"This food is amazing," Ian complimented, shoving something crispy into his mouth. "Really, you're an amazing cook."

Though I wasn't the one to prepare the thousands of meals set across the dining room table, I smiled. "I didn't cook it. Troian did. I think she's a pretty amazing cook too."

"Well, I happen to disagree," Amanda declared as if it were the most important thing to be known. "These chefs I know cook twice as better. They work at Angelini Osteria, that Italian restaurant in Beverly Hills."

I bit my tongue hard enough so that I wouldn't spew insults her way. Looking down at the plate of casserole salad I sectioned onto my plate, I realized that my appetite had severely drowned. Who could blame me? It was by far the worst dinner engagement I had taken participation in. No, scratch that. It was the worst dinner engagement I had been forced into.

I felt Ian's leg wrap around my bare legs, snapping me out of my thoughts and bringing me back into the reality of Amanda's rants about the extraneous restaurant no one cared about. I looked up at him. The corners of his lips tugged up, forming the smallest of smiles. I smiled back before looking back down at my late dinner. I loved how sneaky we were being, especially when his fiancee was so vain, she couldn't stop talking about herself for a second to notice that Ian and I were playing secret footsie under the table. I let out a snicker, but turned it into a cough when Amanda's eyes turned to me.

"Sorry," I muttered, "the casserole got stuck in my throat."

She shrugged, picking up the napkin under her silverware and dabbed on the vertexes of her lips. "Told you the food sucks. It's barely digestible."

"You know what?" I slammed my spoon down onto the table, uncaring of whether I create any scratches or not. "If you came here with the sole purpose to insult me and my friend and the food and everything else, I can show you to the door."

Her eyes went wide, not in horror, but chaste-mannered. I knew what she was trying to do. Her innocent act was approaching and Ian would be the only one to fall for it. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if he took her side. That's how insincere she was.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Lucy," she pouted. "I only came here to straighten out how we left things awhile ago."

My gaze was kept on her. What she said was double-sided — it could have meant how I busted out of that house hours ago or years ago, when her taunting began. It didn't matter, though. I was all for creating a solution, just not when it came to her. She constantly uttered things that shouldn't be said and never apologizes. Unfortunately, I had to be associated with someone like that.

"Hey, how about you give her the gift we bought?" Ian suggested to the girl on his left, cutting the silence in half.

"Oh!"

I watched as she picked up the fancy looking bag filled with colorful tissue paper, which was prepared very beautifully. Instead of giving it to me, she made the decision to open it up for herself and pull out the wine bottle.

"We decided to get you a bottle of wine," Ian said, raising his eyebrows. "Actually, Amanda did. Isn't she sweet?"

I wanted to barf. Sweet was the last thing I'd call her. She let out an 'awe' and put her manicured nails against his cheek, pressing her lips against his. I averted my eyes away from them, feeling a pang of jealousy strike me. I was unable to breathe for a moment, but used my cup to conceal any and all signs of it. It was safe to say I had never felt so embarrassed in my life, ever. I wanted to cry and strangle her at the same time.

I shot my legs away from Ian's, pushing them onto the bars of my seat so I wouldn't bump into his anymore. That was his signal to disconnect himself from her surgically plumped lips.

"Goodness, sorry Lucy!" Amanda said, not bothering to look at me. She continued to play with the ends of his hair, taunting me with her abilities. "I just get carried away. Let me crack open that bottle of wine. I'll find some wine cups while I'm at it." She flashed her pearly whites before heading back into the kitchen with the bag, flaunting her curvy body with every step.

I picked up my spoon and played around with the salad before launching the fork into it. The harsh noise of the plate and the silverware clanging together emitted screeching sound waves. Ian winced.

"Lucy," he started, a hushed apologetic tone along with it, which made me think about our almost kiss. Suddenly, my anguish thoughts were wiped from the surface. I looked up at him, humming in response. His face softened at how easygoing I was being, but caution still etched his features in place. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"About what?" I questioned, "how we almost kissed? Or how your sleazy fiancee made a big show of your love just a few minutes ago? 'Cause I'm fine talking about either."

I had no idea where such anger came from, but I most certainly didn't plan to say something like that. Immediately, I felt remorseful and opened my mouth to apologize, but I was struggling to find the words.

"Look, Lucy. She's not as bad as you think," he told me, reaching for the hand that wasn't stabbing at the plate. I pulled away instinctively, shoving it in between my thighs securely. What was taking over me? I didn't feel angry, and yet my actions could prove me otherwise. I didn't feel upset, but tears were threatening to fill in the corners of my eyes. Why was I being uncontrollably emotional?

"You'd be surprised to know who she really is," I told him before shoving a mouthful of the cut up bits in my mouth as a way out of talking anymore.

"What do you mean?" he spoke, louder than his quiet tone. I scolded myself for letting that out of the bag. For some reason, telling him about my history with Amanda wasn't a part of my to-do list. To expose him to her cruelty would conflict him big time. Ian and I might have known each other longer, but there was no doubt in my mind that he'd choose her over me any day. And I didn't blame him. She was beautifully stunning and I was merely standing five foot two with big eyebrows.

"Nothing," I muttered after swallowing down what was left. When Amanda entered the dining room, I was somewhat relieved. I wouldn't know how to evade his questions.

As the taller lady began an entire rant of how she had gotten lost in her own house the first time she bought it, she poured the opened sparkling wine in glasses I used only once before. It struck me odd, the amount of bubbles it had.

"Why is it so fizzy?" I called her out on it as she handed me a glass. I brought my nose to it and sniffed as if the wine would have emitted the most heinous smell known to man.

"I added a little sugar into it," she nodded as she handed another glass to Ian, "the cranberry flavor makes it taste a little dull."

I glanced at Ian, who was staring at me as if he were trying to get my attention. I had a feeling he was still thinking about our previous conversation, but he wasn't bringing it up. I was okay, for the time being.

Amanda clanked her beverage against Ian's. "To us."

He said nothing but continued to stare at me as I downed my drink, a peculiar sensation spreading through my throat. My eyes slightly widened at the burning feel.

"Is there alcohol in this?" I asked, raising my now empty glass. Being tipsy was something I was desperately in need of, but not in front of the two of them. I didn't know what I would do, since I was a happy drunk according to my friends. Embarrassing myself and having Amanda post a video of me on her blog, which received an average of seven million hits biweekly, would kill me.

"It's wine, sweetie," she replied, "about thirty percent of it is alcohol."

"Yeah, I know how much alcohol is in wine," I lashed out, snapping my fingers in the process.

"Could've fooled me," she rolled her eyes, abandoning her drink on the table.

I was still somewhat skeptical, but I decided to let it go. Escorting them out should have been my next move, but instead, I managed to blank out.

"Lucy, wake up. It's five, we have to go to work."

The moment my eyes shot open, a massive migraine practically split my head wide open. I fisted clutches of my bed hair, my own groans becoming sensitive to my hearing.

"Woah," Troian muttered, "she wasn't lying when she said you had one too many."

Her voice was so loud. If I hadn't caught her last words, I most likely would've fallen back asleep.

"What'd you just say? Are you talking about Amanda?"

She nodded her head far too slowly, the corners of her eyes wrinkling from being scrunched into a befuddled demeanor.

"When Keegan dropped me home a few hours later, you were fast asleep. Ian and your friend waited for me to get home because they were watching over you."

"She's not my friend," I grunted, pulling the comforter off my body and snatching the water bottle from my dresser, only to chug the entire bottle down to the last drop. I caught my breath, panting at the minimal amount of breath I caught while consuming the liquid.

"Whoever she is," she stated, following me with her eyes, "but she said you got drunk off your top."

I gasped, my headache pounding at my temples. Again, she found a way to humiliate me and presume me to look like a fool in front of my best friend. I could only commemorate taking in one drink. Then again, what else could I remember? The more I struggled to bring up a horrific memory after my first drink, the more complex it became.

"I swear... I didn't."

"Are you trying to convince me or are you trying to convince yourself?" she smirked.

"Both," I admitted, copying her coy look. I examined her current condition compared to the previous night. She seemed to be laughing everything off, even though I could tell there was something off about her. She was too reserved. Normally, the days we had to go to set together were the days she'd tear off the blankets away from me and tuck them out of my distance just so I'd wake up, unlike her gentle tap and a voice that barely passed a perceptible one.

She let out a yawn, looking at me to point at my closet, a gesture that I needed to change out of my clothes. I forgot to change out of my denim shorts the night before, and full blame would be put on our uninvited guests. My waist was lined from the tight lock the shorts had against me, and it was a relief to slip out of them and get into something new. Troian exited to brew some coffee and give me privacy, even though we changed around each other without feeling uneasiness.

I heard my phone ring from the other side of my bed as soon as I put on a comfortable ensemble of sweatpants and a v-neck top with a scarf as an accessory. I leaped for the phone, pressing talk and holding it against my ear in no time once I saw the familiar contact name.

"Ashley!"

"Luce! Feelin' better?"

I crawled up from my laying position and off the bed once again. "Am I sick?"

"I don't think so," she said, "don't you remember calling me last night? You were telling me about how you had cinnamon buns and you said if anyone came near them, you'd strangle them with Troian's spaghetti. I'm so glad I got that app where you can record conversations, or else I would have never gotten drunk Lucy recorded."

She might have been chuckling, but I was absolutely mortified. How could I have been so careless? I couldn't have consumed too much alcohol with such a small amount of wine. Unless it wasn't wine.

"This isn't happening," I groaned as I made my way out my bedroom and into the kitchen, where Troian sat. Her eyebrows were knitted in concentration, furiously tapping at her smartphone.

"Believe me, it happened," Ashley mocked, "what happened anyways? Were you out clubbing or something?"

"It's a really long story."

"Tell me all about it on set," she said. "Oh, and also, don't go through the front entrance. Tell Troi not to either."

"Why?" I asked even though I had a good feeling I knew what it was. Prankster Ashley was going to strike.

"Let's just say I have a surprise for a certain Daugherty," she said evasively, "he pointed out my back fat last night in front of Ryan, and he's so not getting away with it."

I laughed, knowing about Brant and Ashley's ongoing war of antics. As I took a seat across my friend, I heard a beep coming through the phone.

"Hold on, Ash," I spoke, "someone's on the other line."

"I have to go anyways," she informed, "just talk to me on set. Bye, tipsy!"

I scoffed at her joke, a smile forming across my face. When I saw the caller ID, I felt my heart skip, pounding fiercely against my chest. It was Ian.

My attempts to shield my apprehension from Troian was useless, as she had no intentions of ripping her eyes away from her phone. It was odd to me — I felt bitter towards Ian the night before, and yet I wanted to stay talking with him all day at that moment.

"Hello?" I said, feigning to act as normal as possible.

"Hey, Lucy-Goosy," he nicknamed. I could feel the goofy grin emitting from through the phone, and it was contagious to me, since I grinned soon after. "You feeling okay?"

My smile vanished just as fast as it came into sight. "Wh-what?"

"Last night... it's okay, we don't have to talk about... you know."

"No, I don't know," I spoke. "What did I do?"

"You don't remember?" he questioned, much like Ashley did.

"Again — no. I don't," I said, picking up my mug and bringing it to my lips. My irritability was shown greatly, but I didn't care. I just wanted to know what I did this time. It couldn't have been too bad.

"You were kind of coming onto me when Amanda was in the bathroom. Grinding on me and stuff."

I spewed up my coffee, my eyes went wide. I began coughing severely, waving Troian's concerned looks away like I was completely okay, even though I wasn't. As I scurried off to the sink to gulp down some water, a panicky sensation rushed through my veins. I didn't know what I was more upset about — doing something so humiliating or not being conscious enough to be able to enjoy what I was doing. Not that I would do it if I had the choice, but it wouldn't hurt.

"You're not dead, right?" he asked, most likely because of my sudden choking.

"Sort of," I answered, feeling distraught. "I'm really sorry. I don't know what I was doing."

"It's okay, Luce," he chuckled.

"No, it's not," I said more forcefully, wiping my face with a fresh cloth I found in one of the cabinets. "You're a married guy."

"Engaged guy," he corrected.

"But you're going to be married, right?" I said, walking out of the kitchen so that the conversation couldn't be heard by anyone except for the two of us. Silence met me through the other side. It seemed as if the reality that we were never going to work was settling in, not only for me, but for Ian too.

I exited the house and made my way to the cozy patio chair, where I waited for him to say anything. I was still somewhat speechless to my actions, but curiosity beat everything at that point. I wanted to know what we were going to do, where we were going to take our friendship to.

"If you had to choose between Amanda or I, who would you choose?" I asked him, taking a sharp inhale of air. I knew it was unfair of me to ask, but I had to know. Would he go against me, the one who helped him out when his mother deceased, the one he's known longer, the one he's shared more memories with, for a woman who's had more plastic work done than Barbie and prides herself on looks and gossip? He wanted to kiss me the day before, that I knew. He was going to, if it weren't for Amanda. I couldn't have been dreaming it, especially since I could still feel his hot breath against my lips. It was much more intense than our scenes as Aria and Ezra.

I waited patiently for to him to respond, but as time went by and all I could hear were his heavy breathing and sighs of frustration, I was feeling worried. Was this something he had to think about?

"I don't know," he finally said, his words slow and fully enunciated. I felt my stomach churn and I placed a hand over to calm it down. My worst fear had finally come true.

"Thanks, Ian," I said sarcastically. I pressed end, despite his upcoming explanation. I clutched my head, another migraine taking over. I took the nearest thing around me, a vase of flowers, and threw it into the open air as hard as I could. The vase shattered on the grass, pieces of glass scattered around the red flowers. Though it didn't take a toll on my anger, my energy decreased slightly.

"Troi, I'm going to run all the way to the set," I called out into the house. A jog was what I needed to blow off steam. I adjusted my bag and set off for the road.

"I don't want the girls to know about us," I said to Ian from the other side of the desk. He made his way around, cautious yet anxious. His hand trailed to my face, unable to break eye contact from me. I waited for his next words, knowing exactly what they would be, word-for-word.

"They won't. No one has to know except for us. It'll be our secret."

Just as our noses bumped, the door opened, and in stormed Troian, Ashley, and Shay, looks of determination and shock carved in their features. Ian and I looked back at them, staring at Ashley in particular. An unpleasant absence of sound rang through out the classroom before Ashley giggled,

"Crap, I forgot my line."

A chaos of laughter erupted from the cast, as well as the crew located from behind the cameras. I shook my head, a grin spreading across my face at her klutziness. We had gone over the same scene about four times, twice because they wanted Ian and I to have different blocking, once because Shay and Ashley almost tripped on each other from bursting in too fast, and the fourth time being right then.

"Let's take five and we'll get back to this scene!" I heard Norman, one of the producers, call out from behind all the equipment. Everyone scattered to wherever they desired. It took me awhile to notice Ian's hand was gone, but his arm was still wrapped around my waist. I stared at his vest, eyes trailing upwards, until I reached his eyes, which were permeated with volatile lust. Even though we were completely alone and free to do or talk about whatever, I would refuse to be in the presence of him alone. Not now, at least.

"Excuse me," I said demurely, slipping out of his grasp and out of the classroom set. I headed down the fake hallways and took an exit through a door, which was seemingly another classroom, but in reality, was another way to get to the main lounge.

The lounge was louder than usual, and I noticed it when entering. Everyone seemed to be laughing. As soon as I saw Brant covered in a brown, gooey substance, I knew Ashley's plan had worked out for the best. I watched as he ran up from behind Ashley and picked her up, the entity covering her entire back. A shriek escaped from her lips as she struggled to push her away. Finally, he gave her a kiss on the cheek and let her go; sending her flinging for the ground in fits of laughter.

"Idiots," I mumbled under my breath as I giggled, almost forgetting about my brief moment with Ian. It was when I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around to see the one person I abhorred that I was thrown back in realism.

"Lucy!" Amanda said, her fingers wiggling beside her shoulder. It took me a while to realize that it was some sort of wave, one that I didn't like in the least. It wasn't real. I didn't want her talking to me, more so because I didn't want her to relive any moments from last night that I enacted.

"You're not supposed to be here," I informed, skipping the greetings, "unless you have a visitors pass signed by a cast member."

She held up the laminated paper, which had 'VISITOR'S PASS' bolded at the top, along with Ian's signature endorsed at the bottom.

"Well, Ian's upstairs."

"I'm not here to talk to my sugar bun," she said, smoothing out the sparkly shirt that hid her faux chest. "I'm here to talk to you."

I crossed my arms defensively, shifting my weight to one side of my body. "What do you want?"

It was then that I saw her true identity in place. Her ersatz facade of compassion was replaced with a snarl. Her penciled in eyebrow had risen up. A dark shade of devilry shaded her face as she towered over me.

"I want you to stop seeing Ian. For good."

That's what she wanted? For me to break off all connection to my friend? She was out of her scandal-filled mind if she believed that was ever going to happen. For her to demand such a thing tempted me to test her confidence, but I decided against it.

"We have to see each other," I told her, "it's something called Pretty Little Liars. A show we have to tape together."

"I don't mean here, you twit," she insulted, "I mean outside business related locations." She pulled out her phone and began tapping on it.

"And if I don't?" I tested. She pressed on something and rose it in the air between us. I gave her a questioning look, but understood what was going on when I heard a slurred voice — my slurred voice — from the phone.

'You know Troian's boyfriend? You knowwww. You know, you know— that dumbass, Patrick. He beat down on her. But then he got her pregnant. She's pregnant! I think I might be a godmother. Shh, don't tell anyone I told you this. It's a secret."

She pressed the stop button, a triumphant look incised her face. This achievement was something she prided herself on, like it was the one thing she had that could finally shut me down and bring her happiness.

"If you don't, this is going on my blog," she said. "And Twitter and Facebook and every single social media website available."

"How the hell did you get that?" I asked her, digging my nails into my arm as a desperate struggle not to cry.

"I slipped a little something into your drink," she smiled. I finally grasped why I was so drunk from a single glass. "Do we have a deal?"

Somehow, she had the audacity to pull such a stunt like this. And it had to be at my workplace, for crying out loud! Was that the reason she came over the night before? To drunken me up and make me spill all of my secrets — this one in particular?

"How fucking dare you?"

The words didn't come out of my mouth, nor did it come from Amanda's. Shay's heels clacked against the floors before she stood in front of me, sheltering my incredibly tiny body from the vicious verbal attacks of the psychotic witch.

"Who are you?" Amanda asked, cringing her nose as if Shay was seasonal pollen floating in the air and she didn't want any of it in her nose.

"Don't act like you don't know me, Amanda," she roared, her voice loud and echoey in the halls of the dressing rooms. "If you and your fake boobs and your plastic face don't spin on your Jimmy Choo knockoffs and walk away, the next thing that'll be knocked off are your teeth."

I linked my hand around Shay's arm, as if she'd be some sort of protection. I believed Amanda would back down, but to my dismay, she stood up taller. They were about the same height, but Amanda had on heels. They challenged each other with their brown, almond-shaped eyes.

"Don't let me catch you in The Hills," Amanda said, starting to back away, "you'll regret it."

"The Hills are for snobby, stuck up bitches like yourself," Shay stated, earning a chuckle from me, "so leave Lucy alone and go back to your habitat."

With a final glare, she took off. The clacking of her pumps were the last thing I heard, prior to silence.

"Please don't tell anyone about Troian," I said quietly, my heart threatening to burst from out of my rib cage. "Please."

"Why would I?" she asked. She seemed to show me pity, but I didn't want it. I didn't want to feel as hopeless as I really was. I wanted to continue being friends with Ian, but I didn't want to lose my friendship with Troian. She'd kill me in my sleep if that secret went out. She even had the key to my house, she could do it.

"You okay?" she asked me, putting her hand on the back of my head.

"Not really," I admitted, forcing a smile on my face. "You didn't have to get into this. I hate to say it, but she could drop your reputation on the spot."

She merely laughed, acting as if it was the most ridiculous thing she's heard of in her entire life. "I know her better than you think. She won't do anything."

She crossed over, strutting towards the back door, where shooting was at. I looked down at my arm, which had my nail marks engraved in them. I caressed it with my thumb. If I wasn't conscious about my makeup, I would have been bawling in my own tears. At that point in time, I felt so lost. I had never come across a situation so downhearted in my life. But the worst part wasn't that I'd be hurting a friend. Hell, it didn't even have to do with Amanda winning. It was the fact that I realized why I was so defending, why I was twice as emotional, and why I was suddenly such a romantic.

My feelings for Ian had grown massive. The simplest of looks from him gave me mind-blowing queasiness. His smile, the way he was so optimistic about life, everything good in him was what attracted me to him in the first place. I was so grateful to have him as a friend, but I wanted more because—

"I love him," I muttered to myself. It finally dawned on me. But in the end, I couldn't have him. I would never have him. He was going to get married and I'd have to let him go.

And that was the part I despised the most.

A/N: this took forever to get typed up and updated, and i'm sorry for that. i've had bad writers block and normally watching ezria or the pair i'm writing about brings me out of that but it didn't work this time, so i pushed myself all day to get this chapter completed for you guys. thank you for the reviews and i hope you continue to keep it up!