Page 43 of On the Edge

“We’ll make it the most understated breakup in history,” he assures me, reaching across the small table and clasping my fingers in his. “No drama. No news. No media. I promise.” He squeezes my hand in his, and it’s enough reassurance ... for now.

* * *

1 Year Ago

Hotel Bar, Sestrière, Italy

The whiskey burns less going down than the last glass did. That’s probably not a good sign, but at this point anything that dulls the pain is worth trying. I glance down into my Old Fashioned glass as I swirl the amber liquid around the ice cubes. I don’t care what anyone says, whiskey is only tolerable when watered down.

The chair next to me, which has remained blessedly empty for the past hour, moves as someone shuffles into it. I hate everyone right now, so I certainly hope this poor soul doesn’t try talking to me.

“You trying to set that drink on fire with your glare?”

My head whips to the right because, despite the cheesy line, that voice belongs to the one person who I don’t hate at the moment. Could probably never hate.

“Marco,” I smile. “Thank God it’s you.”

“That’s what all the women say.” He wraps an arm around me and I rest my head on his shoulder. It’s half a hug, and exactly what I need at the moment.

“It’s really good to see you.”

“Anche tu, Bella.” He leans in for a kiss on each cheek. “Gorgeous as always.”

I pull back and roll my eyes. Some things never change; Marco is a flirt through and through, and as long as I’ve known him he’s taken to flirting with me in both English and Italian. It’s harmless flirting though, he’d never act on it and ruin our friendship.

“Why change what God already made perfect?” He winks, but I’m pretty sure he’s serious. When I don’t respond, he asks, “Why do you look so angry?”

“You know who Alessandra Ricci is?”

Marco raises an eyebrow. “Am I a man?”

“Well,” I say, picking up my phone. I open to the text message Sierra sent about an hour before, and turn it so Marco can see the picture of my ex-boyfriend with a supermodel draped around him as they leave a restaurant. “Apparently, she’s dating Nate. And my life is pathetic in comparison.” I look back down at my glass, embarrassed by my honesty. The alcohol must be affecting me more than I realized. I mean, I trust Marco. I met him when we trained together for a summer in Switzerland eight or nine years ago. Predictably, Nate hated our friendship. Maybe he’d even hate the fact that in leaving, he brought Marco and me closer together, allowed us to develop a rock-solid friendship.

“Want to make him jealous?” Marco asks, his accent taking on a sexy tone that would be activating the warning flags in my mind if it weren’t for the alcohol.

“Hell, yes.” I smile so hard it hurts. I take another sip of whiskey and finally enjoy the way the burn travels down my throat and warms my belly.

Marco signals the bartender. “I’ll have what she’s having.”

The bartender slides the glass over to Marco, and he lifts it toward me with his left hand while grabbing his phone with his right. “Cheers, and smile, Jackson,” he says as he clinks his glass to mine. He looks over at me, his smile huge. I give him an equally big smile back, then turn toward the camera, but he’s already got his phone down in front of him.

“Aren’t you going to take a picture?”

“I just did. Look, it’s perfect.” He holds his phone toward me and I take it, zooming in on our faces. In my drunken state I think it captures the closeness of our friendship perfectly.

Marco takes his phone back and quickly types outWhiskey with my hottest best friendbefore posting it online.

“Oh, I’m your hottest best friend now?” My words are slightly slurred, but it doesn’t stop me from taking another sip of whiskey.

“Well since my other best friend is Christian ...”

“Yep, I see your point. Okay, I’m the hottest.” I laugh. I mean, Christian is gorgeous, but that’s not the kind of thing Marco would likely notice about someone he’s been friends with since they were teenagers at boarding school together.

Marco smiles at me and takes a sip of his whiskey. I don’t know how he manages it without his eyes scrunching up and his face puckering, like when I’m drinking mine.

I glance down at the photo on his phone again. “What makes you think Nate will see that?”

“Because I have millions of followers, and he’s one of them.”

---