He sat beside me.
Chloe smiled nervously.
“I’m Chloe.”
“I know.”
Her smile faltered.
“And this is Ethan,” my mother added unnecessarily.
Lorenzo looked at him again.
“I know that too.”
Ethan put down his glass.
I leaned slightly toward Lorenzo.
“How do you know everybody?” I whispered.
His answer was quiet enough for only me to hear.
“I know who matters to people who matter to me.”
My pulse stumbled.
That had not been part of our arrangement.
Neither had the way his thumb briefly brushed the side of my hand beneath the table.
Ethan noticed.
Of course he did.
“So,” he said, trying to recover, “how long has this been going on?”
Lorenzo looked at me rather than answering.
He was letting me decide.
It was such a small thing, but after months of people deciding what I should feel, what I should forgive, and what version of the truth I was permitted to tell, the choice felt enormous.
“Long enough,” I said.
Ethan laughed without humor.
“That’s convenient.”
“Ethan,” Chloe murmured.
“No, I’m curious.
Scarlet disappears after our breakup and suddenly she’s dating Lorenzo Moretti?”
Our breakup.
There it was again.
The polite lie I had built for him.
I looked at Chloe.
Her eyes dropped.
My father shifted uncomfortably at the end of the table.
My mother gave me the warning look.
I knew exactly what she wanted.
Protect the evening.
Protect your sister.
Protect the man who betrayed you.
I reached for my napkin.
Then I stopped.
“No,” I said.
My mother frowned.
“No what?”
“No more calling it our breakup like we mutually decided we weren’t compatible.”
Chloe went pale.
Ethan’s jaw tightened.
“Scarlet,” my mother said.
I turned toward her.
“You invited me here to celebrate them.
Fine.
But you don’t get to make me lie while I do it.”
My father finally lifted his eyes.
Ethan leaned forward.
“Maybe tonight isn’t the place for this.”
I almost laughed.
