VIVIAN
The restaurant Ethan chose is perfect. Small, intimate, tucked away on a quiet street in Santa Monica. No paparazzi. No cameras. No one recognizing me and whispering about the slap.
Just me and Ethan and plates of pasta neither of us is really eating.
"So you're telling me," Ethan says, grinning, "that you auditioned for a toothpaste commercial and they said your smile was 'too aggressive'?"
I laugh, covering my face. "I was twenty and desperate for anything. I smiled so hard I probably looked deranged."
"I would pay good money to see that footage."
"It's been destroyed. I made sure of it." I take a sip of wine. "What about you? Any embarrassing early journalism moments?"
"Oh, plenty. My first article was about a local bake sale. I called it 'culinary warfare' and compared the muffin competition to Game of Thrones."
"No."
"Yes. My editor almost fired me." He shakes his head, laughing at himself. "I was twenty-two and thought everything needed to be dramatic."
