Behind the Curtain (Sequel to "Letting Him Go")

Chapter 5 - The Deep End

**Soooooo. This fanfic just got a WHOLE LOT more interesting now that Gaga is rumored to be dating sound engineer Dan Horton....Don't worry guys, I'm not going anywhere ;) I write what I believe in, and I believe that love isn't easy— sometimes it takes a while to find your way back to who you truly belong with. Stay hopeful, little dreamers...**

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She leans over Brandon's shoulder, green Starbucks straw popped in her mouth, running her fingers over the sketches he's laid out in front of her. Bo and Sarah sit at the other side of the table, quietly deliberating makeup looks. Of course, my limited fashion expertise casts me to the sidelines as I stand silently against the wall.

"I love this one..." She takes a sip of her cold brew, pointing to a bright pink gown with a voluminous skirt. It comes with a matching pink bow the size of her head. I shudder at the thought of having to transport that amount of fabric to and from the venue—no doubt in my mind that this will surely be the one. I sigh, mindlessly scrolling through my phone to pass the time.

He hasn't called. It's been almost a month since Ashley told me that Irina had left him, almost a month since I began waiting. Waiting for him to come get her, waiting for him to make her whole again. I was losing hope. I look over at her sitting beside Brandon—huddled on a stool with her knees tucked to her chest. The large white hoodie swallows her tiny figure as she brushes her hair back from her face and inches closer to him, resting her chin on his shoulder.

"I'm so excited!" He squeals, squeezing her arm playfully.

She laughs, kissing him dramatically on the cheek. I find myself smiling at them in relief. She's doing better. The life has returned to her face—her eyes glowing with joy and ambition. But still, months later, the heartache is unmistakable— casting a shadow on her expression, weighing her down from within.

I haven't told her. I haven't told her about Irina and I hate myself for it. I just can't find the words or the courage to do it—I can't be the one who destroys her, the one who sends her into an inevitable spell of self-loathing. I can't tell her that she couldn't save the one thing she sacrificed her whole heart for: his family. How can I break her when he isn't here to put her back together? She's doing better, I remind myself. Isn't that enough?

"What happened?" She had asked me as I hung up the phone with Ashley. I inhaled sharply, my heart racing. Manager or friend? As soon as the lie escaped my lips, I knew I chose wrong. Painfully, awfully wrong.

"Nothing." Every bone in my body throbbed with remorse as I continued, "Ashley just called to say hi."

She blinked at me, a soft smile spreading across her cheeks at the mention of her friend's name. I felt a thousand needles piercing my spine as I finished lying straight to her face— my heart plummeting to the ground and shattering into a million pieces at my feet. What had I done?

And here we are a month later, sitting in the basement of Vogue headquarters, preparing for her to host the Met Gala—one of the biggest moments of her career. She still struggles to stay afloat— believing that he chose Irina, and I am still the liar who can't find a way to save her.

Someone taps my shoulder. It's Sylvana, Anna Wintour's assistant.

"Bobby, hey, Anna wanted me to give this to you," she whispers, handing me a golden envelope. "It's the finalized host committee."

"Thanks." I give her a tight smile, and she rushes back out of the room, her heels clicking rapidly against the marble hallway. I open the envelope and unfold the piece of paper, skimming through the decorated list of names. I barely make it halfway down the list before my eyes practically bulge from my head and my stomach churns violently with nausea.