Page 45 of Friends Who Fake It

Guilt flashed inside Willow. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been going on about my childhood like I’m the only person who’s ever known loss…”

He reached out, putting his hand on hers, eyes stern. “Neverapologise for being honest with me,” he contradicted. “I appreciate you opening up.”

Something washed over her—a feeling that was almost too consuming to bear. She nodded a little unevenly. “You were saying?” she prompted, eyes on his face.

He hesitated again, and she cursed herself for interrupting him. “I know what it’s like, to lose something precious. Our mother was a wonderful woman, but more than that, she made our father whole. She completed him. After she died, he was completely torn apart.”

Anguish contorted Willow’s features. “That’s so sad.”

Francesco’s lips compressed.

“Is that what happened with your father?”

“What happened?”

“You’ve intimated you weren’t close. Is it because…”

His eyes lanced her. “Yes.”

She felt like the admission was hard fought, but then, he let out a sharp breath.

“My father was like a different man, afterwards. Angry, resentful. He started to drink heavily. To date indiscriminately. Our home life went from run of the mill, and happy, to the kind of instability I wouldn’t wish on anyone. It had the silver lining of making my brothers and me grow closer, but we all shied away from him.”

“Was he violent?”

“No,” Francesco denied, immediately. “He had a quick temper, but he was never physical with us.”

“Emotional instability is still hard to live with,” Willow said, glancing down at her hands.

“Meredith?”

She looked up at him again swiftly, cursing his intuition. “I wouldn’t say she was unstable,” she said, haltingly. “But I always knew her love—such as it was—to be conditional. If I wanted her affection, I had to do, or be, x-y-z. Even my career—working as a stylist—is something she arranged, something she approved of. But it turns out, I’m actually really good at it.” Her cheeks flushed at the admission. “I have more clients than I can handle. I get incredible reviews. I thought—I always thought she’d see that and feel…” her voice tapered off as she realized how silly those hopes had been.

He cursed under his breath. “You deserved so much better. Youdodeserve so much better, now.”

“I could say the same to you.” Their eyes met and held, and Willow had the strangest feeling, like she was being sun warmed from the inside out.

“I’m serious, Willow. Tom wasn’t right for you; but someone will be. Someone, one day, will make you understand how special you are.”

She knew she shouldn’t say it, and yet Willow heard her voice emerge, soft and uncertain, looking for something from Francesco that she’d been craving her whole life. “You think I’m special?”

His features tightened; his face almost seemed to be warning her. Finally, he said, “Are you fishing for compliments,cara?”

She flushed to the roots of her hair and glanced down quickly, but a second later, his thumb was pressing to her chin, tilting her face towards his. “Yes.” His voice was deep and gravelled. “I think you’re very special.”

The warmth inside Willow burst into something else. She reached for her drink with fingers that were trembling, unsure what to say next. Because for all he’d said something lovely and complimentary, there was also a darkness inside Willow, at the realization that he was telling her she would be made whole by someone else. That it wouldn’t be him.

She smothered a gasp as comprehension dawned on her. This was a fake relationship, but to Willow, somehow, it had started to feel very, very real. Real in a way where she didn’t want it to end. Real—which explained why she’d agreed to come to Italy. She could have stuck to her guns and told his aunt and uncle that she was too busy, but she’d allowed them to push her into this. She could have made an excuse to get out of it, but she hadn’t, because she’d wanted this. Him. More time together. And the thought of going back to London and just being friends was almost impossible to bear.

“Francesco—,” she put her glass down quickly, her heart slamming into her ribs.Don’t do it,her brain warned. “What happens next?”

“Next?”

“With us.”

A downward quirk of his lips showed either that he wasn’t expecting the question, or didn’t appreciate it. “When?”

“When we get home. To London.”

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