I chew the inside of my cheek, pushing my phone back into my bag. Opening the stall, I walk over to the mirror to fix myself up before heading back out there.
Pushing open the restroom door, everything feels overwhelmingly loud again. The dim lighting, the gentle clinking of cutlery, the low hum of conversation; it’s all too much.
Brian’s laughter is the first thing I hear.
He’s leaned back in his chair, talking animatedly with the waiter. He gestures with his glass, that confident tilt of his chin. The same man who’d slammed his hand against the dashboard not an hour ago now smiles as though he’s never raised his voice in his life.
I slip quietly into my seat. His eyes flick toward me, the corners of his mouth lifting. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I lie.
He nods, reaching for the bottle on the table, topping off my wine before pouring more for himself. The waiter drops off our entrées, and Brian thanks him with that polished charm that used to make me melt.
We eat. Or rather, he eats. I move food around my plate, pretending.
He finally asks for the check, and I exhale quietly, my shoulders dropping half an inch. He slides his card to the waiter and leans back, drumming his fingers on the tablecloth. “You tired?”
“A little,” I answer.
“Good dinner, though, right?”
I nod because disagreeing would make him mad.
He stands and helps me with his coat, the gesture so gentle that it almost feels cruel. The scent of his cologne clings to the fabric as he drapes it over my shoulders. His palm stays on my back a second too long. “C’mon, let’s go.”
We step out of the restaurant, and the night air is damp and heavy with city noise. Streetlights smear a hazy yellow across the pavement, and the valet’s whistle echoessomewhere behind us. Brian’s hand finds the small of my back as we walk, his fingers pressing just hard enough to guide.
He thanks the valet with that same polished grin, slips into the driver’s seat without opening my door for me, and checks his reflection in the rear-view mirror before we pull away.
For a few minutes, there’s silence—just the sound of tires sliding over slick asphalt and the low hum of the radio. I stare out the window, watching storefronts blur by like a reel I can’t pause.
“So, I never asked how Tennessee was.”
Oh, now he asks.
I glance over, caught off guard. “It was fine, nice seeing my friends, and filming new content for our page.”
He snorts, one hand tightening on the wheel. “It better be good.”
My pulse flickers. “It wil?—”
“It better be, Layla,” he interrupts, sarcasm curling around every word. “It’ll do even better if I was in them.”
I blink, unsure if he’s serious. “It’s something new I’m trying; you don’t have to always be in my videos.”
He laughs sharply. “Ourcontent will always be better because of me. What, are you fucking someone out there?”
“It’s not like that, Brian.”
He slams his hand against the steering wheel; the sound cracks through the car. “Then how is it, Layla? Because it looks like you’re trying to build a brand on me not existing.”
My throat tightens. “It isn’t personal?—”
“It’s personal when you don’t include your fiancé!” he snaps. “People don’t give a shit about you frolicking around hick town.” He laughs under his breath, bitter. “But sure, keep pretending it’ll do you some good.”
I stare down at my lap, my nails digging into my palm.
He exhales hard, shaking his head. “You know what? Maybe I should stay out of it. You’re nothing without me anyway.”
