“Still.” I shake my head. “I feel terrible.”

“It’s fine!” She cuts me off and, despite her smile, her voice is hard and a little gruff, causing me to quickly shut my mouth.

I take my seat, looking at Nash as he sits back down, his shoulders tight and his jaw clenched. Anna joins him, exhaling before smiling between Harley and me. She finishes what’s left of her wine, holding the empty glass in the air and beckoning the waiter. If she isn’t drunk already, she sure is on a mission to get as wasted as possible. I flash Harley a sideways glance, but he remains oblivious as he studies the menu. Something is wrong. Between Nash’s obvious tension, and Anna calling him a little bitch, could there be some sort of trouble in paradise? I can’t help but grin to myself as I look down at my own menu, my mind working overtime with thoughts I certainly shouldn’t be thinking.

Halfway through our dinner, Anna is already onto her third glass of wine.

I’m certainly not one to judge. I’ve been known to knock back a sixer of beer in one sitting. But, there’s just something so glaringly obvious within her normally flawless demeanor, something hinting at the fact that she isn’t drinking just to get a buzz on. She’s drinking to get drunk.

“Anna, babe,” Nash says. “Let me top up your water.” He stands, reaching for the bottle of sparkling and leaning across to fill her glass.

“Thanks,” Anna says with a smile, her teeth gritting together. “But I would really like another glass of wine.”

“That will be your fourth.” Nash smiles just as tight. “And you didn’t eat lunch.”

She looks at him, blinking once, her silence speaking volumes I’m sure she means only him to understand.

“Remember what happened last time?” he hisses, leaning in closer.

I quickly avert my eyes when Anna turns, her gaze flashing to mine momentarily before searching the patio for a waiter.

“So.” I clear my throat, squaring my shoulders and pretending as if I’m not uncomfortable as all hell. I smile. “How did everything go in the city? Did you get the dress?”

Anna doesn’t answer. I’m not sure she even heard me.

“Yeah.” Nash nods, casting a glance at his fiancée who is no longer paying attention to anything other than the whereabouts of the waiter with the wine bottle. “We collected it from the designer’s store,” he adds before shoving a forkful of food into his mouth.

“That’s good.” I’m unsure what else I should say. Small talk really isn’t working. I decide in that moment that I would actually rather the two of them to be sucking face than this unbearable tension they’ve got going on. I look down at my plate, no longer hungry, thinking how this night is actually worse than my ill-fated date with Tom. I glance at Harley, realizing how quiet he’s being. I’m so relieved that he showed up. There’s no way I could’ve handled this on my own, but he isn’t even talking. He’s doing little to help the situation. But when I take him in, noticing the beads of sweat collecting on his brow, the way he’s breathing a little heavier than necessary, that’s when it hits me. Oh no …