I’ve memorized every detail in this place.It has been the backdrop for our countless dinners.
A sharp, unexpected pang of sadness pierces my chest.
This will be our last time here together.
I remember the first time James brought me to The Sterling, back when we had just started seeing each other.Everything felt fresh and thrilling.My mind went completely blank, overwhelmed by the level of luxury I hadn’t known existed.I felt out of place then, an imposter in a world of tailored suits and designer dresses.And now, many visits later, that feeling still lingers.This place, with its opulent décor and hushed whispers, never grew on me.
“Miss Beckett, good evening.”Jake’s voice, tinged with warmth, cuts through my thoughts.“Welcome back.We haven’t seen you in some time.You look lovely as always.”
“Jake, hello.”I am genuinely relieved to see a familiar face.“It’s so nice to see you.”
“And you,” he returns, his smile lines crinkling.
He leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a confidential tone.“And I gotta say, Miss Beckett, honestly, I’m so glad you’ve moved on.You deserve much better, if you don’t mind me saying.”
Moved on?
He thinks James and I broke up?
Oblivious to my turmoil, Jake continues with a wry shake of his head, “Between you and me, you made the right choice.Some of the company Mr.Devlin’s been bringing in lately…” He trails off.“You’re a breath of fresh air compared to the, shall we say, moreboisterousones.”He straightens up, his professional demeanor returning.“Anyway, can I offer you something to drink while you wait?”
Swallowing hard against the lump in my throat, I find myself incapable of correcting him.
What for?
It will be true soon enough.
I grip the linen napkin, my fingers crushing the smooth fabric.“Just water for now, Jake,” I manage, my voice strained.
“Flat, correct?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Flat and deflated.
Jake nods and retreats, leaving me alone with the gnawing unease taking root in the pit of my stomach.
Boisterous ones.
The words echo in my mind.
James with other women at this restaurant.
Even at this very table, maybe.
This place, meant to be ours, where our love grew one extravagant meal at a time.Suspecting is one thing.Having it confirmed by a familiar face with no reason to lie is quite another.I look at the opulent décor with fresh eyes.The grandeur now feels hollow.
The Sterling has become as unfamiliar to me as my fiancé.
I pull out my phone, cool against my clammy hands.
No messages.No calls.
I type out a quick text:
Running late?
I hit send, then stare at the screen, willing a response.
