Red Card to Your Heart: You Don't Deserve My Love Extra Time novel Chapter 13

Sometimes, fate works in the strangest ways, appearing precisely when you least expect it.

When Federico first asked me out after my third diving lesson in Sardinia, I gave my standard response about taking things slowly.

I had fully prepared myself for him to lose interest after two weeks like all the others, but to my surprise, he persisted with patient determination and unmistakable Italian charm.

Before I realized what was happening, his presence had become a constant in my life—WhatsApp messages throughout the day, impromptu dinners at little seaside restaurants, and weekends exploring hidden coves along the Sardinian coast.

At my age, when I tell most men I want to take things slowly, they assume I'm playing games or stringing them along.

But this younger man took "slowly" at face value, his Mediterranean patience a stark contrast to the rushed timelines I'd encountered before. He was genuinely willing to give our connection the time it needed to develop naturally.

His sincerity was as refreshing as it was intense.

"You kept him quite the secret!" Charlotte exclaimed at dinner, watching as Federico charmed the waitress with his animated hand gestures and genuine interest in her recommendation.

"If you hadn't come home for Christmas, we might never have met him!" Marco added, already won over by Federico's easy laughter.

"You definitely owe us this dinner for holding out on us," Tiago insisted with a grin.

The truth was, I hadn't intentionally kept Federico secret—I hadn't even expected him to come to Porto with me.

I had missed my flight due to traffic and was rebooking when I received his message: "Dove sei? Mi manchi già!" (Where are you? I miss you already!)

Only then did I discover he had purchased the seat next to mine as a surprise, but our timing had been off by mere minutes.

He had landed early and waited at the airport until we finally connected just before my friends arrived.

As they continued to tease me, I laughed and raised my hand. "Fine, dinner's on me!"

Federico immediately mimicked my gesture with exaggerated flair, echoing playfully in his accented English: "No, no, no! Dinner's on ME! I insist!" His hands moving expressively as he spoke, a classic Italian emphasis that made everyone smile.

With his effortlessly sociable nature, he quickly established rapport with everyone at the table. By the time we reached the restaurant and were seated, it felt as if he'd always been part of our group. Every question directed at him received not just an answer but a story, complete with animated gestures and expressive shifts in tone that transcended any language barriers.

With Federico's addition, our table had exactly the right number of seats. That's when Sophia noticed Diego's absence.

"Look at these azulejos! So beautiful, so different from our Italian tiles," he exclaimed, examining the blue-painted tiles decorating a nearby façade. "And this tree—what is it called in Portuguese?"

His natural enthusiasm extended to everything. At one point, he even crouched down to pet a stranger's dog, launching into a rapid Italian monologue to the delighted animal.

When we finally reached my building, neither of us expected to find the supposedly hospitalized man standing at my doorstep.

Federico's hand tightened slightly around mine as Diego stepped forward. With remarkable composure, Federico extended his free hand in greeting. "Ciao! You must be Diego, yes? Emma has told me about you." He offered the warm, double-cheek greeting common in Italy, treating Diego like an old friend.

His voice was genuinely welcoming and free of any territorial posturing, even adding a respectful "brother" in his greeting, which made me glance at him in surprise.

Diego smiled faintly at Federico's enthusiastic greeting but didn't return either the handshake or the cheek-kiss, leaving Federico's gesture hanging awkwardly in the air for a moment before he smoothly transitioned to a casual shoulder pat instead.

The contrast between the two men couldn't have been more striking—Diego's reserved stillness versus Federico's animated warmth; one whose mood had once dictated my entire day, and one who seemed to tune himself instinctively to my feelings.

Instead of acknowledging Federico, Diego turned directly to me, his eyes intense and focused: "Emma," he said, using my name like a complete statement.