Red Card to Your Heart: You Don't Deserve My Love Extra Time novel Chapter 12

Diego's relationships followed a predictable pattern—breakup, new girlfriend announced within days, breakup again. Each romance was publicized with the same social media fanfare as the last, his Instagram followers treated to a rotating gallery of beautiful women who never seemed to last more than a few weeks.

My friends gradually accepted that Diego and I were truly finished—no dramatic reconciliation in our future. The constant questions about whether I'd talk to him again slowly faded from our conversations.

Like Louisa Clark after Will's departure in that film, I discovered new passions that had nothing to do with my former life. I learned to scuba dive, finding unexpected peace in the weightless blue world beneath the waves. Each weekend I'd pack my gear and drive to different coastal spots, gradually building my confidence and certification levels.

Six months in Sardinia gave me the space I needed to breathe, though news of Diego somehow still found its way to me through well-meaning mutual friends. His latest relationship had apparently ended. He wasn't immediately dating anyone new—a break in his established pattern. Friends suggested he'd finally "woken up" and was taking time to reflect on his choices.

Diego's teammates continued to hint that he was now single, encouraging me to "come back" as if I'd simply stepped out for coffee rather than completely rebuilt my life on another island.

As Christmas approached, I couldn't avoid returning to Porto. My apartment was there, and Charlotte had planned a reunion dinner with our friend group that I couldn't miss.

What I hadn't expected was the welcoming committee at the airport.

Diego's entire social circle had shown up, greeting me with warm smiles and teasing comments about my sun-darkened skin. "Look at you, Emma—all Mediterranean bronze!" Tiago called out.

They hadn't distanced themselves from me after Diego and I parted ways. Marco had even texted me after that disastrous café encounter: "With or without Diego, I'd still like us to be friends."

But the biggest surprise was Diego himself, standing at a distance behind the group, watching me with an unreadable expression. He looked good—his physique had returned to something closer to his athletic prime, though there was still a slight hesitation in his stance that only someone who knew his struggle would notice.

Eventually, he stepped forward. "It's been a while," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle.

Just six months earlier, he could barely hide his irritation when speaking to me. Now he greeted me like an old friend, as if our shared history had been rewritten into something more comfortable.

I responded with matching politeness: "Yes, it has."

He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "My legs... they've been—"

My phone interrupted him, ringing loudly in my pocket. I smiled apologetically as I checked the caller ID, a warm feeling spreading through me at the name on the screen.

"Hello?" I answered.

A warm, accented voice immediately brightened the line: "Where are you, bellissima? I just cleared customs!"

His enthusiasm was contagious, and I found myself smiling involuntarily. "I'll send you my location. Don't rush—just walk over when you're ready."

"You dive?" he asked Federico directly, his first words to him.

"I'm an instructor, actually," Federico replied easily, either missing or ignoring the tension. "That's how we met. Emma was my most determined student—mastered in half the usual time."

I watched as Diego processed this information—this new version of me who dived into Mediterranean waters and dated Italian diving instructors and no longer organized her life around his needs.

Before he could respond, Marco clapped his hands together. "Perfect! Let's all head to dinner. Federico, you'll have to tell us how you managed to win Emma over—she's been turning down every eligible man in Porto for months!"

As we gathered our things and headed toward the exit, Diego held back. When I glanced over my shoulder, he was watching me with an expression I couldn't quite decipher—not quite regret, not quite acceptance, but something in between.

Federico's arm slipped comfortably around my waist as we walked—a simple, affectionate gesture from someone who had no history of withholding love, no complicated relationship with vulnerability.

"Tutto bene?" he asked quietly, noticing my momentary distraction.

I smiled up at him, genuinely happy despite the unexpected complications of this homecoming. "Everything's perfect," I said, and meant it.

Behind us, Diego finally turned away.