The room tilts.
The puzzle pieces slide into place with painful clarity.
Oh.
Oh.
My cheeks burn hot.My chest feels tight.The kiss.The groping.The performative, look-at-us of it all.I was a message.A show.Not the woman he loves.
My stomach lurches.
“I need a minute,” I say, voice scraping.
He finally looks down at me, blinking like he’s just remembered I have feelings, too.“What?Why?We’re fine.You’re fine.”
“I don’t feel well,” I manage.“I’m going to the bathroom.”
“Don’t be long,” he says, already distracted by someone calling his name.
I make it to the bathroom on shaky legs.The polished tile and bright lights hit too hard.I grip the edge of the sink and breathe, trying to keep my vision from narrowing to that sharp little point it does before everything goes black.
You’re okay, I tell myself.You’re just tired.Just overwhelmed.It’s fine.It’s fine.It’s...
The door swings open.Her perfume hits before her voice does, something expensive and...“Wow,” Brielle drawls.“He really did a number on you.”
I look at her in the mirror.She’s flawless, of course.Red dress, sleek hair, lipstick not at all smudged by someone else’s desperation.
“I don’t have the energy for you,” I say, turning on the tap just to have something to do with my hands.“Whatever this is you’re trying to do?Whatever game you think this is.I’m not playing.”
She laughs.“Game I’m playing?Oh, sweetheart.You really don’t have a clue, do you?”
I grit my teeth.“I’m not your sweetheart.”
“No,” she agrees, stepping closer.“You’re his.For now.”
She eyes my dress, my hair, the pain in my expression I’m trying to smother.
“Do you think this is real?”she asks, head tilted.“You and him.Do you actually think you’re here tonight because of love?”
Anger flares, cutting through the nausea.“I’m here because he asked me to be.”
“I bet he begged you to be,” she says calmly.“You know why?Because he has clauses to satisfy.An image to repair.Boxes to tick.”
I turn to face her fully.“You don’t know anything about us.”
“Oh, I know more than you think.”She leans a hip against the counter and crosses her arms.“You really think management hasn’t been all over this?Golden boy fucks up his image after a messy public breakup...Golden boy needs a good redemption story.And then...Enter you...Little Miss Cowgirl Angel with the rescue animals and the tragic backstory.They worshipped our brand once…” she waves a hand between us, “but you?You’re fresh.New.Untouched by scandal.You’re not just his girlfriend, Tessa.You’re a campaign.”
I feel like she slapped me.
“That’s not true,” I say, but my voice cracks.
She smiles, “You think the kiss tonight was just for you?You think the key-in-the-tunnel moment wasn’t on the vision boards?PR has been drooling over this story since the moment they realized the camera loves you more than it loves him.”
I shake my head, but the memories flood in without my permission.
The“social official” selfie.
The way PR lights up every time I show up anywhere near him.
