That became another conversation.
Then another.
A week later, we had dinner.
No scripted backstory.
No fake careers.
No instructions about where to place his hand.
I learned Julian loved terrible action movies.
He learned I secretly read celebrity gossip when I couldn’t sleep.
He cooked.
Badly.
I made fun of him.
He took me to a small theater where he was rehearsing a play.
I watched him become someone completely different under the stage lights.
There was no grand moment when our fake relationship became real.
It happened slowly.
One dinner became four.
Four became weekends together.
Then one night, three months after Mason’s wedding, Julian reached for my hand while we were walking home.
There was nobody watching.
No ex-husband.
No bride.
No audience.
He didn’t need to perform.
Neither did I.
So I let him hold it.
Eight months have passed since that wedding.
I heard through mutual friends that Mason and Vanessa did stay married.
