Page 46 of Friends Who Fake It

His eyes roamed her face, whether out of habit, or to buy for time, and Willow waited, with breath held.

“We get on with our lives,” he said, simply. Like it was a total no-brainer, except for Willow, that was no longer the case. Yet his response, so casually and confidently delivered, robbed her of any confidence to pursue this further. She’d spent a lifetime wanting more than she could get, more than the people in her life were willing to give her; she wouldn’t let that be the case with Francesco. At least, she wouldn’t let him realise it was.

Her question became a beating drum in his voice, her words, so hesitantly—and hopefully—voiced, sent shockwaves of emotion through him. Dark, angry emotions. Feelings that had made him want to say something dark and angry, to curse and stalk off, because she was asking for too much. She was wanting more than they’d agreed! And yet, knowing Willow as he did—especially now—he saw what courage that had taken.

Which didn’t make it any less catastrophic. Because Willow was, first and foremost, a loyal friend, and he owed it to her to protect her from this. From the emotional fallout of their fake relationship—from being hurt by him.

Which was why, even when he’d been so tempted to suggest they could keep their casual relationship on the go, back in London, he knew that would be a total disaster, in the long run. Willow wasn’t someone he could just sleep with and then move on from. And she definitely wasn’t made for casual relationships. This was a girl who deserved to be worshipped and loved, and who wanted that, with all her heart.

Francesco couldn’t be that for her, so it would be selfish to tie her up, possibly risk her wanting more from him, just because he liked what they’d established here.

All he could hope was that they’d make it through the weekend, unscathed.

Because one thing was for sure: while he knew he’d never be able to offer Willow the kind of relationship she wanted, he valued their friendship almost more than anything else in his life. He would never do anything to jeopardise it, which meant this had to end, as soon as possible.

ChapterTwelve

ON THE ONE HAND, he knew that going to New York to check on Raf was the right thing to do, he couldn’t help but feel a kernel of guilt. Because Francesco knew he wasn’t just going to New York to see Raf. He was running away from temptation.

A week after returning from Italy, the need to reach out to Willow, to hold her, make love to her, to kiss her, to talk to her, was driving him almost wild. He’d spent the week virtually chained to his desk, hoping that the more he focused on business, the less he’d be able to focus on her. It hadn’t worked.

On the Thursday morning after they returned, he’d crumbled. Hating himself for his weak self-esteem, he’d sent her a text:How’s your week?

She hadn’t written back until that night, but it had been a selfie of Willow holding a glass of wine, one brow raised in an expression that could have meant a million things. He’d practically burned holes in his phone, staring at the photo so long, trying to pick out details, to work out where she was.Howshe was. Because if she was missing him like he was her, then what was the harm in catching up again?

Except, he knew what the harm was, and he wouldn’t risk it. He wouldn’t hurt Willow. He wouldn’t become his father, and leave a trail of emotional collateral in his wake.

So he’d left, early the next morning, flying out to New York, and Raf, and away from the constant temptation of Willow—and with no concrete plans on when to return.

Willow’s finger hovered over his name for what felt like the millionth time that day. She was torn. She knew she could just send Francesco a text, but at the same time, she wanted to hear his voice. It had been two weeks since they’d seen each other, and she was missing him more than she could ever explain. She woke up reaching for him. She closed her eyes thinking of him. She ached for him. It was intolerable and totally unreasonable.

Cursing her stupid weakness, she pressed down on his name and scrunched up her face as the call started to ring through, half-hoping he wouldn’t answer.

It rang for so long, her heart dropped to her toes as she realized he probably wasn’t going to answer. She was about to disconnect the call when his voice came through. “Hey.” It was loud in the background—like he was in a restaurant or bar, and her heart sank, because it was such a clear indication that he was getting on with his life. And why would she be surprised by that? It had been their plan all along, after all.

“Hey,” she said, her voice soft. She sat down on the edge of her sofa, knees pressed together, one hand fidgeting in her lap. “Is this a bad time?”

“Just give me a second,” he said. The noise in the background got louder, and then a door slam sounded, and it was a little quieter, presumably indicating he’d gone outside. “Okay, I’m good.”

She bit into her lower lip, her pulse racing. “I’m sorry to bother you.”

“It’s fine. No problems. What’s up?”

To the point. Friendly, but also, weirdly professional. Her fidgeting hand fidgeted harder.

“You still there?”

She grimaced then. This wasn’t going how she’d intended. “We need to break up,” she blurted out, then forced an awkward sounding laugh. “Officially, I mean.”

A pause, followed by, “Yeah, right. Of course.”

“I mean, unless you’ve already told your family?”

“No.”

“Okay, so, I haven’t either, but Meredith just messaged and made it abundantly clear she expects to see you again soon.”

“Right.”

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