Page 53 of Friends Who Fake It

Francesco’s blood went from ice to arctic sheet frozen. “She knows what I’m like,” was the closest he could come to agreeing, because he had no idea if she was okay with anything that had happened between them. Hell, he had no way of knowing if she was okay, period.

Raf sipped his drink. “Marcia knew what I was like, too.”

Francesco sat back, waiting for Raf to continue, somehow just knowing he wasn’t done. “Right from the beginning, I was honest with her. Marriage was off the table. I told her—fuck,” he shouted, as he dragged a hand through his hair, his features tortured. “I fucking told her I would never get married except for the sake of a kid. After the way dad was, I knew that was non-negotiable. I’d want my kid to have a stable home. Maybe she thought I’d change my mind. I don’t know. But she clearly got tired of waiting.”

Sympathy was a rushing wave inside Francesco. “But why didn’t she try to fall pregnant before this?”

“She probably did,” he muttered. “I always believed her when she said she was on contraception. Even then, I never took chances. I was careful, too. Except for one night, when we’d been to a friend’s party. I’d been drinking. I barely even remember it, but the next morning, she told me we hadn’t used a condom. That was three weeks before she told me she was pregnant. You know the rest.”

Francesco felt absolute hatred then, for the woman who’d used Raf so shamelessly to get what she wanted. And yet, loving someone who didn’t love you back had to hurt like a bitch. He couldn’t condone what she’d done, but he had no doubt shedidlove Raf, in her own way. And seeing the rest of the family marrying off, one by one, knowing Raf would never give that to her…

“Do you miss her?” Francesco asked, leaning forward, wondering why the answer meant so much to him.

Raf’s eyes sliced through Francesco, causing him to shiver. “That’s the weirdest thing. I don’t. It’s like learning what she’s capable of obliterated any good feelings I ever had for her. She’s dead to me. I just can’t believe I spent so long thinking we had this thing that worked.”

Francesco nodded slowly. “Did you love her?”

“I was kind of happy,” Raf said, with a frown. “I was comfortable,” he corrected. “I didn’t realise how much more she wanted from me. How much she was starting to resent me, for holding out on her. I should have ended it a long time ago.”

Francesco nodded, but it wasn’t really Raf he was agreeing with, but himself, and his decision of a few hours ago. He’d never be able to give Willow what she wanted and deserved, and if they kept seeing each other, and he kept holding himself back emotionally, she’d come to resent and hate him too, like Marcia had Raf. The best thing he could do was to stay out of her life, and that’s just exactly what he intended to do.

Her text came through the next day, just before lunch, when Francesco was midway through sharing a greasy pizza with Raf, neither of them feeling that fresh after the night before.

It’s done. Thanks for everything. Take care of yourself.

Which made his gut drop to his feet, never mind the amount of scotch he and Raf had drunk.

He had to fight an urge to call her, to ask how her dad had taken the news. And a protective instinct to make sure she was okay, because he knew Meredith wouldn’t have taken the news lying down. God, he hated that woman.

But he did neither of those things. He slipped his phone back in his pocket and kept talking to Raf like nothing had changed. Because while she might have gone through with their fake break up, for some reason, he didn’t feel like doing the same thing.

“Jesus, sorry, mate.” Francesco glanced at the text from Rocco, to the dark grey sky overhead, frowning as he tried to make sense of his brother’s message.

A second later, a screen shot came through, and Francesco’s body felt hot and cold all over. It was from one of those society magazine’s insta account, and it clearly showed Willow and someone else, in each other’s arms.

Willow Von Bates, socialite stylist to the stars and eldest daughter of Baxter Von Bates, most recently rumoured to be in a relationship with Italian billionaire Francesco Santoro, seen here with a mystery man.

Mystery man, his ass. He’d put money on that weedy looking guy being her beloved Tom. Tom who she said it was over with. Tom who definitely wasn’t good enough for her. Tom, who he’d predicted would star in this exact goddamn scenario if they weren’t careful.

He stared at the photo as if just by looking at it he could elicit more information.

“You okay?”

Another message from Rocco.

He ground his teeth. “Fine.” And because he didn’t want anyone thinking Willow had cheated on him, he added, “We broke up a while ago.”

“Why didn’t you say so?”

“It wasn’t a big deal.”

His phone started to ring, and he considered not answering it, but knowing Rocco as he did, Francesco realized his brother would just take that as an invitation to keep hounding him.

He swiped it across. “What?”

“Nice,” Rocco said, but let it go. “What happened?”

“Nothing. It fizzled out.”

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