"So, you're telling me that Mr. Hot Carlisle and his model fiancée don't live in the same house?"

I raised an eyebrow at Jenna. "It's not our place to judge other people."

She held up her hands in defense. "I'm not judging. I'm just saying that if I had the privilege of being engaged to Aiden Carlisle, not only would I be living with him, I'd be spreading him on a cracker and eating him up. Mmm!"

I laughed. Jenna was pretty impossible, sometimes.

"Speaking of relationships," she went on, "What's happening with two lovebirds today?"

She waggled her eyebrows at me.

"Ian is taking me to dinner at Florentine's," I said, bashfully, batting my eyelashes at her, as she dropped her jaw, "And we're going to have a nice quiet dinner date."

"Saucy," Jenna said, sarcastically, as she walked out.

I turned my attention back to my work.

Ian and I had been dating for two years and today was our second anniversary. We had both been quite busy with work and hadn't found a lot of time to be in each other's company, so we had set aside today to go on a proper date and spend some time together.

That morning I wrote a card and had it delivered to Ian's office. I got a reply from him via text.

I loved the card. It was so sweet. I'll write you something soon.

I sighed, trying not to be disappointed, knowing that he loved me and he was busy with his merger and didn't have time to write me a card, or a message. Ian absolutely loved to barbecue, so I had gotten him a grill set as a gift.

Even though I was slightly disappointed that I didn't get an anniversary message, I was excited to leave work early and go get ready for our date.

I took time in washing up and blow-drying my hair, finding the perfect outfit with the perfect shoes and made sure that everything for our anniversary night dinner date would be perfect.

By the time seven o'clock rolled around, I was ready to walk out the door as soon as Ian came to pick me up as he promised. I sat on the couch and read through some new issues of bridal magazines to keep up to date on everything that was going on in the wedding world.

When seven turned into seven-thirty, I didn't worry all that much because there was always traffic in the evenings and Ian needed to get home from work and then to my place.

However, when seven-thirty turned into eight, I checked my phone to see if I had missed any calls or texts from him, which I hadn't.

I sent him a text which said: Hey! Waiting for you to pick me up. Where are you?

Fifteen minutes went by and there was no answer.

At that point I was hungry, thirsty and annoyed. I opened a bag of Doritos and dug in knowing that this probably wouldn't end well.

There was no response from him and I was beyond angry.

A little past eight-thirty, my doorbell rang. When I went to open it, Ian stood there, wearing his suit, clearly indicating that he had come straight from work.

I didn't say anything. I waited for him to say something.

"I know I'm late," he said, "But I got caught up at work and one of the guys opened a bottle of scotch."

"So, not only are you one and a half hours late, but you also drove after drinking?" I said, letting him walk in and crossing my arms over my chest.

Ian grinned sheepishly as I closed the door and walked towards him. "I didn't really drink that much."

"Ian, it's our anniversary. How could you be late if you weren't even stuck in a meeting?" I asked, exasperatedly.

"Well, you're late all the time," he said.

"I'm sorry?"

"Yeah, you're always late. You always work late and come here and apologize to me," he accused.

"Ian, I know I work late, but you can't blame me. You and I both get caught up with work and sometimes show up late, but today? Of all days, you couldn't not be late today?" I almost pleaded.

"Can we just go for dinner?" he asked, pointing to the door.

I sighed, taking a step towards my bag, but then I stopped.

"No," I said, "We have to discuss this."

"Look, I'm sorry, okay, Ro? I shouldn't have been late," Ian said, trying to avoid talking about it.

I shook my head. "No, Ian. You always do this and I always let you get away with it because I don't want to bring up anything. Whenever we come to a disagreement, you listen to me for two minutes and then say let's move on or talk about it another day and then we never talk about it! So, our problems are never resolved and I always sit here wondering whether I should bring it up, but I don't because if I do, you'll tell me I keep pulling up things from the past. So, no, Ian, we're discussing this."

He silently watched me for a while. "You know what? Okay. Let's discuss this." He loosened his tie. "Let's discuss how you've been pulling away from me for the past few months. You barely have any time for me and we don't talk or go on dates. You're always working. I don't even feel like I see you anymore."

"You haven't been making time for me, either, Ian. Sometimes, when we're hanging out or on a date, you pay more attention to your phone or to the TV than you do to me. I deserve more than that, Ian," I told him, releasing thoughts I've had for some time, "And when I do try to talk to you and make time for you, you'd always rather sleep."

"You don't care about me anymore, I can feel it," he told me, "You don't do things for me the way you used to."

"Ian, of course I care about you," I told him, taking a step towards him, "But how dare you say that. You don't do jack squat for me. I can't remember the last time you took initiative for anything that we did together."

He was frowning at me. "How can I do anything when you're not even there to do anything with? When I tell you to come on a date with me, you show up late. And you don't even tell me anything anymore," he said.

"Tell you anything? Tell you anything? What can I do, Ian? Because it's like every time I open my mouth, I'm boring you. You don't want to listen to stories about my work and whenever I do talk about it, you say one word and then talk about what you want to. When I talk to you about music or TV shows, you never even bother to contribute to the conversation. You don't even care. I try to talk to you, Ian, but it's like nothing I say will ever entertain you so you don't listen to me, but then you want me to listen to you and everything you want to talk about. How is that fair?" I asked, my voice raising a little.

"You weren't like this before. You made time for me and you left work on time and you actually did things. You've changes and I don't like it. I liked things the way they were before," he said.

"Maybe I've grown up, Ian and realized things I should have realized a long time ago. You don't treat me like I'm interesting, no matter what I try to do. And admit it, Ian, when I'm not there, you don't miss me. You'd rather hang out with your friends than you would with me, so that's fine." I shook my head, knowing where this was going.

"You don't miss me, either," he accused.

"Yeah, and maybe that's a sign that we shouldn't be together," I said with a heavy sigh, "You can't even be bothered to make it to our anniversary dinner on time. We've been fine without each other for weeks, Ian. Maybe we should just go on that way."

"So, this is it?"

"Isn't it better this way?" I asked, "Come on, Ian. You don't even care enough to send me a message for our anniversary, let alone show up for it. We're just two years in and we've lost any kind of spark or anything that was there. I'm tired, Ian. I'm tired of pulling my weight and feeling like I'm the most boring person on the planet, with the person I'm supposed to be closest to. For God's sake, Ian, we've been together for two years and we never even discussed moving in together. We were so happy living without each other. We should have known."

"Fine," he said, shrugging, "I haven't been feeling loved, either. I don't want it anymore. I want to break up."

I sighed deeply, almost feeling like a weight was lifted. There wasn't any sadness or anger in me. I didn't feel broken or like I wanted to cry. I just wanted Ian to leave so that I could order in some food for myself and watch some TV.

Ian shrugged again, taking a step towards the door.

"I got this for you," I said to him, picking the grill set that I had wrapped for him, "And I think you should have it."

I walked over to him and handed him the box. He pondered for a moment.

"Just take it, Ian. Don't feel bad about it. I got it for you anyway." I said.

He looked at me, silently.

I shook my head. "I don't care that you didn't get me anything, man. It's fine. It really doesn't matter. Please, take this. I picked it out for you because I thought you'd like it," I pushed the gift in his direction.

He took it out of my hand, looking down at it. "Thank you, Rosalie," he said, his voice lowered, quieter.

There was a silence in the room like the calm after a storm.

He walked to the door and I followed him feeling so damn glad that we had never gotten around to moving in together and I didn't have to go through the process of finding an apartment and moving my things. He stepped out of the apartment and turned to look at me.

He gave me a half smile, like he didn't even want to smile.

"Let me know when you get home," I said, wanting to be civil.

"Bye," he replied, turning and walking away.

He never did let me know if he got home.