Playing for Keeps: Finding Love Beyond the Lies - Chapter 55: Chapter 55
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His gaze fixed on me with an intensity that felt both familiar and intrusive.
"It's been a while," he repeated, as if our encounter at the airport hours earlier hadn't happened.
Federico, though completely ignored, showed no sign of discomfort. He simply held my hand and stood patiently beside me, his usual animated energy temporarily contained but still evident in the way he gently squeezed my fingers.
Diego seemed about to say something else, but I stepped forward, deliberately interrupting him to make a proper introduction: "This is my boyfriend, Federico."
At this, Diego's mouth twisted into something resembling a smile. After a long pause, he offered a low "Hmm."
Then he added, "My leg might be having some issues again."
Federico immediately responded with exaggerated concern, his Italian accent becoming more pronounced: "Mamma mia! If there's a problem with your leg, shouldn't you be at the hospital right now?"
He helpfully pulled out his phone with a flourish. "Would you like me to call an ambulance? I know the emergency number in Portugal is 112."
With complete sincerity, he added: "After all, my Emma isn't a doctor, though she's amazing at many, many other things."
Diego ignored him completely and called to me again: "Emma..."
Federico, undeterred by being dismissed, dramatically turned to me: "Tesora, why is he pretending I don't exist? Is this a Portuguese custom I don't know about?"
How was I supposed to know why Diego was ignoring him?
Diego tried again: "Emma, I need to—"
Federico playfully inserted himself between us, moving his face directly into my line of sight: "Seriously, why is he acting like I'm invisible? Do I need to sing to prove I exist?" He made a show of clearing his throat as if preparing for an aria.
I gently pushed his forehead away, unable to suppress a smile: "I don't know, and please don't sing right now."
He leaned in again, his playful persistence impossible to resist, eyes wide with mock innocence.
I instinctively reached for my keys to unlock the door, only realizing halfway through that Diego was still standing there, his expression growing increasingly strained.
Federico made no attempt to hide the obvious: "Oh! Amore, you forgot Diego is still waiting at the door. Should we invite him in for espresso? I brought some real Italian coffee beans from Sardinia."
Diego's composed expression nearly slipped into visible irritation. When he noticed my attention returning to him, he finally spoke: "Can we talk? Alone?"
Federico gave my hand a gentle squeeze: "What do you need to discuss with Emma at—" he made a show of checking his watch, "—eleven thirty at night that can't wait until tomorrow?"
It was only then that I realized Federico's uncharacteristically dramatic behavior had been deliberate from the start. The man who had charmed my friends with his genuine warmth was now deliberately positioning himself as a buffer between Diego and me.
Following his lead, I replied belatedly: "There's nothing we need to discuss, Diego."
With that, I unlocked the door. As soon as we were inside and the door closed behind us, Federico's theatrical demeanor melted away, and he wrapped his arms around me with a sigh: "I'm sorry for the performance. I was jealous."
I stroked his hair affectionately: "There's nothing to be jealous about."
When we first started dating, I had told him everything about my history with Diego, holding nothing back. What could possibly make him insecure?
He looked up at me with that open vulnerability that still caught me off guard after so many months. "You didn't see the way he was looking at you? Like he was ready to reclaim something he'd lost?"
Before I could respond, his serious expression dissolved into a grin: "Though it's actually quite adorable that you're so oblivious."
He added in a softer voice, his forehead pressed against mine: "You don't even notice when someone is trying to win you back. You're standing there worried about his leg while he's planning how to get you away from me."
"That's ridiculous," I said, though something in Diego's manner had felt different.
Federico shrugged, his natural buoyancy returning. "The past is the past. What matters is now, and right now, I'm the one who gets to make you that special carbonara I've been talking about all week."
His ability to acknowledge his feelings without dwelling on them was so refreshing after two years with Diego, where every emotion became a prolonged, heavy negotiation.
Later that night, as Federico slept soundly beside me, my phone rang. Diego's name appeared on the screen.
Against my better judgment, I answered.
"Emma," he said without preamble, his voice carrying an odd mixture of concern and restraint, "did you know your boyfriend had a four-year relationship with his ex? A woman in Sardinia who still has his spare key?"
"It's been a while," he repeated, as if our encounter at the airport hours earlier hadn't happened.
Federico, though completely ignored, showed no sign of discomfort. He simply held my hand and stood patiently beside me, his usual animated energy temporarily contained but still evident in the way he gently squeezed my fingers.
Diego seemed about to say something else, but I stepped forward, deliberately interrupting him to make a proper introduction: "This is my boyfriend, Federico."
At this, Diego's mouth twisted into something resembling a smile. After a long pause, he offered a low "Hmm."
Then he added, "My leg might be having some issues again."
Federico immediately responded with exaggerated concern, his Italian accent becoming more pronounced: "Mamma mia! If there's a problem with your leg, shouldn't you be at the hospital right now?"
He helpfully pulled out his phone with a flourish. "Would you like me to call an ambulance? I know the emergency number in Portugal is 112."
With complete sincerity, he added: "After all, my Emma isn't a doctor, though she's amazing at many, many other things."
Diego ignored him completely and called to me again: "Emma..."
Federico, undeterred by being dismissed, dramatically turned to me: "Tesora, why is he pretending I don't exist? Is this a Portuguese custom I don't know about?"
How was I supposed to know why Diego was ignoring him?
Diego tried again: "Emma, I need to—"
Federico playfully inserted himself between us, moving his face directly into my line of sight: "Seriously, why is he acting like I'm invisible? Do I need to sing to prove I exist?" He made a show of clearing his throat as if preparing for an aria.
I gently pushed his forehead away, unable to suppress a smile: "I don't know, and please don't sing right now."
He leaned in again, his playful persistence impossible to resist, eyes wide with mock innocence.
I instinctively reached for my keys to unlock the door, only realizing halfway through that Diego was still standing there, his expression growing increasingly strained.
Federico made no attempt to hide the obvious: "Oh! Amore, you forgot Diego is still waiting at the door. Should we invite him in for espresso? I brought some real Italian coffee beans from Sardinia."
Diego's composed expression nearly slipped into visible irritation. When he noticed my attention returning to him, he finally spoke: "Can we talk? Alone?"
Federico gave my hand a gentle squeeze: "What do you need to discuss with Emma at—" he made a show of checking his watch, "—eleven thirty at night that can't wait until tomorrow?"
It was only then that I realized Federico's uncharacteristically dramatic behavior had been deliberate from the start. The man who had charmed my friends with his genuine warmth was now deliberately positioning himself as a buffer between Diego and me.
Following his lead, I replied belatedly: "There's nothing we need to discuss, Diego."
With that, I unlocked the door. As soon as we were inside and the door closed behind us, Federico's theatrical demeanor melted away, and he wrapped his arms around me with a sigh: "I'm sorry for the performance. I was jealous."
I stroked his hair affectionately: "There's nothing to be jealous about."
When we first started dating, I had told him everything about my history with Diego, holding nothing back. What could possibly make him insecure?
He looked up at me with that open vulnerability that still caught me off guard after so many months. "You didn't see the way he was looking at you? Like he was ready to reclaim something he'd lost?"
Before I could respond, his serious expression dissolved into a grin: "Though it's actually quite adorable that you're so oblivious."
He added in a softer voice, his forehead pressed against mine: "You don't even notice when someone is trying to win you back. You're standing there worried about his leg while he's planning how to get you away from me."
"That's ridiculous," I said, though something in Diego's manner had felt different.
Federico shrugged, his natural buoyancy returning. "The past is the past. What matters is now, and right now, I'm the one who gets to make you that special carbonara I've been talking about all week."
His ability to acknowledge his feelings without dwelling on them was so refreshing after two years with Diego, where every emotion became a prolonged, heavy negotiation.
Later that night, as Federico slept soundly beside me, my phone rang. Diego's name appeared on the screen.
Against my better judgment, I answered.
"Emma," he said without preamble, his voice carrying an odd mixture of concern and restraint, "did you know your boyfriend had a four-year relationship with his ex? A woman in Sardinia who still has his spare key?"
End of Playing for Keeps: Finding Love Beyond the Lies Chapter 55. Continue reading Chapter 56 or return to Playing for Keeps: Finding Love Beyond the Lies book page.