Page 165 of I’m The Worst

David pulls out the chair across from me. “Would you sit with me for a minute?”

I hate that he asks in a way that implies I have a choice. I slowly lower myself back into the chair. A waitress appears beside the table instantly. David doesn’t even look at the menu.

“Bring her something with protein.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You haven’t eaten.”

I glare at him. “How do you know that?”

He just smiles.

Fuck off.

We’ve barely spoken outside of Sovereign events and wedding meetings. A handful of dinners with a few forced conversations. Hours of my life spent listening to people discuss centerpieces and guest lists while David sat beside me, a complete stranger.

The waitress scurries away while silence stretches between us. I reach for my champagne again, but David leans forward slightly.

“Maybe something without alcohol this time.”

My fingers curl tighter around the stem of the glass as he rests his forearms on the table.

“You’ve had a difficult few weeks.”

I immediately hate where this conversation is going. “I’m fine.”

“Autumn.”

My shoulders tense at my name. It’s always Autumn.

“You’re not fine.”

“How insightful.”

His jaw tics. “I don’t need you to like me. You don’t even need to trust me right now. But we will get married. And when we do, you will behave accordingly.”

The empty chairs across from us scrape softly against the marble floor.

The interruption feels like a lifeline, even if it’s from the last people I want to see. At least the conversation about my “behavior” and our inevitable marriage has been halted. For now.

I glance up as Commander Harrington slides into it, wearing a crisp navy suit, silver cufflinks, every inch the polished politician. Devin settles into the chair beside him a second later, smoothing the pale-blue skirt of her dress beneath her legs.

“Commander.” David inclines his head in greeting.

“Dinner ran late last night,” Harrington says. “Thought we’d join you.”

Devin smiles. “Morning, AJ.”

I force a smile back.

She looks…perfect. Honey-blonde hair tucked neatly behind one ear. Diamond studs catching the light. Not a wrinkle in her dress. Not a single strand of hair out of place.

Seeing her sours my already shitty mood. She hasn’t been anything but kind to me. Which somehow makes me resent her even more.

I used to think I was a better person than this. Someone who could be happy for people. Someone who didn’t look at another woman and feel jealous. Now I can’t even fake enthusiasm. Can’t even pretend to be decent. I just sit here, quietly rotting from the inside out.

Maybe trauma really does change you. Maybe it takes pieces you don’t notice until they’re gone.