“Man,” I eventually say. “Honestly, I thought your biggest admission was going to be that you actually hated the sweaters I bought you each Christmas.”
“No, unfortunately not.”
“But I don’t know if all that is so much a red flag as it’s just a really sad thing that happened in your life.”
“It was sad, but there were ripples from there on out, too. I started doubting myself—on a personal level and in business. And now, in the event that I’m ever actually starting to feel good about myself, I then have the opportunity to check in on Lily’s social media to see how fantastic her life is without me in it.”
I give him an empathetic look as my phone dings. I pull it out of my bag and see a text from Roshni:
Just an FYI, Ollie is sleeping in the penthouse with us tonight (he and Juliette are having a movie night on the couch), so if you’d like to stay out or have someone stay over for a clothing-optional sleepover, the time is now. All it will cost you is detailed notes and descriptions. Bye!
I roll my eyes a bit and am about to put my phone away when I suddenly rethink it, instead opening up Instagram. “What’s Lily’s last name? Would it be weird for you if I looked her up?”
“No weirder than your typical behavior. Go ahead.” He tells me her name, and I quickly type it into the app. Then I gasp. “Holy hell! She has half a million followers!”
“Yes, and they unanimously hate me.”
I continue to scroll, seeing gorgeously curated picture after gorgeously curated picture of Lily’s house and vacations and then a disturbingly handsome brunet specimen of a man. I keep scrolling and soon see a stampede of flawless wedding photos.
“She remarried that quickly?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“She did. It was a whirlwind romance, and with a professional football player, no less. But she’s a good person, and I’m happy she’s happy. He’s much better suited to her life than I was. And her followers, of course, continue to give him rave reviews.”
I glance up from my phone then, switching the screen off as I look over at Liam. He’s smiling, but I’m starting to see the bruises—the ripples, as he calls them. It makes me want to shield him. Keep all the trolls away so he can have enough time to heal. Going through a divorce is hard enough, but going through a divorce and then continuing to compare yourself to a lusted-after athlete seems particularly harsh.
“Sometimes things just aren’t meant to be,” I offer weakly.
“Yes, that was the quote on the Valentine’s Day card I got from my mother this year.”
We both laugh a little, and the fact that Liam can joke his way through what must be one of his biggest disappointments speaks volumes.
“So, this was fun, right?” I ask sarcastically.
“Tremendous fun. A terrific bonding experience.”
“Yeah, in hindsight, maybe this wasn’t the best third date icebreaker I’ve ever come up with.”
“Possibly not, but we do have twenty minutes left. Are you ready to take the stage?”
“I couldn’t,” I say with feigned shyness, immediately standing up.
He smirks and reaches for my hand, both of us pulling each other into a standing position. He walks with me to the stairs that connect to the very front of the stage. I start to ascend, but he stays where he is.
“Come on,” I say, giving his arm a tug.
“No, I’m distinctly an audience dweller. You go ahead.”
I begrudgingly let him go and slowly wander the space until I find myself center stage, looking out.
“When I auditioned for my college drama program, I had to perform a piece from Shakespeare. I was pretty proud of it in the end.”
“Which piece did you do?” he asks.
“Titania’s monologue fromA Midsummer Night’s Dream.”
“I can see why you’d be drawn to it. You do look quite spritely.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.”
