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“You woke up and put on my shirt, so you couldn’t have wanted to leave that badly.”
She looks down at the T-shirt and scrunches her brow. “I honestly don’t remember doing that. I probably got cold. I should leave now. Sorry I stayed.”
“Hey, wait, don’t be sorry. Let’s have breakfast. I’m glad you didn’t sneak off.”
“That’s exactly why I need to go. Do you know where my dress is?”
“Um, downstairs in the living room, I think. We were already naked when we came to my bedroom.”
Leila groans. “Fuck. I am so sorry about this. I didn’t mean it to happen. I knew I should’ve left when I said I was! Your charming brown eyes convinced me to stay.”
Okay, so that’s not exactly the reaction I was hoping for, but there’s still a chance. She did just wake up.
“I’ll make us some coffee, and we can talk about all this.”
“No, I’m leaving. I meant it last night. We need to keep things platonic. We’re not really together. One more month of our fake relationship, and then we have a break-up.”
“Leila, wait a second. Please, I think we should talk. I thought you’d changed your mind about what you said.”
She shakes her head. “I stand by it.”
“Then … but you started this last night. You kissed me.”
“I got caught up in the moment, that’s all. The movie, our legs touching on the couch … I was helpless!”
“You had to have wanted it.”
Leila’s face softens. She stands on the opposite side of the bed, so I do the same on my end. “I did want it. Maybe it was one last fling before we end things for good, I don’t know. I just need to get going.”
“Leila …”
“We can’t do this anymore. Sleeping together was a mistake every time. We both know it’s true, deep down. I’m not going to do it again.”
“Do we still get the last month?”
“Yeah, I guess. But no more private meetings. Everything we do has to be in public. That’s the point of our relationship, isn’t it?”
I stare at Leila, and when I don’t say anything, she leaves my bedroom and heads down the stairs. I’m dumbfounded for a moment. Is that really what Leila thinks? That all we are is what happens in public?
“Wait,” I yell as Leila slips on her dress. My shirt is on the couch where we made love last night. “I don’t want just public. I really like you, Leila. I think we should try to get together for real.”
“No,” she says, her voice harsh. “I told you yesterday it won’t work. We started out as fake. We should just keep it that way.”
“I don’t think you mean that. You proved last night that you wanted to be with me.”
“I proved that I wanted to have sex with you. That’s entirely different.”
“Is it? I’m not really about one-night stands.”
Leila scoffs. “Isn’t that why you had to fake date me? All those tabloids caught you with random girls throughout the years, and that, on top of your bar brawls, gave you a bad reputation. I’m supposed to fix that.”
“My dating life isn’t a question. Yeah, I’ve been photographed with those girls, but I thought you knew the real me.”
“I don’t! That’s part of the point. All I know is the fake version of us that has existed for a month.”
I step forward and take her hand in mine. She can’t meet my eyes.
“What we’ve had has been real. Maybe not for the first week but after that, it wasn’t about the pictures for me. I took you on those dates because I wanted to spend time with you. What about the coffee date? Isn’t that proof enough?”
“No, it’s not. Not for me. This relationship will always be fake in my head, and I can’t conflate it with something real. We’ll hurt each other in the end.”
“You’re already hurting me, Leila.”
“I know,” she says sadly. “But you’ll be okay. And maybe we shouldn’t keep doing the fake thing. Clearly, we can’t make it work.”
“I don’t want to lose you yet. Please, give me one more month.”
She sighs. “I don’t know. I’ll think about it.”
Leila walks to the door and is greeted with camera flashes as soon as she opens it.
“This is what I’m talking about!” she yells at me. “I can’t do this. I’m not built for this world.”
“Leila, please,” I say for the millionth time in the last two days. “We can figure this out. Get the hell off my private property!”
The camera people don’t listen. They never do. These are guys who have no lives and get off on stalking celebrities to take the picture worth the most money.
“I’m not even that famous!” I scream. “Why are you people here?”
They don’t answer me, but they keep taking pictures of a crying Leila as she jogs to her car. Thankfully, they let her get in without much resistance. There are only five of these guys, but that’s enough. Leila takes off out of the driveway with me trying to beg her to stay.
