“Do you now?” I lean back in my seat, eager to hear how Bianca will spin her life choices to my benefit. “Please, go on.”
“Well,” she draws out, “I know for a fact that you used to date more before I lived with you.”
I laugh. “You know for a fact?”
“Andrés told me.”
“He shouldn’t be running his mouth.”
“You put parts of your life on hold when I moved to Valencia.” Her tone holds a note of accusation. “I don’t want that on my conscience, Luca.”
“That’s not true,” I argue, even though it is partly true. “You know how focused I am on my career. I’m thirty-one, B. And a half!”
Bianca snickers.
“I’ve only got a handful of playing years left,” I continue. “I need to focus on my game, on my brand, on the summer camp I run in Italy. There’s no time for a woman.”
“A partner,” she corrects.
I toss my hand in the air, my patience waning. “Porca miseria, B!” I swear, exasperated.
She laughs, the way I knew she would. “I’m just saying what everyone is thinking. You haven’t dated anyone since Chiara.”
I groan, feeling my chest tighten at my ex-everything’s name. “I don’t want to talk about Chiara.” I hate that my voice cracks on her name. Not because I miss her, but because she shattered me in ways I’ve never fully recovered from.
Not because she was mean or spiteful. But because her reason for gently, regretfully, turning down my marriage proposal was rooted in truth.
I love you, Luca. But I’ll never come first in your life. I’m always an afterthought. To your career, to your mamma and sister. Sometimes, even to your friends. And I don’t want to live my life being second best. I want to be the priority in my marriage.
She cried as she admitted it. She kissed me goodbye as she closed my fingers around the ring I offered her. She walked away and, the worst part is, I don’t blame her for any of it.
Hell, I respect her decision.
But her rejection made me realize that even if I crave a true, committed relationship, I’ll never live up to the expectations. My plate is too full taking care of everyone else. Bianca, my teammates who have become brothers, the summer camp I sponsor and run in Tuscany. Those boys deserve my full attention and commitment.
“I know you don’t,” B sighs. “That’s my point, Luca. You’ve been stuck in that moment since it happened. Chiara and you broke up eight years ago. And since then…there’s been no one real.”
“There have been plenty of real women.”
“You know what I mean. There’s been no one serious. No one you could allow yourself to fall for. You’re not even trying.”
“Maybe that’s not what I want,” I spit out, my frustration over the direction of this conversation flaring to life. “Have you considered that? Not everyone wants to get married and settle down, Bianca.”
“True. Not everyone. But, deep down, you do, Luca.”
I smash my lips together so I don’t lash out.
“You have been taking care of us—Papa, Mamma, me, the list goes on—for forever. You’ve been carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders, assuming everyone’s well-being and happiness is somehow your responsibility. It’s not. Not anymore,” her voice wobbles. “Papa and Mamma are gone now and I’m, well, I’m a grown woman. And for the first time in my life, I know I can stand on my own feet.”
I shake my head, defensive. “You think I shouldn’t look out for you anymore? You’ve, what, outgrown me?”
“Luca…” My sister’s voice softens. “I’ll always need you; you’re my big brother. But it’s been almost three years since Mamma passed and…things have changed. We’ve relied on each other for a long time and have fallen into comfortable habits. But you shouldn’t put your life on hold for me. I am so grateful for every sacrifice you’ve made to get me to this point, where I can come to New York with a clear head and embrace this opportunity. It’s time for you to find some clarity and happiness for yourself. I don’t want to be part of the excuse you use to keep yourself on the sidelines of your life.”
I work a swallow, my chest painfully tight. Her words lodge deep, ringing with truth and sincerity. With concern and love. It…hurts.
“You deserve more,” B continues. “A woman who sees Luca the man, not Luca the fútbol player, or Luca the caretaker.”
I grip my phone tightly, trying to check my emotions. For several moments, silence hangs between B and me.
