebore? As in, the flower?”
“Apparently. They asked if we wanted to grab dinner with them.”
“Oh.” Her heart fluttered.
“I thought it would be better to break up after that.”
Her mind raced. “Why?”
“For one thing, it saves me from having to act like a heartbroken, recently-dumped ex-boyfriend,” he said, his tone laced with mirth, as though he was amused by this. Amused! Indignation fired through her. How could he be so casual, after everything they’d shared?
