"Whenever you can…" she said, finally looking back at him. "I'll be waiting."
He moved closer. Instinctively, Carol stepped back. Her spine met the door behind her with a soft thud, and the suitcase beside her tipped slightly before settling again. Massimo stopped only a breath away.
"Massi, no."
His brow furrowed. "Why?"
"Like I said," she murmured, "difficult." Carol could see the question still living in him—why leaving had always been easier for her than staying, why love had never been enough to keep her here, why after all these years he could still make her feel twenty and furious and weak in the same heartbeat.
But the answer had never changed. Staying with him had always meant losing herself. Loving him had never been the problem.
It had always been the life attached to him.
"Don't do this to me now," she whispered.
Massimo's hand lifted as if he meant to touch her, then stopped midway, hovering in the space between them. He stepped back first.
