Portofino was everything I didn’t know I needed.
Bright sun, soft sea breeze, endless plates of pasta, and zero talk about racing, strategy, or contract clauses. Just me and Kate—being sisters.
We spent mornings by the water, getting too much sun and laughing over inside jokes that no one else would ever understand. Afternoons wandering the colorful streets, slipping into tiny boutiques and eating gelato like it was a sport. And at night, we'd sit on the terrace of our little hotel room, sipping cheap wine and talking about everything and nothing.
We were halfway through a bottle of wine when Kate finally asked the question I’d been dodging all weekend.
“So…” she said, drawing out the word like it weighed a hundred kilos. “Are we going to talk about Charles?”
I didn’t look at her. I just kept swirling the wine in my glass, pretending the sound of the waves crashing below us was enough of a distraction.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I murmured, even though we both knew that was a lie.
Kate snorted. “You mean besides the fact that he clearly still has feelings for you? And you’re clearly still torn about him? And you’re maybe about to work with him again?”
I groaned and let my head fall back against the chair. “You make it sound so dramatic.”
“That’s because it is dramatic.” She grinned. “And don’t roll your eyes at me, I saw the clip. The live one. With the dinner you made. And the internet collectively losing its mind over the ‘mystery woman’ in his apartment.”
I couldn’t help but smile, just a little. “He said it was me. Told everyone we hadn’t gotten back together. Just that I saved him from starvation.”
Kate gave me a look. “You think that man lets just anyone cook in his kitchen?”
I sighed, setting my glass down. “I don’t know what he wants. I mean… he says it’s me. Says there are no expectations. But how do I know that’s true? How do I know it’s not just because of what I can bring to the team?”
Kate was quiet for a moment, which for her, said a lot. Then she leaned forward, softer this time.
“You don’t,” she said. “But you do know what it feels like when it’s real."
Kate hesitated, twirling her ring around her finger before speaking again. “You know, Arthur told me something.”
That caught my attention. My eyes flicked to hers, cautious. “About what?”
“About Charles,” she said carefully. “Apparently… he hasn’t been with anyone since you.”
I blinked. “What do you mean?”
Kate shrugged, but her expression was gentle. “I mean anyone. No flings, no rebound girl, no messy Monaco situations. Nothing.”
My throat tightened, but I didn’t say anything.
“He told Arthur,” she continued, “that he just didn’t feel like it. That no one felt right. And that every time he even thought about trying… it felt like cheating.”
I froze. “He said that?”
Kate nodded. “Arthur said it was one of the only times he’s ever seen Charles actually open up about something emotional. And he told him that you—” she paused for effect, “—ruined casual for him.”
I let out a shaky breath, the air suddenly heavier.
“I’m not saying you owe him anything,” Kate added quickly. “But maybe… stop doubting if he wants you."
Kate leaned back on the lounge chair, the sunlight warming her skin while I kept staring at the sea like it might give me answers.
“There’s something else,” I said quietly, hesitantly.
She turned her head toward me. “What is it?”
I took a deep breath. “The day I went to Charles’s apartment… when he was still live… I was looking for Arthur's box, remember?
She nodded.
“And I ended up finding something else. A black velvet box in the back of his closet.”
Her eyebrows lifted slightly, but she didn’t interrupt.
“I opened it, Kate. It was a ring. And not just any ring—it was beautiful. But he never said anything about it. Never brought it up. And I didn’t ask. I just… closed the box and put it back.”
Kate was quiet for a moment, her gaze drifting out toward the horizon. I felt my heart skip a beat, but I didn't say anything, waiting for her to speak.
“I—” Kate hesitated. “I helped him pick that ring.”
I froze. My breath caught in my throat. “You did?”
She nodded slowly. “Yeah. We went shopping together, and he asked me for advice. He didn’t want to do anything too flashy, but he wanted something special. I remember thinking it was a little odd, like he was thinking ahead… but I didn’t question it then.”
I felt a wave of emotion hit me, but I stayed still, trying to process the weight of her words.
Kate exhaled slowly, like she’d been holding something in for a long time. “I was so excited, you know?” she said quietly. “When he told me what he was planning…"
My chest tightened.
“You were already living together,” she went on, a small smile tugging at her lips, though it was tinged with sadness. “You had your routines, your little fights over which pasta to cook or who left the lights on. It was like… like watching something real, something steady. And then, out of nowhere, it was over.”
I looked away, my throat burning.
Kate continued, “I remember thinking it had to be a misunderstanding. That maybe one of you would come running back. But you didn’t. And neither did he."
I swallowed hard, feeling the ache of all the things we never said, all the things we left hanging in the silence.
“And I never asked him what happened,” she said. “Because I figured… if it mattered enough, he’d talk. But he never really did. Not even with Arthur.”
I stayed quiet, staring at the sea, letting her words wash over me like a tide I couldn’t escape.
“Did you ever think about asking him?” I asked, my voice barely audible.
Kate gave me a look. “All the time. But I figured that if he still loved you, he’d find a way to fix it. And if you still loved him… maybe you’d let him.”
----
It was well past 2 a.m. when Kate and I finally stumbled back into the hotel. My feet ached, my hair smelled like a mix of sea breeze and the club's expensive fog machine, and we couldn’t stop laughing at absolutely nothing as we made our way through the quiet halls.
She practically collapsed onto her bed the moment I opened the door. I pulled the blanket over her, kicked off my heels, and padded over to my own bed with a soft groan.
The room was dim, peaceful, except for the hum still buzzing in my chest from the music, the drinks, and maybe a little from everything Kate had said earlier.
I lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling. My phone was charging next to me. I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t.
But the tequila still had a grip on my logic, and before I could stop myself, I reached for it.
My fingers hovered over his name for a few seconds.
Then I typed:
“Do you still think about me?”
I stared at the message for a long beat. Then, slowly, I hit send.
And just like that, I threw my phone face-down on the mattress like it might catch fire.
What the hell was I doing?
----
The sun was already pouring through the heavy hotel curtains when I stirred, my head pulsing softly — not quite a hangover, but close. I groaned, turning to the side, reaching blindly for my phone.
6:47 a.m.
Ugh.
I blinked a few times before remembering.
The message.
The tequila-fueled boldness.
My stomach twisted.
I hesitated before unlocking the screen. Notifications. One from Kate's Instagram story. A couple emails. And then…
His name.
My heart skipped.
Charles Leclerc: 4:12 a.m.
I opened it.
"Every damn day."
Just that.
Three words.
And suddenly I was wide awake.
I read it again. And again.
There was no emoji, no hesitation in his words, just brutal honesty. I could almost hear his voice saying it, low and tired, maybe even a little broken.
I sat up, phone still in my hand, unsure if I wanted to smile or scream.
----
Back in Monaco, the sun felt warmer than I remembered, or maybe it was just the exhaustion clinging to my skin.
Arthur was already waiting outside the airport, leaning against his car like he hadn’t just spent his morning in traffic. Sunglasses on, arms crossed, grinning like he knew something we didn’t.
“Did you two survive Porto?” he asked, popping the trunk open.
“Barely,” Kate groaned, tossing her suitcase in. “But it was worth it.”
He helped with mine, then opened the passenger door for me. I slid into the backseat, letting the air conditioning hit my face like a wave of clarity I wasn’t quite ready for.
“I booked a table near the marina,” Arthur said, glancing at me through the rearview mirror. “That seafood risotto you like.”
“Thanks,” I murmured, voice still rough from a lack of sleep—or maybe from the message I still hadn’t answered. Charles’s words lingered in my mind, stuck somewhere between confusion and curiosity.
Kate and Arthur chatted during the drive, catching up like always, laughing at things I only half-heard. I kept my gaze out the window, watching Monaco rush past, golden and bright, too alive for how drained I felt.
-----
Lunch was as perfect as Arthur promised—sea breeze, good wine, and the kind of food that made you want to forget your problems. For a moment, I almost managed to do just that.
Almost.
We were halfway through the meal when Arthur leaned back in his chair, eyeing me with that subtle curiosity only a younger sibling could get away with.
“So…” he started, too casual to be innocent, “did something happen between you and Charles these past few days?”
Kate dropped her fork with a soft clink against the plate. “Arthur,” she warned, her voice light but laced with a clear don’t-do-this-now tone.
“It’s just a question,” he said, holding up his hands. “I’m not implying anything.”
I wiped my mouth with the napkin and leaned back. “No,” I said calmly. “Nothing happened. Why?”
Arthur hesitated for a beat, then rested his elbows on the table. “Because Charles sold the old apartment. The one Anna moved into the same building.”
My heart paused for just a second.
“He what?”
“Yeah,” Arthur said with a small nod. “A few weeks ago, actually. Said he didn’t want to be anywhere near that place anymore. Too many memories, too many… shadows.”
I blinked, processing that.
“And that’s not all,” he continued. “He also put the new place up for sale.”
I frowned. “What? Are you being serious?”
Arthur nodded again. “He already moved everything out. It’s completely empty.”
I stared at Arthur for a moment, my fork still in my hand. “Wait… so where is he staying now?”
Arthur shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, but his eyes flicked briefly toward Kate before answering. “Temporarily? He’s back at the family house. Said he needed time to figure things out before settling anywhere again.”
Kate gave Arthur a subtle look, like she wanted him to stop talking, but I caught it.
I tilted my head. “Figure things out?”
Arthur shifted in his seat, suddenly less casual. “I think he’s trying to reset everything, Amy. The apartments… his routine… even the people around him.” He hesitated. “He’s been different lately.”
-----
Back at Kate’s place, I kicked off my shoes and collapsed onto the couch, letting out a long breath. The apartment was quiet, the afternoon sun filtering through the windows in golden beams. I glanced around, my bag still by the door, suitcase half-unpacked in the hallway.
I was technically crashing here again. No apartment of my own. No permanent place to land.
And Charles had just sold both of his.
I let out a humorless laugh, tipping my head back against the cushion.
Two emotionally constipated nomads, wandering around Monaco with expensive luggage and no address.
It was almost poetic. Almost.
The rest of the day passed slowly. Kate had a call with a friend and then disappeared into the kitchen to cook something elaborate, humming off-key. I didn’t join her. I needed the quiet—until the buzzer rang just past seven.
She poked her head out from the kitchen. “It’s for you.”
I frowned, walking over and pressing the button to speak. “Hello?”
“It’s me.”
His voice was unmistakable.
I paused. “Come up.”
Moments later, the door opened and Charles stepped inside. He looked tired. Like he hadn’t slept well. Like maybe I wasn’t the only one lying awake with too many thoughts and not enough certainty.
He nodded toward the kitchen. “Smells good in here.”
Charles gave a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Then I guess I picked the right place to show up. I’m starving.”
Kate laughed from the kitchen. “Perfect, stay for dinner, Charles.”
He glanced at me, hesitating. “Actually… would you mind if I talked to Amy for a minute first? Just the two of us.”
The lightness disappeared. His tone had shifted—lower, steadier. Serious.
Kate looked between us, the spoon in her hand still dripping sauce. “Sure. I’ll give you two a moment.”
She disappeared down the hall, and suddenly the apartment felt quieter. He turned to me, hands in his pockets, jaw tight.
“What is it?” I asked, pulse ticking up just slightly.
He didn’t speak right away.
Just looked at me like he was trying to find the right version of the truth. The one I wouldn’t run from. The one that wouldn’t push me further away.
“I sold both apartments,” he said finally. “The one near Anna. And the new one.”
“I know,” I said, keeping my voice neutral. “Arthur told me.”
His brows lifted a little in surprise, but he nodded slowly. “Right. Of course he did.”
“And where are you staying now?”
“With my mother, for now,” he said with a small shrug. “It’s temporary.”
I stared at him, unsure what to make of any of it. “Why are you telling me this, Charles?”
“Because I needed to clear out the noise,” he said simply. “The places, the memories, all of it. I didn’t realize how much I was dragging with me until I let it go.”
I didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just looked at him.
Because for a split second… it felt like a goodbye.
The kind of goodbye people say when they’re finally ready to stop hoping for something to come back.
My eyes stung before I could stop them. I blinked fast, turning away, pretending to look at something—anything—across the room.
But he noticed.
He stepped around me slowly, his expression shifting as he tried to meet my gaze. “Amy…” His voice was softer now. “What’s going on?”
I swallowed hard, still not looking at him. “I didn’t think it would hit me like this,” I whispered, almost to myself. “I really thought I was past it. That I had moved on.”
He didn’t say anything. Just stood there. Waiting.
And I finally lifted my eyes to his. “But apparently, I didn’t. Or not as much as I thought.”
My voice cracked on the last word.
He pulled me into a tight hug — firm, grounding, like he was afraid of letting go. My face rested against his chest, and for a moment, all I could hear was the steady beat of his heart and the familiar scent of him that hit me like a wave I hadn’t braced for.
I took a deep breath. His cologne. His skin. The memories. It all came rushing back, far too fast.
He leaned down slightly, his voice brushing against my ear in a soft murmur.
“Je ne t’ai jamais vraiment laissée partir.”
I froze. The words were quiet, intimate — and completely lost on me.
I looked up slowly, searching his face for a clue. But he just held my gaze, like he wasn’t ready to repeat it — not in a language I could understand.