“Since there’s no wife and kids in the picture? Since everybody assumes all I do is work and spend my nights drinking?”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” she says quickly.
The sincerity in her voice disarms me.
“It wasn’t…” I exhale, searching for a way to explain it, without adding to her guilt. “I haven’t been actively trying to make it happen. But one day, yeah.”
Her warm smile carries a hint of understanding.
We slip into a familiar rhythm of two people who used to share everything. We fill in the gaps, catching up on parts of our lives left unspoken for so many years.
But beneath it, I can feel her worry humming like a live wire.
“Come on,” she says after a while, stirring the ice in her glass. “You’re dying to talk about it. Isn’t that why you wanted to get dinner?”
That’s unexpected. Her willingness to talk without looking like she’s under torture. Sure, I had ulterior motives for wanting to spend time with her, but this wasn’t it.
My heart twists painfully. She’s always waiting for the catch. Expecting people to strike her down if she allows herself to be vulnerable for once. It’s not difficult to understand why. The media has been tearing her apart since her father’s name climbed the billionaires list.
She learned the hard way to keep everything close to her chest. To trust only a few people not to spill details about her personal life to the press.
“Can we pretend a little longer?” I have the sinking feeling that once we leave the restaurant and get back to the palazzo, this ease will vanish. We’ll both remember how good we are at hurting each other. “I’ve missed this.”
Jackie’s gaze softens. “Whatever you want.”
I grin. “That’s a loaded offer.”
As dusk drapes the sky in a violet veil, waiters float around the terrace, lighting candles on the white tablecloths. The world shrinks to lowered voices and quiet laughter dancing with the distant sound of a violin, and her sitting across from me.
On the way back, the streets are quieter, canals mirroring the glow of streetlamps. They cast shadows across the stone balconies and white, flowery window frames of the old houses.
This time, the silence between us is comfortable, easy. Safe.
“I wonder,” she says, voice small. “If this is a version of what we could’ve been. If I didn’t…” She trails off.
I just nod. But the weight of it sits like an anchor in my chest.
There’s no point in clinging to lost chances.
“Look, ducks!” Jackie suddenly squeals, darting across a steep cobblestoned bridge with the clear and unhinged intention of climbing the railing for a better look at the little feathered family.
Before I can even open my mouth, her sandal slips on the damp stones. She goes down with a yelp, scattering the birds.
I don’t want to laugh at her. I’m better than this. I trulytry. But she went down like one of those viral home-video fails. Her guards come running, but I wave them off, still laughing. Taking a steadying breath, I crouch to pick her up, and help her to the worn steps of a nearby house.
“So graceful,” I swallow a laugh. “Like a swan.”
She glares, inspecting her sandals. “It’s not funny. The strap snapped.”
I gently wrap my fingers around her ankle, resting her foot on my knee. Jackie inhales sharply.
“It doesn’t look swollen,” I say, thumb circling the dainty bone for tenderness.
“I’m fine,” she murmurs. “But I have no idea how I’m supposed to walk back.”
My fingers have a mind of their own, lingering too long, hungry for the feel of her skin.
“I don’t think I can fix it.” My voice drops. “I’ll carry you.”
