Thank god he wasn’t there. Doing the mid-slope splits that nearly stretched a hole in the butt of my pants, while the designer of said pants was watching, was probably one of my top ten embarrassing moments of all time, and that’s coming from the same girl who vomited on Jason Lee’s shoes during an audition.

“I’ve had worse falls during dance practice.” I smile, waving off his concern. I scan the menu. There are a million meat options—everything’s a loin of something. I finally spot a gnocchi starter that sounds sort of light. With my nerves racing like they are, I’m not sure I could handle a full entrée. Hey waitress, can I get a side of “I might be freaking out mashed potatoes” to go with the “or maybe I should just quit fashion while I’m ahead salad?”

Our orders placed, we spend the next few minutes making small talk, sharing stories about learning to ski growing up—me in the Catskills, him at Killington, though the whole time I’m trying to keep my body from shaking. I tell him about how Leah and I used to mix up Sweden and Switzerland, until our family started calling them “Meatball” and “Cheese.” Alex laughs politely, but I know I’m scraping the bottom of the barrel for conversation topics. I go for another sip of wine and am surprised to find my glass is already three-quarters gone. Well, I guess it’s time to get down to it. Maybe there’s no polite or natural or not-awkward way to do this, but it has to be done.

“Hey, so where did you go during the shoot today?” I ask, chickening out. I reach over and top off my wineglass, adding a splash to Alex’s as well. I am starting to feel it go to my head. I need to be careful. This night is not about “Cheese” or “Meatball”; it’s about the biggest choice I’ve ever had to make—one I still haven’t decided on, even as I take just one more small sip of the wine…

“Um, actually, I was dealing with this,” he answers, pulling out his phone. He taps something on his screen, and slides it over to me. I blink in surprise. It’s a series of email chains, all to Alex, from various news outlets. I scan a few subject lines, and quickly realize they’ve been bombarding him with questions about our relationship, and his involvement in my fashion line. There’s also about a million social media notifications—netizens accusing him of shattering the Girls Forever snow globe, assuming I left the villa to go live with him.