I move the covers off the plates and release the built-up steam as I try to wrap my head around what happened last night.

Too much wine.

Lots of appreciation for Ryot.

When Ryot started thinking about The Jock Report.

Banner’s news . . .

“Myla,” Ryot says, and immediately, that elephant in the room has reappeared, and there’s uncomfortable tension. “I . . . I don’t know . . . I mean, I had nothing to do with that. The ESPN stuff.”

“Why are you freaking out?” I ask, remaining as casual as I can while I put some eggs, fruit, and bacon on a plate for him. “It’s a big opportunity for you.”

“It is,” he says, a crease forming on his brow. “But I’m not worried about that right now. I’m worried about you and me.” He moves off the bed and puts on a pair of athletic shorts, his erection nowhere to be found now. “Tonight, well . . . tonight is the last night before we return to reality. And it’s still unclear what’s going on between us.”

“Yes, so, instead of worrying, how about we just focus on enjoying the rest of our time here?” I hand him the plate I just piled food on. He takes it but sets it down.

“Myla, maybe we should talk.”

“I don’t want to,” I say. “I want to just enjoy today. We can talk tomorrow. Okay?”

His Adam’s apple bobs, and there’s indecision heavy in his pupils. He wets his lips and then finally turns away. “Yeah, we can talk tomorrow.”

And just like that, the easy, flirty bubble we’ve lived in is popped by a fresh dose of reality.

Our marriage is uncertain.

Our future is hard to predict. I’m floating between loving this man to the end of time and fearful that the moment I take him back and ask for a second chance at love, he’ll retreat into himself again. Leaving me very much alone.

This new opportunity is a direct example of that. It would solidify our time in California because I’m sure he’d have to be close to a studio. There’d be no chance we’d return to Chicago. I wouldn’t be near Nichole, and I would still probably be miserable.

I’m not sure I could suffer through that again.

But when he looks at me, when he holds me, when he’s so deep inside me I feel like he’s touching my soul, I know there’s no way I’ll ever be able to let him go because I love him more than anything. And I’m not sure anything will change that.

I pick up a croissant, spread some jam on it, and instead of sitting next to him on the bed, I opt for a chair across the room. I pull my legs up into my chest and munch on my croissant.

And we both sit in silence, him eating his breakfast while I munch on mine.

* * *

Myla: Nichole, I don’t know what to do.