You tapped your fingers on the pristine white tablecloth, the candles flickering, casting long shadows. Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes late for your anniversary dinner, a reservation he made. Just as you were about to pull out your phone to text him, you saw him, striding through the restaurant entrance, a harried smile on his face.

"So sorry, babe! Traffic was a nightmare," Michael said, sliding into the seat opposite you, not quite meeting your gaze. He adjusted his tie, already pulling out his phone. "Just gotta send a quick text to the producer about tomorrow's shoot."

You pushed your untouched bread plate aside. "It's fine. Happy anniversary, Michael." You tried for a light tone, a desperate attempt to salvage the evening. "How about we just... talk about us tonight? No work, no show talk?"

He finally looked up, his brow furrowed, but his eyes were still a million miles away. "Oh, right! Happy anniversary. Yeah, yeah, us. But just quickly, you won't believe the day I had. There's this amazing new food stylist on set, Nia? She has the most incredible eye for detail, totally elevates the presentation of everything. Today we were shooting this intricate dessert, a lavender panna cotta with candied violets, and she had this brilliant idea to use spun sugar like tiny little nests. It looked absolutely stunning. The director even said it was the most visually appealing dish we've had all season." He chuckled softly, a small smile playing on his lips. "Nia's really something else. So creative."

You stared at him, a cold knot tightening in your stomach. He was talking about another woman with a kind of admiration you hadn't heard him express for you in a long time. "That's... nice, Michael," you managed to say, the words feeling heavy and forced. "Really creative. But... remember that vacation we were talking about? The one to Italy? I was looking at some flights earlier, for next spring..."

He waved a dismissive hand, still seemingly captivated by his work and this "Nia." "Oh, babe, Italy. Yeah, that'd be nice, someday. But honestly, Nia was just saying how incredible Tuscany is in the fall, with the olive groves and the wine harvest. Maybe we could even do a food tour then, she knows all these amazing little trattorias off the beaten path. She was telling me about this one place..." He trailed off, his gaze distant, as if picturing this trip with Nia.

Your hands trembled slightly as you picked up your water glass, the ice clinking against the sides. "So, Nia thinks we should go to Italy in the fall?" you asked, your voice dangerously quiet.

Michael blinked, finally seeming to notice the shift in your tone. "Well, no, not we specifically. She was just talking about Italy in general. But it gave me an idea..." He reached for his phone again. "Maybe I should text her, she probably has some great recommendations."

You placed the water glass down with a sharp clink. "Michael," you said, your voice firm, "it's our anniversary. And all you've talked about is your show and this... Nia." He looked genuinely surprised. "What? I was just telling you about my day. And Nia's just a colleague, she's really talented."

"Talented enough to plan our hypothetical vacations now?" you asked, the hurt welling up inside you.

He finally put his phone down, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. "What are you getting at? I don't see what the big deal is. I'm just making conversation."

"Conversation about another woman on our anniversary," you repeated, the disappointment heavy in your voice. "Maybe you should go talk to Nia about our anniversary dinner. I'm sure she has some creative ideas." You stood up, the chair scraping against the floor. "Happy anniversary, Michael." You turned to walk away.

"Wait! Where are you going?" he called after you, his voice echoing slightly in the quiet restaurant, but you didn't look back.