Or maybe it was all in my head. He never promised me anything; our being together always had a deadline. Diego just pulled the plug three days early. He probably never imagined a future for us back in Manhattan. He had a little side fun on the job while he was here, and that was it.

But he gave the money back.

It doesn’t matter. It’s an insignificant detail. All his other actions speak volumes. He doesn’t want to be with me? Well, then, I sure as hell don’t want to be with him! I’ve been perfectly happy without a man for the longest time, and I was a fool to bare my soul to a perfect stranger.

I only need to seal my heart back into its bunker and go back to being the rational, sensible woman I was before. Cold, professional, detached.

Determined to erase any trace of Diego from my life, I rip the sheets off the bed and replace them with fresh ones. I drop everything in the laundry basket and take a long, hot shower, trying to scrub him off my skin. Unfortunately, as I soap up, the light catches on the tiny silver band adorning my left hand. I pull the ring off and eye the shower drain uncertainly. It’d be so easy to let it slip down the tube and make it disappear forever, but silly me, I can’t get myself to throw the band away.

What is it anyway? A present I bought myself, Diego had literally nothing to do with it. I have witnesses. There are three angry shop assistants ready to corroborate my version. And I like the ring. I slip it back on. The ring stays.

What about the Harry Potter first edition?

I’ll sell it off on eBay and make plenty of money off it. That’s what I’ll do.

I rinse the shampoo off my hair with a vengeance and step out of the shower.

Wrapped in a towel, I brace my hands on the sink and give myself a little motivational speech, reminding myself I’m a strong, independent woman. So that by the time Mom calls everyone down for lunch, I’m a logical, put-together person again.

Throughout the meal, I notice Julia seeking to catch my eye, but I stubbornly avoid her gaze. Sooner or later, we’ll have to talk. A food fight can’t be our last interaction. But it’s not a conversation I’m looking forward to having. What I said to Paul is true—one bad action doesn’t make her a bad person. But still, the thought that one of the people who should always have my back was out to get me instead is unsettling.

Oh, come on, get off your high horse, a little voice inside my head sneers. You were just as bad when you picked out a fake boyfriend specifically to make Julia jealous.

I shut my annoying conscience off and excuse myself as soon as I’m done eating. My plan is to spend the rest of today and tomorrow holed up in my room, working, until on Saturday I can finally go back to my real life and to sanity. As far away from family drama and fake-boyfriends-turned-real-runaway-boyfriends as I can.