Difficult Conversation
Dante
When I arrive at the Trianon Palace on Thursday morning, Bianca is already there.
Dark circles shadow her eyes, hollowed out by the sleepless night I put her through.
The knot in my stomach tightens.
She rises the moment she sees me. Her smile is fragile, almost pleading. She lifts herself onto her toes to kiss me.
By reflex, I turn my head away, and her lips brush my cheek instead.
A shadow crosses her face. She slowly sits back down.
She already ordered for us: steaming coffee, pastries still warm from the oven, freshly cut fruit — as though she’d tried to recreate something normal. Something comforting.
I take the seat across from her.
She pours me a cup automatically. Her hands tremble slightly, as though deep down, she already knows this is our last breakfast together.
“Where did you spend the night?”
“At my parents’ house.”
“Really?”
Her look is skeptical.
Far from unsettling me, her suspicion only reinforces my decision.
She doesn’t know me. Not really. If she truly knew me, she’d know I’m not that kind of man.
Fidelity isn’t just a matter of love or weakness.
It’s a line I don’t cross.
People can accuse me of many things, but not that. And what she’s implying deeply insults me.
“And… where is Valeria? Did you hand her over to the police?” she asks.
“No. She was only encrypting her data. And since it’s her research, she has every right to do so.”
“So it’s not corporate espionage?”
“No. And there’s nothing more I can do for now except keep an eye on her.”
“And... did she have time to do it?”
“No. I stopped her before the process was complete. Besides, I’d already had copies made of all her files.”
“You knew...” she realizes.
Then she continues:
“And... she didn’t tell you anything?”
I frown.
“About what?”
She hesitates.
“About what happened. And why she disappeared…”
Her fingers move nervously against the armrest of the chair.
Something is making her uncomfortable.
What exactly is she afraid of?
“No. Nothing.”
A heavy silence settles between us.
I’m the one who finally breaks it.
“Listen, Bianca... I think you already know what I’m about to say.”
“No.”
She shakes her head violently.
“No. I won’t let you.”
Her voice breaks.
“How can you do this to me? To me? I was there for you for two years! Two years! And the second she comes back, you throw me away like yesterday’s trash?”
“I’m sorry.”
The words sound pathetic.
“You’re sorry? You humiliate me in front of all of Paris, and you’re sorry?”
Part of me still wants to comfort her.
Reach for her hand. Find words that might soften the blow.
But that would be even crueler—offering tenderness while taking everything else away.
So I stay still.
I look directly at the pain I’m causing instead of looking away.
I accept being the villain in her story, because it’s the only honest thing left I can give her.
She’s beautiful, even while crying.
And that’s precisely why I can’t back down.
I can’t offer her something that no longer belongs to me.
I tried to love her. Truly.
I convinced myself tenderness would be enough. That habit would eventually turn into something solid.
I was wrong.
And she deserves better than being the consolation prize of a man whose heart has always belonged somewhere else.
“How can you abandon me two days before our wedding? Does my love mean nothing to you? I love you, Dante. I love you, do you hear me? You can’t do this to me!”
My heart breaks seeing her like this. I never wanted to hurt her so badly.
She didn’t deserve this.
“You have to marry me. You at least owe me enough to keep your promise.”
“You really want to chain yourself to a man who doesn’t love you?” I ask softly.
“Yes! Yes! You’re mine, Dante! Do you hear me? You committed yourself to me.”
I freeze.
Those words land wrong.
What am I to her? A possession? A trophy?
“How can you leave me for that bitch?” she continues bitterly. “I gave you everything. Everything. And this is how you repay me?”
The more she speaks, the more certainty settles inside me—calm and merciless.
We were never meant to be together.
Even without Valeria, we would’ve eventually destroyed each other.
Demands, accumulated frustrations and impossible expectations.
A relationship that would’ve slowly turned toxic.
Faced with my silence, she realizes I’m not changing my mind.
She draws a deep breath.
“Listen, I understand that all of this is confusing you. If you want, we can postpone the wedding a few weeks. Give ourselves time to think clearly. We don’t have to make an impulsive decision right now.”
She’s still holding on.
It kills me to repeat myself, but this has already gone on too long.
“I’ve made my decision. I won’t change it.”
Her eyes cloud with tears—rage and frustration mixed together—but she refuses to let them fall.
Then her voice changes, calmer, more controlled, and almost bitter.
“And now what? What’s the plan? Are you firing me too?”
I’ll admit the thought crossed my mind.
It would be easier.
For her as much as for me.
For Valeria too.
But I’ve already hurt Bianca enough.
“No. You can keep your position if that’s what you want.”
I pause.
“But maybe you should take some time away. I’ll give you two years’ salary—no strings attached. Time to figure things out. To choose something else.”
Her eyes flash with anger.
“No. I’m not leaving. I don’t want your money. I’m not going to make this easy for you. I want you to look at me every day and remember what you did to me. You don’t get to get rid of me that easily.”
I study her silently for a few seconds.
There’s so much anger inside her. So much resentment. Keeping her here is a mistake.
I know it. But it’s too late.
My guilt already made the decision for me.
I won’t act against her unless she gives me a legitimate reason to.
I just hope I won’t regret it.
“Fine. If that’s your choice. But Bianca, don’t misunderstand me: I expect complete professionalism from you. If you cross the line, I won’t have any choice but to let you go.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” she replies.
Then, after a pause, she adds:
“I took a taxi here this morning. Could you drive me to the office, or is that too much to ask?”
“I’ll drive you.”
In the car, neither of us speaks.
She turns her face toward the window, and despite myself, my chest tightens when I see tears sliding down her cheeks.
And I hate being the man who put them there.