Red Card to Your Heart: You Don't Deserve My Love Extra Time novel Chapter 14

His gaze fixed on me with an intensity that felt both familiar and intrusive.

"It's been a while," he repeated, as if our encounter at the airport hours earlier hadn't happened.

Federico, though completely ignored, showed no sign of discomfort. He simply held my hand and stood patiently beside me, his usual animated energy temporarily contained but still evident in the way he gently squeezed my fingers.

Diego seemed about to say something else, but I stepped forward, deliberately interrupting him to make a proper introduction: "This is my boyfriend, Federico."

At this, Diego's mouth twisted into something resembling a smile. After a long pause, he offered a low "Hmm."

Then he added, "My leg might be having some issues again."

Federico immediately responded with exaggerated concern, his Italian accent becoming more pronounced: "Mamma mia! If there's a problem with your leg, shouldn't you be at the hospital right now?"

He helpfully pulled out his phone with a flourish. "Would you like me to call an ambulance? I know the emergency number in Portugal is 112."

With complete sincerity, he added: "After all, my Emma isn't a doctor, though she's amazing at many, many other things."

Diego ignored him completely and called to me again: "Emma..."

Federico, undeterred by being dismissed, dramatically turned to me: "Tesora, why is he pretending I don't exist? Is this a Portuguese custom I don't know about?"

How was I supposed to know why Diego was ignoring him?

Diego tried again: "Emma, I need to—"

Federico playfully inserted himself between us, moving his face directly into my line of sight: "Seriously, why is he acting like I'm invisible? Do I need to sing to prove I exist?" He made a show of clearing his throat as if preparing for an aria.

I gently pushed his forehead away, unable to suppress a smile: "I don't know, and please don't sing right now."

He leaned in again, his playful persistence impossible to resist, eyes wide with mock innocence.

I instinctively reached for my keys to unlock the door, only realizing halfway through that Diego was still standing there, his expression growing increasingly strained.

Before I could respond, his serious expression dissolved into a grin: "Though it's actually quite adorable that you're so oblivious."

He added in a softer voice, his forehead pressed against mine: "You don't even notice when someone is trying to win you back. You're standing there worried about his leg while he's planning how to get you away from me."

"That's ridiculous," I said, though something in Diego's manner had felt different.

Federico shrugged, his natural buoyancy returning. "The past is the past. What matters is now, and right now, I'm the one who gets to make you that special carbonara I've been talking about all week."

His ability to acknowledge his feelings without dwelling on them was so refreshing after two years with Diego, where every emotion became a prolonged, heavy negotiation.

Later that night, as Federico slept soundly beside me, my phone rang. Diego's name appeared on the screen.

Against my better judgment, I answered.

"Emma," he said without preamble, his voice carrying an odd mixture of concern and restraint, "did you know your boyfriend had a four-year relationship with his ex? A woman in Sardinia who still has his spare key?"