“And if it’s about the wedding dress—you’re right. Let’s forget about it. I’ll have a re-custom one made for you by a top designer. How’s that?”
His face was full of expectation, as though I should feel grateful for his ‘effort’.
I glanced at his phone, where he was scrolling through images of extravagant wedding gowns, but my interest had long since faded.
None of it mattered anymore. I was leaving soon.
I gently pushed his phone away and handed the flowers back to him. “Pick whatever you like. My professor is waiting for me.”
As I turned to walk away, Vincent grabbed my hand, “Claire,” he said, his voice trembling slightly, “what’s wrong with you? What’s really going on?”
For the first time, his expression was filled with confusion, even a hint of panic and loss.
What’s wrong with me?
What was wrong was that I had already decided to leave. But I didn’t want to argue, so I patted Vincent’s hand gently.
“We’ll talk about it after I’m done, okay?”
***
My professor was thrilled with the success of my latest paper.