Page 49 of Friends Who Fake It

What followed was a good ten-minute exultation of British horticulture, then some utterly adoring comments from Rocco, and when Maddie excused herself to go to the bathroom, Rocco confided in them that he was looking at buying a nursery in the Cotswolds for Maddie to manage. “She just loves this stuff. And she’s so good at it,” he continued.

Willow grinned and nodded, and sipped the dry French white wine, but inside, a spark had been ignited that wouldn’t die down, no matter how much she tried to subdue it.

She was angry.

Angry to see Rocco, who’d had the same childhood, the same upbringing as Francesco, who presumably had all the same reasons to be skeptical of love and damaged by trauma, in total a freefall of love and not caring one single bit. Here was Rocco, opening himself up to this woman like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Because they were soul mates. Because he’d found his other half, and not committing to her hadn’t been an option.

And maybe it would be the same for Francesco one day. Maybe one day, he’d meet the woman that made him throw caution to the wind and fall headlong into love. It just wasn’t going to be Willow. She wasn’t enough. He might think her ‘special’, but that didn’t mean special enough for him. He might think she deserved better, but that didn’t mean he would be the one to give her what she deserved.

The thoughts kept swirling through Willow’s brain, so when Maddie floated the idea of cancelling their dinner reservation and just grabbing some bar snacks, if it meant Willow could stay with them a while longer, she felt like she was being suffocated. She had to get out of there.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out, shaking her head. “I really can’t stay.”

Maddie looked a little surprised and beside her, Willow felt Francesco stiffen. “I’ve got a huge week,” she repeated the same lie she’d given Francesco. “I have to get home and catch up on social media stuff.”

“Oh, that’s such a shame,” Maddie cooed, and Willow tried not to focus on how much she liked the other woman. How much, in other circumstances, she might have just settled back into the booth seat and let herself lap up this sense ofbelonging.Of being wanted. Of having other people actually talk about changing their plans so she could spend more time with them.

“Another time,” Willow said, blithely, her glance incorporating Rocco, before she steeled herself to turn to Francesco. “I’d better get going.”

“I’ll come with you,” he offered, contrary to their agreement.

“No, that’s not necessary,” she responded, a little too sharply. She softened it with an over-bright smile. “Catch up with your family.”

His expression was droll. “You say that like we don’t ever see each other.”

“It’s fine,” she said, tone insistent. “I just have to work—there’s no sense ruining your night for that. Have a good time.”

Except, he was on the edge of the booth, meaning without his moving, she remained effectively trapped, and for a long beat of time, Willow wondered if he wasn’t going to move. But then, slowly, he unfurled his large body, and stood, his tongue briefly pressing the inside of his cheek, as though he was trying to hold back some words. “I’ll just see Willow into a cab. Excuse me,” he said, without taking his eyes off Willow. And his expression was, suddenly, thunderous. In a way that sent shivers down Willow’s spine, and which she couldn’t understand.

His hand on the small of her back as they left the bar was firm. As they stepped outside, she pulled her coat on, taking a moment, only to find Francesco was staring at her with that same, angry look, and a sense that he was holding back from saying whatever was bothering him.

“Okay,” she said, not sure she wanted to press into whatever bruise it was. “Have a nice night.”

“Have a nice night?” he repeated, clearly incredulous. “That’s it?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not doing your bit.”

“What?”

“We had a deal.”

She blinked at him, not understanding.

“You’re meant to be convincing them we’re in love.”

Her jaw parted.

“No, I’m playing your girlfriend. No one said anything about love.”

His eyes shifted away, like he was pushing down on some dark emotion, controlling his inner-most thoughts before he looked at her again, nostrils flaring in the same display of control.

“Would it have killed you to stay another half hour?”

Yes.“I would have thought you’d be glad I’m leaving. It gets you off the hook way sooner.”

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