CHAPTER 44
Edoardo
“Sorry, may I know who’s calling?”
I press the phone tighter to my ear, but the roar of traffic swallows the voice on the other end, dissolving it into static.
The line goes dead.
A minute later, my phone buzzes again. A text. From a number I don’t recognize. A location. Thirty minutes.
I stare at the screen, turning it over in my mind, searching for a face to attach to the digits. Nothing. Almost no one has this line. Which means whoever sent it meant to reach me and knew I would come.
Thirty minutes later, my driver drops me off. I step inside, letting my gaze sweep the room with practiced casualness until it catches on the man lifting a hand in greeting.
For a split second, I genuinely think I’m mistaken.
Connor O’Hara. Gigi’s brother. Stefano’s soon-to-be brother-in-law. Caroline’s best friend. The last person I would ever expect to summon me out of the blue.
Why does he want to see me? It can’t be about Gigi. Definitely not Stefano. So, it has to be Caroline. What else could it be? Does he want to buy some art?
“Hi, Edoardo.” Connor stands, offering a polite, measured smile. “Thanks for making the time.”
“Hi, Connor.” I take his hand, matching the courtesy. “How are you?”
“I’m good.” He gestures for me to sit, then wastes no time. “I wanted to talk about Caroline. About you and her.”
Straight to it. Always his way.
“What about?” I ask carefully, settling into the chair. “We’re not together anymore. I assume you know that.”
What I don’t say is that anything about Caroline should go through Anton now. The thought slips in uninvited, and with it comes a stab of jealousy, sharp and insistent.
“I do,” Connor says, his tone softening. “And I’m sorry it came to that. Caroline is… stubborn. It takes her a long time to come out of her shell.”
I don’t know what he expects. Sympathy or agreement? I didn’t come here to autopsy our relationship with her best friend.
So, I answer plainly. “Connor, Caroline and I are over. But I care about her as a friend. If that’s what you want to talk about, I’m listening.”
He shakes his head. “No. I don’t want to talk about Caroline as a friend. I want to talk about your Caroline. Your girlfriend.”
“There is no Caroline who’s my girlfriend anymore,” I say, keeping my voice even.
Connor leans forward, eyes steady, unblinking. “Do you still love her?”
The question lands like a blow, a sudden and breath-stealing blow.
Connor and I have never talked much in private. We never talked about my relationship with Caroline, not even when we were together. And he didn’t ask did you love her. He asked if I still do.
I stare at him, caught between surprise and irritation.
He reads my silence and nods once. “So, you are still in love with her. Am I right, Edoardo?”
“Why are you asking me this?” Heat rises beneath my words. “If Caroline has something to say, she can tell me herself.”
Connor doesn’t flinch. “Did you tell her, Edoardo? Did you tell her that you love her?”
“It doesn’t matter whether I told her or not,” I say, a scoff slipping through.
“You loved her,” he replies calmly, as if he’s just closed a trap I never noticed being set. “Why didn’t you tell her?”
“I don’t have anything to say to you, Connor.” The anger comes fast, alive, and blazing hot now.
“I hate seeing Cara get hurt,” he says, voice still steady. “Both of you need someone to pull your heads out of the sand. You’re stubborn, and you dig yourselves into holes too deep to climb out of.”
A low, humorless laugh escapes me. “Then, why didn’t you interfere months ago? Why now?”
“I don’t interfere in my friends’ love lives,” he says. “They usually know what works for them. They don’t let unimportant things get in the way.” He pauses, watching me. “But neither of you seem to.”
Another short laugh, sharper this time. “Seriously? That’s what you think?”
“Yes,” he says simply. “And I know I’m right.”
I want to stand up, walk out, and end this absurd conversation immediately now. But he’s about to be Stefano’s brother-in-law, and our world is too small for unnecessary hostility.
Connor studies me for a long moment, as if weighing whether I’m worth the risk. I examine him back with equal measure. What the fuck are we doing here?
Then, he reaches into his jacket and pulls out an envelope, sliding it across the table.
“Read it,” he says. “Then give it back.”
I debate for a moment not to take it. Who the fuck does he think he is to barge into my day and demand me to sit here like this? Still, my fingers itch. The envelope looks strangely familiar, but I can’t place why.
I take the envelope. It isn’t sealed. I slide the letter out and unfold it slowly.
The moment I see the handwriting, my heart starts pounding so hard it feels like a marching band inside my ears.
Caroline’s. I would know it anywhere.
Hi Edoardo,
Thank you for giving me time and space to sort out my feelings. I know it isn’t easy to be with someone who’s still afraid of committing, still learning how to say what she feels without hiding behind silence.
It still frightens me, how much it matters, how much I stand to lose by saying it out loud. I needed to be certain that what I felt wasn’t just comfort, or timing, or the safety of being with someone who feels like home. I needed to know it was you.
And now I do. I love you, Edoardo.
There are things about me, about why I hold back and why I protect myself, that I haven’t explained properly. I don’t want there to be silences where there should be trust. I would like us to talk about them without rushing past the difficult parts.
Maybe after you tell me that you love me too.
I love you.
Your Cara
My hands aren’t steady when I lower the letter. I feel stripped down, like all the defenses I’ve built don’t quite fit anymore. I read the last lines twice. Then again, slower - as if careful movement might dull the blade of them.
I love you. Your Cara.
My chest tightens around the certainty in those words. For a moment, I can’t hear anything else, not the room, not Connor, not even my own breathing. Just the dull rush in my ears and the realization settling heavy in my bones: she said it. Caroline said it. And I wasn’t there to answer.
The first thing that hits me isn’t relief. It’s grief. It’s a sudden and sharp stab, like missing a step in the dark. I picture her writing this, the pause before I love you, the moment she decided to risk it. And I wasn’t brave enough to meet her there.
She loved me. Not carefully, not halfway. She loved me enough to put it on paper, enough to let it exist outside her head where it could be rejected.
And I rejected her. With my cowardice. By taking the step back before even giving her a chance to tell me.
My throat burns. Part of me wants to close my eyes and stay in that knowledge a second longer, because it feels like sunlight after months of cold. Another part of me feels like I don’t deserve even that - because she offered me something honest, and what did I give her back?
“Edoardo,” Connor says, pulling me back. “I know how you felt, especially when Caroline struggled to put herself out there. But she’s been learning. I’m just giving you a push, and…”
“I’ll take it from here, Connor. Thank you.” I hand the letter back and shake his hand firmly. “Thank you.” I say again.
Connor smiles. “Don’t thank me yet. Caroline’s back in her usual guarded mode. Use your heart. Not your head.” He slips the envelope into his pocket. “And this stays between us. Otherwise, Cara will drag me into one of her fights and beat me to a pulp.”
I laugh, the first real one of the afternoon. “Thank you. I know what to do.”
I was wrong, terribly wrong. Love wasn’t fragile the way I treated it. It had been there between Caroline and me all along, steady and patient. She was the one moving toward it. I was the one stepping away.
I love her. I never stopped loving her.
And sitting there with her words echoing in my chest, I finally know exactly what I need to do.
To get my Cara back.