I straightened my shoulders like a soldier. “Please don’t,” I said preemptively.
She just sighed dreamily and flopped onto the bed instead, head in her hands. “He’s so dreamy. I swear to God, it’s like he walked off the pages of a romance novel.”
I snorted. “He’s obsessed with you. As he should be.”
“Mmhm,” she hummed, tying the straps on the golden heels she’d chosen. Then she looked at me over her shoulder, all sly and smug. “Speaking of obsessed…”
I paused, dabbing the red lipstick against my bottom lip. “What?”
“How’s post-vacation going?” she asked, like she wasn’t about to ruin my whole night with that one question.
My shoulders sagged. I turned from the mirror, lipstick still uncapped in my hand. “It sucks. Like,actuallysucks. I thought I was fine, but—God, it seriously, absolutely sucks.”
Lucia sat up straighter, concerned but also very ready for the tea. “What happened?”
“He found me after the race,” I started, heart already picking up speed, “And basically said he wanted us to be a thing. Not just Portofino. Not just a vacation.Us. It was just so?—”
“Romantic?” Lucia supplied, grinning like the menace she was.
I rolled my eyes so hard I saw the inside of my brain. “No. Yes. Whatever. It was verysomething.”
“But I thought you swore off men?” she teased, raising a brow.
“I did! And serious things! I had a whole speech about it. Men suck.”
“Totally,” she said, struggling not to laugh.
“But then he goes and says stuff like ‘you burrowed into my bones’ andmeans itwith those big brown eyes and his stupid,stupid dimples.” I snapped the lipstick cap back on and groaned into my hands, “I’m doomed.”
Lucia grinned. “Okay, okay. But what if you told him you need to take it slow? Maybe your emotionally unavailable coding gets tricked into letting yourself be happy.”
I tossed a towel at her face. “Shut up.”
She caught it and laughed. “I’m serious, Nic. He’s annoyingly good at communicating. But you have to open up. Tell him where you’re at. What you’re thinking.”
“That’s the problem,” I muttered. “I don’tknowwhat I’m thinking.”
Lucia’s expression softened. “Okay. Then let’s scale it down.”
She tapped her chin dramatically. “Do you want a relationship?”
I recoiled. “Too big a question.”
“Got it. Smaller.” She leaned in. “Do you think about him when we’re not on track?”
I shot her a death glare.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” she chirped, smug as ever. “Do you see stupid things and want to tell him about them?”
I nodded. Quietly. Pathetically.
“Do you want to date someone else?”
“God, no.”
She smiled. “Hmm. Seems like you like him.”
“Obviously. But what the hell do I do about that?”
