But Connor is already moving again. He stops in front of a mural, pulls out his phone, and says, “Stand there.”
Something inside me shifts. “You sure you want me in this one?”
He pauses. Just for a second. Then he smiles. “Yeah. Of course.”
Of course.
I stand where he tells me to. I give him the smile he likes. And as the camera clicks, I realize I have not been invited into his homeland. I have been curated into it.
That night, we have dinner at a restaurant overlooking the water.
It’s romantic in the obvious way. Candlelight. Soft music. The kind of place that would absolutely work for a proposal. My heart won’t stop beating in my throat.
Connor seems relaxed now. Mission accomplished. The photos are posted. The engagement is high. He’s scrolling through comments while I pretend not to watch.
“You’re blowing up,” I say lightly.
He smirks. “Told you Ireland would hit.”
Ireland. Not us.
The waiter brings champagne. My pulse spikes. Connor didn’t order champagne. He lifts his glass. “To a successful trip.”
Successful.
I wait.
He takes a sip.
Still waiting.
Finally, he sets the glass down and looks at me fully for the first time all day. “Sage.” That tone. “I’ve been thinking.”
My stomach drops so fast I feel dizzy.
“This trip just kind of clarified some things for me. I’m at a point in my life where everything has to align,” he continues. “My brand. My partnerships. The direction I’m going.”
I stare at him. “And?”
“And I don’t think we’re aligned anymore.”
The room feels suddenly too small. “What are you talking about?”
He sighs like I’m missing something obvious. “You’re amazing. You know that.”
“But?”
“But you don’t really fit where I’m headed.”
I laugh, because it sounds insane out loud. “Fit?”
“I need someone who complements the image I’m building.”
I blink. “I’m your girlfriend. Not a throw pillow.”
He winces. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
