It was in poor taste to arrive late to a date, no matter how fashionable one might think it.

The restaurant was full of the melancholy tones of live violins as an elegant woman in a black dress performed for the patrons who supped in decadent candlelight, lost in their conversations, which flowed as melodically and easily as the tune. The wait staff were attentive, appearing as if from the folds of the shadows with bottles ready to fill glasses, sweeping in to relieve diners of empty plates, picking lulls in conversation to offer assistance to their patrons rather than interrupt a tender moment or kind word.

Rarely for an establishment such as this, a man sat alone at his table, his right hand reaching for the watch on his left wrist. Catching himself, he drew his hand back and moved it down into his lap, gripping his thigh instead and feeling his knuckles tense. It had taken all the courage he had to make the call, to ask the question, to hope that she might answer the phone, never mind agree.

‘She’s stood you up, you idiot,’ he told himself. ‘You knew that she would, and you still showed up.’

With each second crawling by, surrounded by doting couples, David became more and more aware of his isolation at his table, of his solitary existence, of how sad and pathetic he must seem to these strangers. He imagined that their whispers and smiles were at his expense, that they were smirking and wondering whether he would wait all night for someone who wouldn’t show up. His breath caught at the back of his throat, his heart beat in a frenzy inside his chest, and again he found himself reaching for his left wrist to turn the watch and check the time, hoping, hoping, hoping that she would stop him.

‘David?’ a female voice asked from behind the empty chair opposite him.

David exhaled, and with this long breath, he let go of his panic, his anxiety and felt his shoulders relaxed inside of his freshly laundered white shirt. He stood and smiled, his expression devoid of any stress or frustration, and he felt his natural charm return to his face and gestures. ‘Emily, you made it. Traffic?’ he asked lightly.

‘No,’ she replied with a smile. The mono-syllabic utterance a lance to the gut. ‘The roads were free and clear all the way.’

‘Oh.’ The smile wavered, the mask cracking momentarily before he recovered. ‘Well, I suppose I can allow a few minutes. I was probably early. Do you want me to…?’ he asked, gesturing toward the chair.

Emily pulled the chair out before he could step out to assist her. ‘I can manage,’ she said. The smile never left her lips, yet even in this low light, he could tell that it didn’t reach her eyes. It was practiced, guarded, painted on just like the deep maroon adorning her sweet, delicious mouth.

Unwilling to drop the façade of being a gentleman, David waited for her to take her seat before he returned to his. Silence settled between the pair, and it grated on him, making his skin itch, driving him to raise a hand to rub at the back of his neck. He caught and checked himself, forcing his hand back down onto the table and wincing when the silverware clattered beneath it. The pair at the nearest table had noticed. The woman had cast him a disapproving glance. The man, on the other hand, provided him a reassuring smile, no doubt thinking David a man on a first date who’d already succumbed to his nerves.

How wrong he was.

‘You look great,’ David said, opting for the easiest compliment in his repertoire.

It wasn’t a lie.

The Emily that he remembered was nothing like the Goddess sitting before him.

She hadn’t undergone some dramatic transformation, there was no sign of a surgeon’s knife about her, no bottle-blonde dye-job, and she hadn’t undertaken some radical diet. No, Emily had always been perfectly average in terms of her height, weight, and her brunette locks, but that was one of her best qualities. She had always been herself, but a calm, muted version of herself who was content to applaud others on their accomplishments while only modestly thinking of her own. A kind, gentle girl who had put others first, who had been meek and sweet, who had been obedient and loyal.

His Emily had been all soft edges and warm gazes.

This Emily was hard lines and steely confidence. She was straight-backed and measured smiles, rehearsed words, and carefully placed barbs, immaculate make-up and hair that was so sleek David wanted to reach out and touch it but was certain that his hand would be swatted away. This was an Emily that he would place upon a pedestal and gaze at from afar, not an Emily that he could bring into his arms on a cold night to make himself feel better.

An Emily who only needed him.

Hesitation gripped David as he fought to find the words that he’d called her here to say. Silence settled across the vastness of the table, the candle flame between them flickering as his heavy, uncomfortable breath wafted into its path.

‘Thank you,’ she said at last.

Another pause.

Emily didn’t return the compliment, and the weight of the absence of a kind word sat heavy in David’s stomach. She moved her hands to the napkin on her plate and took it down slowly, settling the fabric across her lap.

‘They have a good pâte, here,’ David said as Emily reached for the menu. ‘That was always your favorite to start.’

Emily drew the menu closer and opened it atop her clean white plate. ‘My tastes have changed since we last had dinner together,’ she said. Her gaze was downcast upon the embossed pages, taking in the offerings painfully slowly. ‘But I’m surprised you remember what I used to order. We didn’t get out to dinner much, did we?’

Heat flushed David’s cheeks. ‘Well, no, but that’s probably why it stands out more.’

Emily closed the menu. With a smile, she reminded him, ‘You always used to order for both of us.’

‘Yeah,’ David said, laughing nervously. ‘Yeah, I did do that. I could again, if you –’

‘No, thank you,’ she said. ‘I can manage.’

‘I’m starting to see that.’

Emily opened the menu again and turned to the main courses. With her gaze averted, David took a moment to steady his breath and his nerves. If the conversation continued in this stagnant manner, then he would never get to the key point of the conversation, the whole reason he’d gotten back in touch after so many years, why he was making an utter fool of himself all for the sake of this one woman.

Naturally, his own gaze began to wander as she perused the options before her. He was drawn to the criminally low plunging neckline of her dress, the way her chest rose and fell with each slow, measured breath. He thought of the hollow of her neck, of the kisses he’d once placed there against her supple skin, wondering if the ghost of them might linger still. As he pondered upon how many other men may have covered his marks with their own since they’d parted, he felt heat beneath his skin, and his hands balled into fists, his fingernails digging into his palms.

‘David,’ Emily’s voice cut through the haze of anger at these imagined foes which had begun to settle upon him, ‘are you ready to order?’

A waiter stood patiently at her elbow. Although the man’s expression was neutral, David couldn’t help but think that he’d noticed his long appreciation of Emily’s assets and that he had been thinking of anything other than the meal he would soon be expected to choke down.

‘Oh, I, uh –’

‘Why don’t I order for both of us?’ Emily offered.

She didn’t wait for his reply and turned to the waiter. They conversed easily, and she had plenty of genuine smiles to share for the young man who was all too happy to help her with the menu. David bristled with envy.

Where were his smiles?

Where was his laughter?

Why had she come out to dinner if she was going to share such intimate, precious moments with some lowly member of the staff and not with him?

The nails were back in his palms and his breath was measured, each taking far more effort to control than the last. David moved his hands beneath the table, hiding his frustration behind that ever-flawless smile of his, never allowing that mask to slip lest she realize the desperation and desire hiding behind it.

When the food was ordered, David had no idea what he would be expecting for his dinner when it arrived. Emily rested one hand in her lap and the other reached for the glass of wine beside her. David had been so keenly focused on not expressing his annoyance that he’d paid no attention to the second member of staff filling said glasses and telling them to enjoy their evening. Not trusting his grip at that moment, he didn’t reach for his glass in turn, knowing that he would likely snap the stem and cause a scene if he couldn’t bring his emotions back under control.

The heady aroma of wine, sizzling meats, and heavy, decadent, steaming plates of food surrounded them. David might have already been drunk on the atmosphere on any other night, had he been with any other person. As it was, he was with the one person he couldn’t relax around, and that upset him. It hurt him. It wounded him deeply. This woman had once felt like home to him, like a calm ocean after a tumultuous storm, like a security blanket around his uneasy shoulders.

He’d missed her, his for-sure, always certain, always waiting Emily.

Not this creature.

Not this woman who was all ice and control and confidence without feeling.

There was, however, a glimmer of hope for seeing that old Emily again. The Emily that he’d invited to this dinner in the first place, the Emily who’d once filled his heart and his life with joy. He had seen her when she’d been kind to the waiter. The man had been undeserving of that display, of course, but it had afforded him a chance to catch a glimpse of the woman he’d begun to fear had faded to naught but a memory.

‘I was surprised when I got your call,’ Emily said.

‘Were you?’ David asked. ‘I mean, of course you were. It’s been –’

‘Five years.’

‘Five? Feels like less than that.’

‘It’s five,’ Emily affirmed.

‘Well, I’m glad you agreed to come out,’ he said. ‘Gives us a chance to catch up. Talk about what we’ve been up to, you know?’

‘You could have just read my social media pages for that,’ Emily said. ‘My Instagram isn’t set to private.’

‘I know,’ David agreed. He almost grimaced at his eagerness to confess that he’d found her Instagram account and scrolled through every photograph that he could stomach to see. ‘I mean, I know that I could have looked you up like that, but it’s impersonal, isn’t it? And, it’s been so long, we should be able to sit down like adults and… talk.’

‘We should,’ she agreed, ‘but you seem to be skirting around the subject of choice.’

It wasn’t a lie.

It was the subject he was desperate to move the conversation onto, and it was the one that he feared the most.

Sweat beaded at the back of his neck, clinging to his hairline and enticing David to wipe it away. He refused, keeping his hands firmly set in his lap and resisting the urge. This wasn’t a time to express weakness. It was a time to be strong, assertive, to reclaim what he knew belonged to him.

‘I just don’t think it’s something we should talk about so early in the evening,’ he said. ‘We don’t even have our starters yet. How’s work? What are you doing these days?’

Emily’s eyes pinched in annoyance. ‘Work’s fine,’ she said. ‘I’m an architect. Still. Shocking, I know.’

‘I’m still at the bank,’ David said. She hadn’t asked, but he was going to keep this line of conversation going for as long as possible. ‘I’ve been promoted. Bigger paycheque, nicer flat. Going up in the world.’

‘I’ve found that it’s always easy to move up in the world when you’re already at the lowest point.’

Ouch.

David cleared his throat softly. ‘I suppose that I deserve that. Maybe we both do. I know we didn’t end on good terms, but –’

‘But you think that now is a good time to put all of that behind us and reconcile?’ Emily asked. She took a long sip of her wine before gently placing the glass back onto the table. ‘You think that we should have another go at things?’

Relief flooded through David. She’d reached the difficult point of the conversation without his having to steer her into it by force. Emily had always been an astute woman, always able to read his moods, always able to appease and comfort him when he needed it. Of course, she would be able to figure out what he’d wanted the moment that he’d called her and asked her to come to dinner. Besides, she’d probably been thinking the same thing. Five years was a long time to be apart from your first love, and he was doing so well for himself that she would be a fool not to want to patch things up and take advantage of the comfort and security that he could provide.

No one else knew what she’d been through after the accident.

He’d been there to pick up the pieces, to remind her that she was loved by him, more than anyone else.

That she only needed him.

That she needed to remember how good he was to her.

How unaffected he was by it.

How other people would see her.

But not him, oh no.

Never him.

‘Emily, I’m really not the man that I used to be,’ he said. ‘I want you to have a career. I want you to be the woman that I come home to every night. I want to be able to say that you’re mine, that I’ve supported your success, that I’m cheering you on. Won’t you let me have that?’

Emily sat back in her chair, taking in his declarations, and considering them carefully.

David didn’t want to interrupt. He swallowed down more and more promises and feeble begging desires for fear that he would scare her off. David knew that Emily’s career was where her heart was and that telling her that he wouldn’t take it away from her was key to getting her back, to possessing her heart again.

Emily leaned forwards, and David mirrored her, utterly captivated by the woman his heart had longed for ever since he’d rediscovered her. No, ever since he’d let her slip through his fingers.

‘You didn’t ask me what I wanted,’ she said.

‘What?’

‘You told me what you wanted, David. You didn’t ask me what I wanted.’

David opened and closed his mouth wordlessly. ‘No… No, I… I don’t think that I… Well, what do you want?’

Emily squared her shoulders. ‘I want to get on with my life. I want to be able to post photographs on my social media feeds without someone mass-liking them late on a Friday night. I want to be able to celebrate my engagement without my ex-boyfriend calling me because he’s suddenly remembered that he can’t live without me.’ Emily rose from her seat. She took her time to put her jacket back on and slipped her handbag strap back onto her shoulder. ‘I want to forget all the nights that I’d almost found the strength to leave you before you wore me down and told me that no one else would ever love me. That I was broken. Damaged after my accident. That I was barely human anymore because a part of me was missing. I want to forget the bruises, David. The ones you left inside and out. I want to forget you.’

David shrank with every word, his chest constricting as he sank back into the chair. The charm was gone, the mask and the swagger, and all that remained was a pale man who knew for certain now that everyone in the restaurant was, at last, staring at him, whispering about him, shaking their heads and judging him for dragging this poor woman away from her fiancé because he couldn’t let her be happy unless it was with him.

Because he couldn’t accept that she wasn’t his.

Because he couldn’t accept that it was over.

Because he’d used her pain and trauma to control her.

Because he had hurt her.

‘It took everything I had to get away from you,’ Emily said, righteous venom oozing from every word, ‘and I intend to stay away from you for the rest of my life. Enjoy your dinner, David. I hope that you choke on it.’

David wanted to stand as she turned and walked away, but the strength had been sapped from his body.

Emily, on the other hand, walked tall and proud, her prosthetic leg lending her the power she needed to stand on her own and tread her own path in life. It was a path that had long since diverged from the one that she’d shared with David and had taken her to happier, more fortunate places. The leg was her ally, propping her up, supporting her, never slowing her down. It wasn’t the handicap that David had always told her. It hadn’t taken anything away from her on the night of the accident at the start of their relationship. The only thing that had stolen pieces of Emily was David, and she’d finally taken them back the night that leg had carried her out of his life.

Slowly, the music in the restaurant resumed, meals were served, and normality was restored. David’s hands were in his lap, and he squeezed his thigh to keep him from reaching for his wrist where he wore a watch with smashed glass and stopped hands. A watch he’d broken in a car accident a long time ago, on the day he’d found a means to trap his girlfriend, when their relationship had taken a dark turn which had endured for many years.

A day that had brought out his envy, greed, anger, and possessiveness, upon which David had little realized that the more he tried to control and own his girlfriend, the more determined she became to leave.

He stared forlornly at the door through which she’d left him again with nary a thought to his feelings or a fond glance back over her shoulder. He felt the emptiness inside, the numbness, the realization that he had once been a man with everything and it hadn’t been enough, and now he had nothing, and it was all that he deserved.

The realization that this Emily wasn’t his.

That this Emily only belonged to herself.

To David, she would always be the one who got away, and he would always regret her.

To Emily, he was the reason that she kept moving forwards, and she only regretted that she hadn’t gotten away sooner.