He stretches out his arm, offering me his hand.
I feel eyes on us, just as throughout the day, eager to pick apart every moment and analyze our every gesture.
Pretending exhausts me, and it takes everything in me not to shoutstop.
“I’ve got you,” he says behind a smile full of understanding.
I nod and slip mine into his, our wedding bands clank together, echoing with the reminder that he is mine just as much.
Sadly, it’s based on deception. On lies.
It’s not real. Nothing is.
I don’t think he’s incapable of feelings. He simply thinks more. Feels less.
On the dance floor, he swings me around. Surrounded by his heady scent and his powerful arms, everything else stills, making me feel less exposed. It’s familiar. Intimate.
I barely hold on to the tears that threaten to betray my frayed state.
“I hate you. I hate you so much,” I whisper, my voice breaking.
“Hate me then,mo run. If that helps,” he says, sounding dejected.
Nothing ever helps.
“Have I told you how beautiful you look today?”
I sigh, glaring at him. “Just a few times. I don’t know what you’re trying to achieve.”
His eyes shine with unadulterated awe. “Nothing. Just stating facts.”
With every verse of the love song, he spins a sinuous web around me, forgetting what he did. Luckily for my well-being, not for long.
Other couples join us on the dance floor, and when the song ends, I excuse myself, needing a moment.
I lock the bathroom door behind me and lean back, inhaling and exhaling in a soothing rhythm, hoping to get a grip on my frail composure.
There’s a knock on my door, causing a sigh to escape my mouth. Not even five damn minutes can I be on my own.
I open it with fake cheer, only to find a beautiful pregnant woman.
“Sorry, my bladder is killing me,” she says apologetically.
“No problem.” I retreat to make room for her, noticing a man a few feet away, staring at the guards in silent warning, posted in front of the door like sentinels.
“Do you need help?” I ask and close the door, following her inside.
“Thank you. I’m fine, just counting the days. My daughter is taking her time. My son was the opposite.”
A genuine smile tugs at the corners of my mouth, and she says, “I’m Dahlia.”
“Viviana. Nice to meet you.”
Waiting for her to finish in the stall, I grip the sink to collect myself, enjoying some peace, the few more moments on my own.
When she comes out, I plaster a smile on my face, but a second too late, and she notices my slip.
Keep your shit together, Viviana.
