by Lizzie Shane
The path was too freaking long. It was taking him forever.
When Daniel had walked toward her, the time had seemed to pass in a blink. Everything had seemed like it was in fast forward. Her apology, his tears, his departure. It all flew past her in a rush, but now time seemed to have reversed, each second stretching into a hundred until she could barely breathe from the pressure of it.
She could do this. All she had to do was open her mouth and say, It’s over. We’re done. Easy.
All she had to do was crack open her chest and rip out her heart.
Easy.
She wasn’t smiling.
She looked stunning, standing in a flowing purplish dress in front of the altar with the pristine mountain lake as a backdrop behind her, but when she met his eyes, she wasn’t smiling.
Well, shit. That couldn’t be a good sign.
Craig forced his own smile to stay steady as he made his way down the path toward her. It had to be the world’s longest garden path—probably chosen by the producers expressly for its ability to torture him with the fucking hike to his doom. And it was definitely starting to feel like doom.
A little frown line had appeared between her eyebrows and as he got closer he thought he could even detect the glimmer of tears in her big green eyes. That wouldn’t do. Even if she was planning to dump his ass, he wasn’t going to let her cry.
“Hey, Marcy,” he called, flashing his cockiest grin and trying to bring them back to a less serious place.
Her smile was pathetic and forced. “Hey, Craig.”
“You look like you’re going to a funeral. If it’s my funeral, I should warn you that I always pictured it as more a drunken revel where everyone talks shit about me than a morbid thing. Kind of like a post-life roast. Since I’ll probably be roasting myself.” He winked.
“That’s what you have to say? Jokes about the fires of Hell?”
There was a flicker of something—disappointment?—in her eyes. What did she want from him? It was obvious from her expression that she’d already made up her mind and he wasn’t her guy. He could beg. He could lay his heart out there, but she was just going to tromp on it. She’d as much as announced it the second she saw him.
She couldn’t even smile at him.
He should take the job and run. Tell her he’d chosen career over love. Take the sure thing, the guarantee. She’d made it clear she was a bad bet. If he chose love over money, he might not get either. At least if he went with the job, he’d have what he came for, since he could never have her.
He’d never been good enough for her in the first place.
He stepped up beside her at the altar. This was it. “Actually, there is something I need to tell you.”
“Wait, before you say anything—” She held up a hand, as if to stop him and he caught it, interlacing their fingers together.
“I have to go first,” he insisted. Those are the rules. And besides, it made better television. “The producers and Pendleton came to me.”
“What?” She blinked, her brow furrowing, obviously not expecting his confession to go in that direction.
“They offered me a job. On network television.”
“Craig, that’s great.”
“On the condition that I dump you at the altar.”
Her jaw dropped. “Oh.”
There was a wealth of understanding in that word—but it was the wrong understanding. He could take the job and run, but he couldn’t stand the flash of pain in her eyes, nor the way all the fight seemed to leak out of her like water through a sieve.
“I don’t want it.”
She shook her head, helpless and confused. “I don’t understand.”
“The job. They can shove it. I choose you.”
Her jaw dropped again, and this time it stayed down, shock blanketing her face. Not a single word came out, so he filled the silence. He was a radio guy. He was good at filling silence. And for all that he’d thought these words would be hard to say, nothing had ever come easier.
“I lied when I said I would break your heart. Or maybe I meant it at the time, but I was a fucking idiot. I would cut out my own heart before I let anything happen to yours. I choose you and I want you to choose me. Please, baby. Even if the guy who gets picked is never as famous as the runner up. Even if it means we become just another sappy success story to get trotted out at the reunion specials. I can’t lose this. I can’t lose you. You’re the only person I don’t have to be the funny guy with—but you’re the one I want to make laugh the most. I can relax with you. I can be myself with you even when there are a hundred fucking cameras on us. I need you, Marcy, to make me real. And yes, I am scared shitless of love, but that didn’t stop me from falling in love with you. I don’t think anything could have.”
“In love?”
“What did you think this was about? The Friend Zone? I love you like crazy.” He paused. “It is actually crazy. I’m giving up the job of a lifetime for you. You should probably have my head examined.”
“You love me. No mights. No maybes. You just do.”
He frowned. “I feel like I’m missing something.”
“You’re all in. No more walls. No more games.”
“I like games. Monopoly. Cards Against Humanity.”
“Craig.”
“I’m all in, Marcy.”
“I was going to send you home.”
A two ton stone landed in his stomach. “Yeah. I got that sense.” Then the penny dropped. “Wait. You were going to? You aren’t anymore?”
“I wanted you from the second I saw you. I fell for you so hard and I felt like such an idiot. Every time you said you were just here for the exposure, I felt like more of a fool for wanting more from you. I was so certain you would never be able to want me back.”
He didn’t know whether to be hopeful or crushed by her words, teetering on the knife edge between elation and misery. “Please tell me you didn’t already choose Daniel.”
She took a breath, looking up at him. “I sent him home.”
Balancing on that blade, not yet daring to fall to one side. “And now?”
She shook her head wonderingly. “I can’t believe this.”
Marcy’s hand moved to hover over the single favor that waited atop the altar. For a long moment, she made him wait, then her hand descended. “Craig Corrow, do you believe in happy endings?”
“With you? I believe in happy everything.”
“You’re insane. And I adore you, you madman. You are my best bad influence, tempting me to love more than I ever thought I could. So will you please accept this final token of my favor?”
He plunged head-first off the knife-edge into euphoria. “Fuck yes. Give it to me.”
She laughed. “You always say the sweetest things.”
Her hands were shaking as they pinned the ribbons to his lapel. When she was done, he caught her trembling hands between his own. “My turn.”
Craig sank down onto one knee and Marcy’s eyes went saucer wide. “What are you doing?”
“I called your father before I came here. I figured I needed his permission if I was going to propose to you.”
“Oh my God.”
“I asked him for his blessing. And he said fuck no.”
A startled laugh burst out of her mouth.
“So I was thinking maybe we should just date for a little while. At least until I can win your father over.”
Her smile was blinding and he knew his must be just as ridiculous. “I like that plan.”
He came to his feet, sliding his arms around her and pulling her close. “The producers would probably like it if we kissed now.”
“Just for the cameras?”
“One last time for the cameras. And then the next two thousand kisses are just for me.”
But when she kissed him, he knew he’d have to renegotiate. Two thousand would never be enough.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Success.
Miranda stalked back and for
th in her Italian hotel room, trying to figure out why the hell she felt so agitated when it had all worked out perfectly. Perfectly, damn it.
Her bare feet slapped along the hardwood floors.
This was all Bennett’s fault. She’d been all stirred up all season. Distracted. Anxious. Uncertain. She hadn’t been herself and it had all started when Bennett had swooped into her life and set everything off balance.
And now he wasn’t even speaking to her because of the incident with the hospital in Ohio. Which had all worked out fine, thank you very much.
“Damn it.”
She pulled out the Italian cell phone Todd had procured for her. She didn’t even know if the damn thing would make international calls. If it didn’t, she’d take it as a sign. A sign that she should not, in any way, shape, or form, be talking to Bennett Lang.
The call went through. One ring. Two.
She didn’t even know what time it was in LA. Morning, sometime. Late enough to be decent. He was probably in a meeting—
“Bennett Lang.”
He never answered the phone like that when he knew it was her, but then he didn’t know it was her. She was using an Italian cell. Would he have answered if he knew it was her?
“Hello?” he repeated, irritation creeping in.
“Bennett, it’s me. Um, Miranda.”
He paused for so long she looked at the phone to make sure she hadn’t lost the connection.
“Miranda. I take it your show has wrapped principal photography and you have time to give a shit about me now.”
She winced. “Okay, I deserve that, but hear me out, okay?”
Another pause. “I’m listening.”
“I sort of lost my way this season. I know that now.” Crap. She didn’t know what else to say. She’d never been good at the touchy feely shit. Orchestrating it, sure. But living it? “I didn’t shoot in the hospital. Well, okay, one shot and it was a fucking money shot, but other than that we were really respectful.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” His voice wasn’t softening. She’d really hoped his voice would be softening by now. He usually couldn’t stay mad at her. He was the patient one. The forgiving one.
“I felt out of balance all season because…” Shit. Words. There had to be words. What would the show coach her to say? “I didn’t know how to process what I was feeling for you.” Yeah, that was good. “I tried to force the show to be a perfect love story because I didn’t know how to handle… us. And fuck, I still don’t know how to handle it, Bennett. I don’t know how to be with you. It was easier to just say fuck it and walk away, but I’m miserable without you. I’ve been a fucking mess and I know that’s not a ringing endorsement for giving me another shot, and I’m still mad as hell about what you said to me in Ohio. The parasite on society stuff. But I just really miss you and I—damn it, I love you, okay? And I’m not good at that. I’ve never been good at that.”
“Miranda.” Her name in his voice, his warm voice, stopped the tide of words. “Where are you?”
“Um, just north of Rome?”
“When do you get back to LA?”
“I don’t know. Todd arranged the flights. I delegated.”
Bennett laughed softly. “Good for you.”
“Yeah.”
“When you land in LA, call me and I’ll meet you at your place, okay?” His voice was low and soothing, like he was talking down a madwoman. And maybe he was.
“You aren’t back together with your ex?”
“Miranda,” her name was a scold. “Don’t be an idiot.”
She almost laughed, so relieved that she might still have a shot with him. “I’m not sure I know how to be anything else right now.” She sank down on the edge of the hotel bed. “This is scary.”
“I’ll be seeing you soon,” he promised. “I have something to say to you, but I’m going to say it in person.”
“Why not tell me now?”
“Because I know you, Miranda Pierce, and I’m not going to give you a transatlantic flight to parse every inflection of my voice and freak out about every word choice. We’ll talk in person. Soon.”
“Soon.” That sounded pretty good. And it was probably for the best. Telling him she loved him was one thing. Hearing him say it back? She wasn’t sure she was ready for that quite yet. She’d take the flight to get used to the idea. He really did know her quite well. Love was a scary thing. But sometimes you just had to go with it.
Epilogue
“And we’re back with Miss Right, Marcy, and her Mister Right, Craig. Before the commercial break we were talking about your rocky road to love—and how your not-so-fairy-tale romance has caught on with the viewers. Now I have to ask the question everyone is dying to know—what’s next for you two? You’re still together and—Marcy, is that a ring on your finger?”
Marcy smiled her for-camera smile at Josh Pendleton and flashed the rock on her ring finger. “It is. Since we wrapped filming, Craig has been out to Murphysboro several times and I’ve been out to LA with my family as well and just last week, he finally managed to convince my father to give his blessing.”
“So when will I be hearing wedding bells?”
“Not for quite some time,” Marcy said smoothly, dropping her hand to lace it with Craig’s again. “We’re in the process of a big move to New York and Craig’s starting a new job—it just seemed like it would be too chaotic to plan a wedding on top of all that.”
“Well, you know the network would love to host your wedding, help with all the planning.”
“We’re going to go for something a little more private,” Marcy said.
“So this new place in New York—is it the loft you dreamed of when you were in Verona?”
“New York is expensive! We couldn’t afford the loft I dreamed off—even after my last book hit the New York Times Bestseller list—but we’ll be much cozier in what we can afford.”
“And Craig,” Pendleton pressed, “this new job, I understand it will come as a surprise to some of our viewers…”
“It probably will,” he admitted. “Turns out the producers of Romancing Miss Right were testing me when they offered me the anchor job. They thought Marcy deserved to know if I was going to abandon her in favor of my career, so they dangled the job in front of me to see what I would do—but by choosing love, I ended up winning both. I’m going to be a recurring guest host on the weekday wake-up show starting next Monday.”
“Twitter was wild with speculation over whether you would choose love or money. Quite the clever ruse by our production team.”
“I’ll admit I didn’t appreciate it much at the time,” Craig said, grimacing. “But now I’m glad they felt the need to test me. Now Marcy never has to wonder if I would sacrifice her for my career. We’ve already cleared that hurdle. She will always know I love her more than fame.”
“Which is very romantic, coming from Craig,” she put in with a laugh.
Miranda stood behind the director of the live reunion show, arms folded, watching her masterpiece play out. No one had missed the missing footage—the drama had played beautifully with the fight and the door slam leading straight into Marcy’s decision to choose no one and Craig’s groveling and protestations of love at the altar.
The ratings were solid—though not quite as high as last season, damn it—and audience retention had actually grown week by week in key demographics as America fell in love with the prickly pair. The woman once called the Ice Queen had become America’s Darling and Craig had gone from being hated to adored. Mostly.
All in all, a victorious season.
Miranda had even scored the next Mister Perfect she’d been hoping for.
“Well, it sounds like you found the perfect Mister Right for you,” Pendleton said, before turning to the cameras to wrap it up. “That’s all for this season of Romancing Miss Right. Join us for another edition of Marrying Mister Perfect this winter, when our very own Daniel Pierzynski meets the gorgeous Suitorettes vying for his hand.”
Miranda clapped along with everyone else until a voice called that they were clear and the crew went into action, clearing the studio audience and turning off the myriad electronics. She turned her head, catching sight of a familiar salt-and-pepper head in the shadows. Bennett, chatting with Wallace and waiting in the wings to whisk her home.
He hadn’t actually said the L word after all, but he’d made it very clear indeed that he was crazy about her. Actions spoke volumes, especially in an industry where talk was cheap.
Marcy and Craig disentangled themselves from their microphones and rose, slipping out of the bright lights at the center of the sound stage and finding a shadow together. They seemed to be one of those lucky couples who had found the balance between the public life and the private. Miranda had seen a lot of reality relationships in her time and she had a pretty good eye, after all these years, for picking the couples that were actually going to make it.
As Craig pulled Marcy away to steal another of his two thousand kisses, Miranda had a feeling they were going to go the distance.
Maybe they all were.
She did love a happy ending.
THE END
About the Author
Winner of the Romance Writers of America’s prestigious Golden Heart Award, Lizzie Shane lives in Alaska where she uses the long winter months to cook up happily-ever-afters (and indulge her fascination with the world of reality television). She also writes paranormal romance under the pen name Vivi Andrews. Find more about Lizzie at her website or follow her on Facebook.
Want more Reality Romance? Check out the first book of the series, Marrying Mister Perfect.
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Read on for a sneak peek inside the next book of the series, Falling for Mister Wrong.
FALLING FOR MISTER WRONG
Between I will and I do, there's room to fall.
Caitlyn Gregg just agreed to marry 'Mister Perfect' on national television. There's only one problem: as soon as the cameras stop rolling on their whirlwind reality show romance, she realizes she doesn't love him.