Chapter 4

"Enough. You just want the photos, right? Let Frances shoot in your place, and we'll edit them to look like you afterward. I'm busy."

Something in my chest twisted, and I couldn't say why.

I'd booked this shoot half a year in advance. Xavier knew how much I'd been looking forward to it.

I said nothing for a long moment.

"What's with the sour face? If your figure were even worth looking at, we wouldn't have to trouble Frances."

Frances slid her arm through Xavier's, feigning reluctance.

"Let it go. A girl like Lauren must have been dying to do a shoot like this. It was thoughtless of me. Don't be angry with her."

Xavier looked at me, brows drawn tight.

"Learn something from Frances. Don't be so precious."

Only then did I finally speak.

"Fine. The photos are yours."

And so am I—no more.

The next second, the ringtone of a video call sounded from Xavier's phone.

It was his mother.

"Xavier, your father says you've got a girlfriend now. Who is she?"

Xavier glanced at me, then instantly turned the camera toward Frances.

"So it's Frances. Here I was, worried. Day after tomorrow I'll come see you two."

The three of them chatted like one warm family.

And I, standing behind the phone screen, was a clown doing a one-person act.

I quietly changed out of the clothes and left the photo studio.

Xavier didn't so much as notice.

Back home, I packed a few things. For all these years, I'd told my parents again and again that he was responsible, that he had promise.

But in his eyes, I was someone who couldn't be shown to his parents.

Xavier came back at dusk.

He saw my packed luggage and simply took it as what we'd need for the trip to my parents' place the day after tomorrow.

"Lauren, are you upset?"

I zipped the suitcase shut and shook my head.

"Come on, you know how things stand for me right now. My parents are very traditional. They need time to adjust. When the chance comes, I'll tell them."

There it was again. When the chance comes.

Just to let his parents know I existed—in five years, I'd heard that line no fewer than ten times.

And yet Frances could be shown to his parents so easily.

"Be good. Day after tomorrow, go to the airport and wait for me first. Once I've handled things on my mom's end, I'll come find you at the airport, and we'll fly home together."

I stood and studied the man in front of me one last time.

When exactly had he changed—or had he always been like this.

Xavier saw me looking at him and thought I still cared too much, and pulled me into his arms.

Early on the third day, Xavier left to bring Frances to meet his mother.

And I dragged my suitcase out of the home where three people had lived for five years, the home I'd swallowed everything to keep.

As I walked into the airport, a new post appeared on Frances's feed.

"Mom Harding's cooking. The dishes he picked out for me."

I deleted her from my contacts and walked through security.

By the time Xavier reached the airport, he was already an hour past the time we'd agreed on.

The explanation he sent me was:

"Frances lives kind of far. I came over as soon as I dropped her off."

He circled the airport for a long while and never saw me, never got a word from me.

Worried he'd miss the flight, he headed to board—only to be stopped at the gate.

"Mr. Harding, according to our records, your ticket was canceled three days ago."

Xavier was about to message me to ask why when a red exclamation mark popped up on his screen.