My worry must show, because Conor takes his sunglasses off to say, “But it wasn’t Minami’s doing.”

“What do you mean?”

His brown eyes are filled with humor. “My heart didn’t break because we split. We split because it was malfunctioning to begin with.”

I twist the phrase around in my head, trying to understand. I almost have it, when my phone buzzes against the table.

It’s a text from Sami, an American engineering student I originally met through Rose. He and I have taken many classes together and ended up becoming good friends.

Sami: R. told me ur new bf is in town—he’s totally welcome to come tonite.

Sami: Btw, good on u. Alfie is a POS.

Welcome to go where? I start typing, but stop before sending the text with a soft, “Shit.”

Thank you, I reply. And happy birthday, see you later!

“What?” Conor is asking. The sunglasses are back on.

“Nothing,” I say. But I run a hand through my hair and show him my phone.

“How do you have four hundred and thirty-seven unread emails?”

“I know, right? I’ve been pretty good at keeping the number low, lately.”

He seems bemused.

“What? Do you clear your inbox every day?”

“I have an executive assistant in charge of that. Sometimes more, depending on the quarter and on the urgency of certain matters.”

Of course he does. “Here, look at this text. I’d forgotten that it’s my friend Sami’s birthday. We’re meeting at a pub to celebrate tonight—Alfie and Georgia included.” I give Conor my most sardonic smile. “I know, I know, you’re probably thinking—Maya, I cannot believe you get to have all the fun. But don’t worry, Sami has already heard about you and you are invited, so—”

“I’ll go,” he says, before stuffing his face with a mouthful of toast.

I slow-blink at him. “No, I didn’t mean…This is after you leave. And I’ll be fine. Last night I wasn’t doing so hot, but I’m feeling better. I can handle Alfie and Georgia—”

“I don’t trust your friends.”

God. I no longer do, either. “But what about your plane ticket? Can you change it that close to departure?”

He stares at me, chewing, waiting for me to reach one of two realizations: either he doesn’t care about the money, or he chartered a plane. Fuck the plankton, I guess?

“You…” Don’t have to, I start to say. But I bet Conor Harkness lives by the knowledge that he’s not forced to do shit. And if he stayed a little longer, if I got to hang out with him a few more hours…

Wouldn’t that be fun?

Chapter 14

Present day

Taormina, Italy

We drive downtown in a tiny but surprisingly sleek red Fiat. And by we, I mean Conor, the only one who cares to operate a stick shift.

I have half a mind to make him teach me, but I somehow end up buckled in the back seat while the grown-ups in the front discuss portfolio prepping, bolt-on acquisitions, and something called EBITDA. They’re playing 3-D chess, and I’m still learning how to walk.