Chapter 5

Dylan chuckled as he looked at his phone. There were pictures of Marianne running down the sidewalk barefoot while shouting at some woman. She looked panicked, her arm raised as she yelled, her hair flying behind her. He wondered what had happened to lead to that.

"What are you laughing about?" Vivienne asked.

She was lying next to him on the bed. Since their fight, they hadn’t been speaking much. Although he had a problem with her behavior, he refused to bring it up, hoping to avoid an even bigger conflict. He knew it wasn’t healthy to let things fester, but he wasn’t ready to confront it yet.

Even when Marianne had asked the question, Vivienne stayed silent and didn’t admit to any problem with him. Dylan couldn’t think of what her issue could be. It sounded harsh, but she had caused most of the problems, so he didn’t see any fault on his part.

He braced himself to hear her words and showed her his phone. Her eyebrows scrunched.

"What is that woman doing?" she scoffed, looking away. "I seriously can't believe she’s qualified to help others. She doesn’t even look like it."

Dylan gave her a confused look. "She did her job perfectly yesterday. She asked the right questions."

Vivienne rolled her eyes. "Yeah, but she’s invasive. It’s not her business to know all that stuff about us."

Dylan smiled to mask his shock. He reached over and rubbed her head. "That’s her job. She studied for it, and now she’s doing it. Not that hard to understand."

Vivienne didn’t respond, scrolling through her phone. Dylan sighed and returned to his own, sneaking glances at her every so often.

He loved her, and he hoped that wouldn’t change—but little comments like that really got under his skin. He hoped she would grow out of it before it wore down his feelings completely.

The next day, at two forty-five, they headed to Marianne’s office. He had asked Vivienne to be less snarky and only ask necessary questions this time. She had embarrassed him terribly last session, and he didn’t want a repeat.

There were, of course, paparazzi, but they ignored them. Once inside, they were taken to the same room as before. This time, Marianne sat behind her desk, typing on a computer. Her hair was up in a bun, and she wore jeans and an oversized t-shirt—far more casual than before.

"Hi, guys," she said, smiling as she stood. "Ready to get down to business?"

Dylan nodded, and Vivienne stayed silent. Marianne walked to the couch, and they sat on the one next to her as before. Dylan took a deep breath, savoring the calming scent of the room. He prayed this session would go smoothly.

"Oh, Ms. Blake, I was curious—how did you get this place to smell so amazing?" he asked.

Marianne smiled. "It smells like the laundry aisle, doesn’t it?"

"Yeah," he chuckled.

"I told my secretary to make it smell like that, and she somehow did it. I was too shocked to ask how."

"You have a secretary? One of the receptionists?"

"Oh no, she’s on maternity leave," Marianne replied.

"Ah, okay." Dylan nodded.

Vivienne cleared her throat. "Can we begin, please?"

"Yes, yes, of course." Marianne picked up her pad and flipped through a few pages, scanning one before looking up at them. "So, can you tell me what happened after you left?"

"We had an argument," Dylan admitted.

"Were things revealed in that argument?"

"Not really," he said.

Marianne nodded and scribbled something down. "Alright. We need communication. You need to share what’s in your hearts so you can move past the weight of it."

Dylan nodded slowly. Vivienne just stared at Marianne with an unreadable expression.

"I want you two to face each other," Marianne gestured. "Hold hands. Look into each other’s eyes."

Dylan gave her an amused look, then turned to Vivienne and held out his hands. She turned and grasped them. They looked at each other, exchanging small smiles.

"Now, feel the connection—the love you’ve built. Feel it."

They locked eyes, almost lost in the gaze, when Marianne spoke.

"Dylan, tell Vivienne why you’re hesitant to tell her what the problem is."

He took a breath. It wasn’t the real problem, so it should be fine.

"Because I don’t want to create a bigger problem."

"Good. And Vivienne, tell Dylan why you’re hesitant."

She gripped his hands tighter and looked away. Dylan was curious.

"Because he’ll think I’m being dumb."

Marianne hummed. "Good. Now, Dylan, would knowing Vivienne’s problem make you think less of her?"

"Not unless she killed someone or cheated on me," he said.

Her hands gripped his harder. Shocked, he pulled back.

"What was that?" he asked incredulously.

"What was what?" she asked.

"You reacted. Did you cheat on me?"

"What?!"

They both flinched at her shriek.

"How could you even think that?!"

"Then why did you react like that?"

"I didn’t react to anything," she defended.

"Okay, okay," Marianne said calmly. "Let’s bring our voices down. What reaction made you think she cheated?"

"Her grip tightened."

"He’s being delusional!" Vivienne snapped.

"Let’s look at it this way," Marianne continued. "If you had mentioned cheating and he squeezed your hands, wouldn’t you think he reacted for a reason?"

Vivienne paused. "Yes, but I would never cheat on him."

"And you’re saying I would?" Dylan was getting heated.

"She never said that, Dylan," Marianne intervened.

"I never said it! Why are you making this harder than it needs to be? You’re the one who wanted to come here."

"Because we need to get better at communication before marriage, and you keep deflecting."

"Because it’s ridiculous! Why would I cheat on you?!"

"Then why react like that?"

"I didn’t!"

"Okay. Can we calm down?" Marianne stood, walking between the coffee table and couch. She sat down on the table, taking both their hands.

"Take deep breaths. Shouting gets us nowhere. Think carefully before speaking, so we don’t say things we don’t mean."

Dylan exhaled, looking away from Vivienne. Did she cheat? Her reaction hinted at it, but he didn’t believe it—her obsessive behavior suggested otherwise. Maybe it was a ploy to make him think she would never cheat. He shook his head, thinking too much.

"Now, look at each other and apologize. Can you do that?"

Vivienne huffed, refusing to meet his gaze. Dylan turned his head back to try. In their fights, he was always the first to apologize—a recurring frustration.

"Come on, Vivienne, look at him. He’s your fiancé. Look into his eyes," Marianne urged.

She rolled her eyes but turned to face him.

"Good. Now apologize for raising your voices."

Vivienne sneered, turning to Marianne. "Why are you treating us like children? We know how to apologize."

Marianne tilted her head. "Then why do I get the impression you never do, Vivienne?"

Vivienne’s eyes widened—and before anyone could react, she raised her hand and struck Marianne across the face.