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There was a kindness in Paul's eyes that could only be described as guileless. He had the sort of light only Hollywood's Golden Age stars used to have, a liveliness that would shine even on the silver screen.
He was charming, yet boyish and shy. Disarming, but always gentle. These were some of the qualities that made it so difficult to watch him cry so earnestly in real life.
These tears were not glossy under the spotlight for an expecting audience, these kind were reserved for off-screen hurt, the kind of pain you can't possibly show as a skill, but only feel like a knife.
Phoebe knew what she had done, and regretted it, but she couldn't stop now. She couldn't even speak. She remained cold, distant, stoic. The way she had learnt all those years ago.
As Paul ended the call and Phoebe stared into the empty screen, she thought about how ironic, and funny if seen through the right lens, things had ended.
She and Paul had met over an Instagram Live, and now their five-day engagement had come to an end through Facetime, in a blur of heartbreak, pixelation, and sound lag.
His voice and face were distorted, she couldn't tell if it was the pain or bad internet connection. She figured it didn't matter, nothing did anymore.
A week before, Paul had told her he couldn't be in an open relationship, and she had agreed to remain faithful. Paul knew she was lying, but hoped he'd never find out.
After waving her goodbye that faithful morning, he debated with himself whether to follow her and take the next flight, or stay right were he was, knowing the second option would mean the end.
He couldn't move a muscle, and he couldn't keep lying to himself. He looked at the sugar cube diluting in his lukewarm coffee. He took a sip and it was as sweet and short as their engagement. It was too late, Phoebe had taken a flight back home to L.A., away and out of his life forever.
She was ok though, just ok. Trying to keep it together, put on a brave face. She had made her choice.
As she walked out of the airport with Bo walking beside her, the paparazzi were already waiting.
Did Bo call on them? She asked him to meet her at the back of the airport's parking lot, for a more discrete exit, but like bees to honey, one step out of the plane and she was already surrounded by flashing lights and her name being shouted at her like she was fish being offered at the market.
Phoebe tried to avoid eye contact to prevent more incriminating photographs, but on the brief second she looked up at Bo, what felt like hundreds of flashes went off. In the blinding daze, all she could think of were those Irish blue eyes staring back at her.
And the small flask filled with vodka hidden inside her suitcase.
