When he looked up again, his expression was almost hesitant.
“The woman from the café.”
It took me a second. Then I laughed. “Claire?”
He frowned, as though he hadn’t expected that reaction.
I let out a breath. “She’s my ex.”
The reaction was instant.
His shoulders loosened. The tension around his mouth eased. Even his breathing seemed to settle.
His eyes widened. “Oh.”
“Yeah.”My thoughts exactly.
Luka looked down at the floor again, and for once I didn’t feel any urge to push him for an answer. Then it hit me.
Since he’d arrived, he’d been the one taking all the risks.
Maybe it was my turn.
I swallowed. “You’re not the only one.”
He raised his chin, his eyes locking on mine, steady and unflinching.
“I think about you when you’re not there.” The words settled between us. “And when you are...” I let out a quiet laugh. “Apparently I stop acting like myself.”
Luka didn’t move.
Neither did I.
“I’ve spent days trying to convince myself you’re just another athlete.” My stomach twisted. “That stopped being true a while ago.”
Luka’s breath caught. “How long?” he asked, so quietly I almost missed it.
“Since the day after I arrived in Milan.”
I watched the answer sink in.
“You mean this?”
“Yeah.”
I stepped closer, moving slowly enough that he could have stopped me if he’d wanted to.
He didn’t.
My pulse hammered against my ribs.
For days it had felt like every conversation ended with one of us retreating. Another interruption, another wall. Another reason to leave things unsaid.
Not this time.
Luka stood perfectly still, waiting, looking at me as though he’d run out of places to hide.
My chest ached.
