My phone hadn't stopped going off two days later.
Tyler’s name flashed on the screen, calls, texts, one after another repeatedly. I ignored them all. I didn’t need his voice in my head, didn’t need the reminder of how easily I’d caved.
Later in the afternoon, I was back in my room and staring at his latest text:
'Please, Daniela. How about dinner tonight? I just want us to talk. I’m begging you.'
I groaned and tossed the phone down again. I should’ve blocked him and pretended that the last few encounters never happened. But something stopped me, maybe the part of me that still remembered the good times.
“f**k it,” I muttered and picked up the phone. I typed back: 'Fine. Dinner. 7 pm. Pick a place.'
I hit send before I could overthink it.
His reply came in instantly: 'The Italian pla
