Page 88 of Have To Be Mine

“Yeah, he seemed really happy. Settled, you know?” Dad paused. “You sound tired, sweetheart. Everything okay over there?”

No. Nothing was okay. I’d fallen in love with a man I couldn’t have and I’d hurt him to protect myself and now I was sitting alone on a balcony in Greece feeling sorry for myself.

“I’m fine, Dad. Just a long day on site. The runway show is in two days.”

“You’ll knock it out of the park. You always do.” His pride was evident in his voice. “I’m proud of you, Krista. Your mom would be too.”

That almost broke me. I pressed my fingers to my eyes, willing myself not to cry. “Thanks, Dad. I should let you go. Enjoy your afternoon.”

“Love you, sweetheart.”

“Love you too.”

I ended the call and sat there staring at my phone. People my age were moving on. Settling down. Starting families. And here I was, still running from one contract to the next, keeping everyone at arm’s length because it was easier than risking my heart.

On impulse, I scrolled through my contacts and found Dana’s number. My finger hovered over it for a long moment before I hit call.

She answered with surprise in her tone. “Krista? Hey! Is everything okay?”

Of course she’d assume something was wrong. I had not talked to her in forever.

“Hey, Dana. Yeah, everything’s fine.”

I opened my mouth to tell her everything. About Dash and how I felt like I was drowning and didn’t know how to save myself.

But the words wouldn’t come. Because Dana and I weren’t those kinds of friends anymore. We’d been close once. A long time ago. But I’d let that friendship fade, too busy with work to maintain it. Too closed off to let anyone in.

“I’m sorry,” I said finally. “I think I called the wrong number. I meant to dial someone else.”

“Okay,” she said. “Well, call when you have a chance.”

“I will. Talk soon.”

“Take care of yourself, Krista.”

I ended the call and set my phone on the table beside me. I stared out at the sky and hated that I was in paradise and miserable. I was alone. Completely, utterly alone. And I had no one to blame but myself.

I’d built walls so high and so thick that no one could get through them. Not my father, not my friends, not even Dash. I’d convinced myself it was necessary. Vulnerability was weakness and letting people in meant getting hurt.

I realized the truth. I was already hurt. I’d been hurt since the day my mother died. At some point in the days following her death, I decided the safest thing to do was never let anyone matter that much again.

And now I had hurt the one person who’d actually managed to scale those walls. I’d called him a whore. I diminished what we’d shared. I’d broken his heart to protect my own. That made me a coward.

I drew my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around my legs, making myself as small as possible. The sea stretched out before me, endless and dark, reflecting the last remnants of sunset. I was sitting in one of the most beautiful places in the world, and all I could feel was hollow.

Dash was downstairs. So close and yet so far away he might as well have been on another continent. A tear slid down my cheek before I could stop it. I wiped it away roughly with the back of my hand, angry at myself for the weakness. I’d made my choice. I’d done what needed to be done.

But God, it hurt.

I wished I could be different. Wished I could be the kind of woman who could take the risk, who could believe that someone like Dash Blackwell might actually love someone like me for longer than a few weeks. Wished I could silence the voice in my head that kept telling me he’d wake up one day and realize I wasn’t worth the effort.

Because that’s what would happen. I knew it in my bones. We’d go back to New York, and he’d see me in my real life. In my sterile apartment with its gray walls and lack of personality. He’d watch me go through my rigid routines, see how I had no friends to speak of, no hobbies, no interests outside of work. He’d realize there was nothing charming about a woman who ate the same breakfast every morning and went running at dawn because structure was the only thing keeping her together.

The woman he’d fallen for on that yacht, singing under the stars wasn’t real. She was a fantasy version of me that I’d let myself become for a week. But I couldn’t sustain her. Eventually, the real me would emerge, and he’d be disappointed. I could never keep him entertained. He traveled. I traveled. Eventually, the distance would get to us.

Better to end it now. Cleaner this way. Less painful in the long run.

Even if it felt like my chest was being crushed.