Everyone in town knows him. A prominent businessman, an eligible bachelor, featured in the news. His car costs as much as a fine house.
— Meet my fiancé.
I think you’ve heard of him. If I’m not mistaken, you work for his company.
I saw my ex’s face turn pale, then red. His hand, which he extended for a handshake, was visibly shaking.
My man smiled reservedly and shook his hand.
“Nice to meet you,” he said calmly, without unnecessary emotion.
“N-nice… to meet you… We have to go.
Sorry,” the ex muttered, avoiding my gaze.
Anna smiled sheepishly and hurried after him. A minute later, the door closed. The music started playing again, the guests came to life, and someone quietly laughed.
I raised my glass and thought that age isn’t about a number.
It’s about who’s there for you when you need them.
