by Diana Orgain
The set looked amazing and I was astonished at how professional the crew was. Everyone was going about their business rigging up lights and sound as if a murderer hadn’t been on the set for the last week.
Ophelia had flown up from L.A. when she’d heard about the commotion. She said it was because she didn’t want to miss my final choice, but I suspected she wanted to be part of the gossip.
This evening, I was dressed in a midnight blue jacquard dress with silver accessories. My hair was pinned in a French twist and for the first time in a long time I felt pretty. It was probably knowing that the show was coming to a close and that I’d found someone I could count on.
Harris Carlson joined me on the balcony. He was chatting, unlike his usual business self. “Heard there was a lot of drama last night,” he said.
“Yup. We got the bad guy.”
He smiled. “I’m glad. It was terrible what happened. I hope he rots.”
I looked at him, surprised. Harris had always been the epitome of control and yet, here he was showing real emotion.
“I think it was because of you,” he said. “If you hadn’t figured things out, the police sure wouldn’t have, and that poor girl . . . she would have died in that cave.”
“Well, that’s what he wanted, that’s for sure. He was hoping she’d be carried off when the tide returned and no one would be the wiser.” Goose bumps rose on my arms and I immediately felt grateful for all the people in my life that I loved. “I’m just thankful we got there in time.”
“What did she know?” Carlson asked. “Why would he want to hurt a lovely girl like Becca?”
“She been trying to reach him the night before, just for a date, you know. It turned out he was sleeping, or that’s what he told her anyway, but when she started pressing him on stuff, like where he’d been the night Aaron died in the hospital . . . well . . . it turned out he didn’t have an alibi and she put two and two together and that set him off. From what I gather it’s the same thing that happened with Pietro. He must have been asking Ty a lot of questions and Ty figured he had to get rid of him.”
Carlson shook his head, disgusted. “What a waste.”
“He made a mistake though,” I said, “by quoting Scott’s book in the suicide note. He’d done it as a ploy to throw the police off in case they starting really investigating, but in the end it cost him.”
Cheryl popped into view from behind one of the glare screens.
“Are you all ready?” she asked.
We nodded and she called out, “Action.”
Harris smiled into the camera even as he addressed me. “Well, Georgia. Tonight is the final decision. We’ve traveled across California, from San Francisco to Los Angeles, Solvang, and now Carmel-by-the-Sea. You’ve had your share of extraordinary and rather dramatic dates.”
“That’s right,” I said.
“Do you feel like you’ve made a final decision?” Harris asked.
“I have,” I said.
Harris crinkled his brow at me. “Do you need to have a final conversation with your father?” he asked.
“It’s not necessary. My mind is made up.”
Harris gave me a well-rehearsed patriarchal smirk. “Are you sure Daddy will approve?”
I laughed so as not to punch him in the nose.
“Well, I think my father just wants me to be happy,” I said.
“Of course, of course,” Harris squealed. “So, Georgia, as you know, we have only one glass of champagne and two bachelors. One has come on the show looking for love, the other money. Should you select a bachelor who was on the show for the monetary prize, he will win it altogether, and should you select a bachelor who was on the show to find love, you’ll receive an all-expense-paid trip to an island of your choice and split the prize money.”
“Right,” I said, becoming a little impatient with the proceedings.
“Because this is the final elimination ceremony, you will be able to address each bachelor separately. Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
Harris nodded. “All right. I’ll bring out your first bachelor.” With a dramatic wave of the hand he called out, “Paul?”
Harris disappeared and Paul stepped before me. He had a serious expression on his face and he eyed the glass of champagne cautiously. “Georgia,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.
I suddenly wished that I’d had an opportunity to talk with him at the police station after Ty had been arrested. I knew Paul had given a statement, too, but Cheryl hadn’t allowed me to be seen with either him or Scott for fear that paparazzi might photograph us.
“Paul,” I began nervously and then stopped.
He gripped both my hands in his and stared into my eyes, reading for himself what I had to say. The edges of his eyes were red rimmed and swollen.
Has he been crying recently?
“Well,” Paul said, “are you going to give me the boot or the champagne?” He smiled to let me know he was teasing, but the look in his eyes was all heartbreak.
I was heartbroken, too, and my eyes welled up with tears.
He released my hands and peace settled over me.
I had made the right decision.
Letting go of someone you’ve loved is hard, but we both knew it was over for real this time.
A tear rolled down my cheek and Paul reached for me, wiping the tear with his thumb and cradling my face.
“I’m sorry, Paul, I can’t offer a toast today.”
He released my face and bowed his head, his shoulders slumping forward. “I understand,” he mumbled.
I cleared my throat, certain that my voice would crack. “I have to ask you if you were on the show for love or money.”
He sighed, a look of misery on his face. “Money.”
A gasp involuntarily left my mouth.
“Cut,” Cheryl said. “Thank you, Paul. It’s a wrap for you.”
He grabbed my hand. “Not me, Georgia. You know that. You gotta know that. Aaron came on the show for money. As part of the rules I agreed to replace him, but—”
I pulled my hands away. “Martinez faked the report about Scott.”
Paul was silent.
“Did you know that? Did you ask him to?”
Paul bit his lip, then said, “I had to try everything I could think of to get you back.”
He grabbed at my shoulder but I shrugged him off. I knew for certain that what had happened with Paul was for the best because the people that mattered in life were the ones who always had your back.
“Come on,” he said. “Don’t be like that.”
“Good-bye, Paul.”
• • • • • • • • •
Ophelia stepped up to redo my makeup—crying in mascara on camera can really be brutal on a girl. She powdered my nose and cooed at me. “He was nothing to cry over, honey. I’m glad you picked the sexy hunky writer. Where will you go on the vacay?”
Cheryl appeared in my line of vision. “Great scene, Georgia. Those tears will be gold in our promos.”
“Oh, my God,” was all I could muster.
“Now,” she said, ignoring my comment, “Scott doesn’t know you’ve picked him, so give us a little to work with here. Make him sweat a bit. We can really use that kind of footage.”
As soon as Ophelia finished freshening up my face and hair, Cheryl called, “Action.”
Scott came onto the set and my body began to buzz and tingle just seeing him. He wore a serious expression but his aura emanated confidence. He glanced at the remaining flute of champagne on the small table then back to me. A slight smile played at his lips.
“Hi,” I whispered, barely able to get the word out. My throat was dry and I longed to sip the champagne, but I knew I had to get through the scene first. “I read a really good book last night.”
He laughed. “Really?”
“Yeah. Death Thief, have you heard about it?”
“I think I’m familiar with that book.”
“The guy cheats deat
h. And he ends up stealing the girl’s heart in the end.”
Scott studied my face, looking, I was sure, for confirmation of my decision. “I’m glad you liked it,” he said.
“It’s like what happened here.”
He shook his head, clearly not knowing where I was going. “What happened here?”
“Guy stole my heart.”
His eyes flicked to the champagne flute again, then back at me. “Which guy?”
My hands were shaking as I reached for the glass, praying I wouldn’t drop it or I knew Cheryl would make me do the whole thing over and, really, once was enough.
“Scott,” I called out, my voice warbling, “will you accept this glass of champagne?”
A huge smile broke out across Scott’s face and he leapt toward me, picking me up in his embrace and pressing his lips to mine. The champagne sloshed out of the flute and down our legs, but I didn’t let go of him.
I shook in his arms, glad to be done with the show, glad to have chosen right . . .
I’d thought coming on this stupid show was the worst decision of my life and now it turned out maybe it was the best.
“Scott, Scott,” I said. Tears flooded my eyes and I fought to get the question out.
“What?” he asked.
“I have to ask. Were you on the show for love?” My breath caught. “Or money?”
“I came looking for love, silly, and I found you!” He kissed me again as confetti came down all around us.
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