Pictures of You

Chapter 46

46

Evie

“You’re not a little bit worried?” Bree asks, while we sip strong black coffees and share a slice of amaretti and sultana cheesecake at an outdoor café hidden down a little cobblestone alley not far from the Colosseum.

My hackles rise immediately, the cake losing a touch of its sweetness on my tongue. Chewing and swallowing buys me some time. “Worried about what?” I ask lightly.

I know what she’s talking about. She’s been in Rome half a day and already the cracks have started to show.

“It was all amazing when we were pulling off the surprise. The photos for socials are all smiles. But you’re not even slightly concerned about the way he’s been since?”

“He literally flew you over here from London!” I say defensively. “He planned everything. It’s the most romantic gift imaginable, to fly my best friend to the Trevi Fountain instead of just keeping the experience to ourselves. He knew how much this meant to us!”

She sits back. Am I protesting too much?

“Evie, he’s known all along this was our thing—ever since you started talking about the gap year with him.”

“And maybe he shouldn’t have insisted I go with him instead, but he obviously realized in time to invite you and make it happen,” I argue.

She puts her coffee down and focuses on passers-by, gathering herself. “Sorry, Evie. I don’t mean to be critical,” she says gently. “And I appreciate this trip. Of course I do. It’s just … now that I’m here, he seems irritated.”

I’ve noticed that too but can’t bring myself to admit it. If I raise it with him, I’ll just look ungrateful.

“It’s like he flew me in for the photo shoot and the accolades,” Bree continues.

Wow. “He’s just got a lot on his mind right now,” I explain.

Bree shoots me a look as if to say she’s heard this excuse before. Ad nauseam. I don’t know whether Oliver has a lot on his mind or not—just that it seems that way, and it’s an excuse I dredge up every time a social event goes wrong. Which is quite often, lately.

“You would tell me if things weren’t okay,” she says soberly, leaning across the table. “I could help you get out of this.”

Get out of what? The trip? Or this relationship? My stomach churns at the thought of a breakup. I don’t have a valid excuse for one. Suddenly, I’m claustrophobic just sitting here in this conversation. “If he’s been irritable lately, it’s because I’ve been quiet. Missing home. And missing you !”

Visions of my latest fight with Oliver assault me. Although fight is the wrong word. He just goes silent. That’s how I know I’ve done something wrong, and then I’m floundering, trying to work out what it was and how to fix it, flinging haphazard solutions at him until I crack the ever-shifting secret code.

“He’s invested so much thought and money into this holiday,” I add.

“Yes? That’s been his choice,” she says. “You don’t owe him anything.”

Maybe I just need to be a bit more animated. I think I take him for granted. He said he doesn’t know what more I expect from him, when he already gives me so much, and sometimes I feel like some kind of entitled brat.

“It’s not Oliver who’s the problem, Bree. It’s me. I’ve been moody. He’s just bouncing off me.”

She frowns. “You lit up when I arrived. Now he’s jealous. He’s always jealous, Evie. Remember what he was like about Drew?”

I don’t want to be reminded about him. Not now, when I’m barely holding myself together through this conversation. The way he ditched me and never explained himself still stings.

“Oliver was just trying to protect me. He knew Drew would disappoint me—and he did. He wanted to save me from the inevitable fallout from the loss of a friend, so I stepped away before I could get hurt. It’s called having boundaries.” If I think about it too much, I will cry.

“Boundaries are something you put around yourself,” Bree says quietly. “When someone else puts them around you, it’s called a prison.”

The analogy makes me gasp. I pull at my sky-blue T-shirt, trying to get breathing space. It’s the top Oliver made me change into this morning because he thought I’d be more comfortable in something less tight. Isn’t that what he said? It feels tight regardless.

Then she goes in for the kill. “Your parents are worried. We all are.”

My parents?

This is not how Rome was meant to be! Instantly, at even the mention of them, emotions I’ve repressed erupt. An explosion of heat cracks through the surface at this fresh criticism of Oliver. I feel entirely ganged up on. As if Bree’s coming to the Trevi Fountain was just a Trojan horse for a parentally sanctioned psychological intervention.

I’ll just try harder. They’ll see.

Suddenly it’s obvious to me that he’s been right all along. It’s everyone’s constant picking at our relationship that’s the problem. Backed against the wall in what feels like a deliberate campaign to make me doubt him, I vow to prove everyone wrong! About Oliver. About us as a couple. About everything.

“I know what I’m doing!” I declare, so confidently the people at the next table turn around to look at me. “And I can do without all this judgment!”

As the words stampede ferociously out of my mouth, I feel myself slipping further from my best friend and my parents. And ever closer to Oliver.