Oh, what the hell.
“I had a one night stand with a reporter when I was on assignment in Mexico. That’s it. Now you know my entire sexual history. Although I very much doubt you could be as succinct about yours.”
For a moment, he looked angry, then he gave a wry smile. “I deserve that.”
I closed my eyes and leaned back.
“Are you okay?” he said, quietly.
I shook my head slowly. “Not really.”
He sighed. “I am sorry, Caro. I just get fucked up in the head sometimes.”
“You can’t deal with it by lashing out at me. And I can’t deal with it if you keep blaming me for something I can’t change.”
He put his head in his hands. “Don’t give up me, Caro.”
“Last night I thought you’d given up on me.”
A pained expression crossed his face.
“Can we start again, Caro? I promise I’ll try not to fuck up again.”
I took a deep breath.
“Sebastian, it’s not a case of ‘starting again’; it’s about working things through when we have a problem. Funny enough, it was you who taught me that, ten years ago: you made me face up to things. You can’t promise me you won’t fuck up, because you will. And I can’t promise you that I won’t fuck up, because I will. We can deal, and we can move on. Or, we can say it’s been an interesting few days, and go our separate ways.”
He reached over and tentatively took my hand.
“I want to go on. With you.”
I wasn’t even sure why I was agreeing to this. My head was screaming for me to get out now, but my heart had gone in another direction entirely.
I nodded my agreement. “Okay, then. Let’s try.”
“And I promise not to sleep with your best friend, especially if it’s that scary British woman I saw you with in Geneva.”
I could see he was trying to lighten the mood, but I wasn’t quite ready to joke about it.
“Sorry,” he said, quietly. “Another foot-in-mouth moment.”
I tried to smile, but I probably just grimaced at him.
I pulled my hand free, and sat back to sip my lukewarm espresso.
He picked up some of the pieces of his eviscerated roll and chewed solemnly.
“Did they say anything about last night? The people at the villa?”
“Not really. They were mostly embarrassed. I think we’ve managed to ruin it for any other Americans who might want to stay there. But the old lady told me that you’d be back.”
Sebastian looked surprised. “Really?”
“Yes, and I’m pretty certain it was me not you she was applauding last night. She probably thought I should get a medal for putting up with you.”
“Yeah,” said Sebastian, smiling softly, “a Purple Heart.”
“Wounded in action?”
His smile slipped away. “I’m really sorry about what I said.”
“We’re moving on, remember? But, for the record, apology accepted.”
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair and ate some of his roll, more for a distraction than anything else, I guessed.
“I got drunk and fell asleep on the beach,” he muttered. “In case you were wondering.”
His voice was so quiet, I could hardly hear him.
“Well, thank you for telling me.”
“I panicked when I woke up: I thought you might have gone. And then I saw you walking along the road. At first I was relieved but then… I just thought you’d walked out on me. That’s why I was…”
“…such an ass?”
His smile was rueful.
“Yeah, that about sums it up.”
“Well, like I said, thank you for telling me. Now, what’s the big plan for today?”
He smiled his first, genuine, relieved smile of the day.
“I thought we could go to Pisa: take a look at that big, old leaning tower. It’s about two hours away.”
“Sure, that sounds fun.”
I’d always found it hard to fake enthusiasm: something my ex-husband had pointed out on numerous occasions. But I was trying. For Sebastian’s sake: for our sake.