by Julie Murphy
Tonight, he wears dark navy shorts with a fitted, purposefully rumpled–looking white Oxford with the sleeves rolled up and brown leather sandals. His eyes squeeze shut as he swallows a curse.
“You okay?”
He nods. “Maybe less talking while I’m walking with my eyes shut.”
“Okay, one step forward, and then one step down,” I tell him.
He follows my instructions cautiously.
“And then two steps forward. Follow my voice.”
“Gladly,” he says, and suddenly he’s looming over me, eyes still shut, with a fluffy towel spread out for me.
“I don’t want to get you wet,” I say.
His voice is gravelly. “I won’t melt.”
I hoist myself out of the tub carefully, feeling deeply vulnerable as I stand completely naked before him.
“I’m not looking,” he reminds me as though he can read my thoughts.
I wrap the towel around me, and of course, it barely covers anything, and suddenly I’m wishing for the very large, very luxurious towels at our New York hotel.
But my thudding heart begins to slow, and the queasiness in my stomach isn’t a result of being so nearly naked with him only inches away, but instead at the thought of him leaving.
“You can open your eyes,” I whisper.
He does so, and there’s something immediately heavy about his deep brown eyes as they linger on my wet, bare shoulder and then down the length of my body. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
“Would it be completely crude of me to say that I love your outfit?” he asks.
I lick my lower lip before biting down on it as heat spreads down my chest and into my abdomen.
He holds a hand out for me as I step out of the tub, but the drop down is higher than I expect and I stumble forward.
In a second decision, I decide to hold my towel rather than break my fall.
“Whoa, there,” Henry says as he catches me by the elbow. “We can’t have two clumsy people in one relationship.”
I let out a breathless laugh. “With a shoe collection like mine, I can’t afford to be clumsy, so I’ll leave that title to you.”
“I’d walk into a brick wall for you,” he tells me. “Fall into a manhole. My accidental tendencies are at your service.”
I look up to him, his broad hands still bracing my forearms. “Was that a pledge of allegiance?” I ask.
He tilts his head farther down as his arms snake around my waist.
I stand on my toes, my towel thankfully staying in place as I wrap my arms around his neck and playfully nip at his lip.
He groans into my mouth, and my entire body melts into his.
“Stay,” I plead.
He devours me with a kiss as he slides one hand down the length of my hip and pulls my thigh up, hooking it around his.
An urgency I have no intention of saying no to consumes me, as I pull Henry back inside my villa, the door shutting softly behind us, sealing us in our own private bubble. Neither of us is in the position to promise each other much of anything, but we have tonight.
The next morning, I wake up in a half-made bed with a pink hibiscus on the pillow next to me and a note written on a scrap of paper in scraggly handwriting that definitely does not match all the various notes we received from Henry at the château.
Couldn’t bear to wake you. See you soon. xH.
Last night, I fell asleep to the sight of his chest rising and falling as he slept soundly beside me with his arm pulling me to his side. I was scared to fall asleep, because I knew in the morning, he would be gone. Unless we wanted our secret hookup on national television.
Today is my villa date. One last chance for Henry and me to have “alone” time before I leave for home the moment our date is through. I’ll be sent back to LA to wait and find out if I’m in the final three. If so, I’ll be invited back to the château for the season finale.
I’m thankful to be going on the second date night, because even though this place is a slice of heaven, I don’t think I’d survive watching Henry go out with a new girl every night. I walk outside to find the cleaning crew descending on Sara Claire’s room, and my chest twinges with regret as I realize she’s gone and I didn’t even get to say bye.
After a late lunch, Ash, Irina, and Gretchen get to work, and for the first time I don’t micromanage Irina to death as she attempts to dress me. I let them primp and buff and moisturize me until my hair is tossed into loose beach waves and Irina is buckling the strap of my wedge, an espadrille with baby-blue bows over the toe. The dress she’s picked out is a sleeveless swiss-dot white sundress. It’s the exact thing you’d wear after lounging on the beach all day.
The only thing I semifought them on was the spray tan, but Ash insisted. “You haven’t been here long enough to get a glowy tan, and the sun will kill you anyway.”
So by the time Mallory arrives at my door in a little golf cart, I look like I’m in full-on vacation mode even if I don’t entirely feel it.
As Zeke drives, Mallory sits on the backward-facing second row and looks over her clipboard. “We’re looking for lots of moony shots tonight. Lots of staring into each other’s eyes and maybe some kisses.”
“Wow,” I deadpan. “That sounds so romantic.”
She waves me off just as we hit a massive bump, the three of us popping up into the air.
“Sorry!” Zeke says, even though he doesn’t sound like it and I’m pretty sure he’s having a little too much fun manning the golf cart.
“It’ll be like we’re not even there,” Mallory tells me.
“Oh, you mean I’ve been filming a TV show this whole time? I hardly noticed.”
Zeke makes a hard left, and Mallory slides across her bench seat. “This is not The Fast and the Furious. You are not Vin Diesel.”
Zeke chortles into his fist.
We wind around the property until we pull up to a small private dock where a massive sailboat full of camera crew is waiting. There are actual boat crew too in white shorts and white polos, but my eyes immediately search out Henry, who is watching me despite Beck talking directly to him.
I give him a little wave, and he winks.
“Was that some off-camera action I spied?” asks Zeke.
Immediately, my brain goes into middle-school mode, and I’m scared I’m in trouble. “What? No. I mean, maybe. We’re supposed to like each other, aren’t we? Isn’t that the whole point?”
“Chill,” says Zeke with a laugh.
“Maybe don’t tell women to chill,” Mallory says as she storms off down the ramp.
“You think she likes me?” he asks once the coast is clear.
I look at him with utter disgust. “Did you really just ask me that?”
“It was a joke,” he calls after me, but I’ve already filed it away in my sister vault. “Don’t tell Anna!”
Beck runs up to meet me and takes a quick look at Ash, Irina, and Gretchen’s work. “In the immortal words of Jim Carrey, smoking!”
I heave in a deep breath. “Thanks, I think.”
“You ready for this?” she asks. “You’ll be miked up, but it’s going to be pretty loud out there, so really we just want some—”
“Moony shots,” I finish for her. “Mallory already told me.”
She claps a hand on my shoulder. “You’re a pro.”
“I’m not acting,” I mumble as she turns to lead me down the ramp, already a few steps ahead of me.
Henry is waiting for me with a life jacket in hand. He gives me a long hug and whispers, “Good morning.”
Chills run up my spine. “Is that a floatation device or are you just happy to see me?”
His laugh tickles my neck. “I’ve been told we have to go over safety procedures, and then we’ll be rewarded with cheap champagne.”
“Cheap champagne is key.”
He steps back and holds the life jacket open for me. “Ahoy, matey.”
“I take safety very seriously,” I inform him.
“You joke now, but when this ship goes down, you’re going to wish you’d paid attention. I’m going to be backstroking to shore with my life jacket on.”
“This is taking a serious Titanic turn,” he says, and cups his hands together. “Bloop.”
“Bloop?” I ask. “What is bloop?”
“You know, bloop, there goes the heart-of-the-ocean-necklace thing. That’s, like, the ultimate Titanic reference.”
“Uh, I think not,” I tell him defiantly. “Maybe Kate Winslet’s hand on the steamy window. Or ‘Draw me like one of your French girls, Jack.’ Or the band playing as the ship goes down! Or even the door that Jack makes Rose float on. But not bloop. That is not high on the list of Titanic pop-culture references.”
“I feel like there’s a need for more nuance in this conversation than you’re willing to allow.”
“Quiet, people! Listen to Captain Jorge,” Beck shouts.
Henry leans over, and in a loud whisper says, “For the record, there was definitely room for two on that door. Jack died in vain, and I stand by my case, Your Honor.”
I gasp. “Oh my God, yes! Justice for Jack! Justice for Leo!” I shout.
Everyone around us is completely quiet as Captain Jorge clears his throat at the sound of my interruption.
“Sorry,” I screech as I try for an apologetic smile.
“Oooooo,” Henry says just loud enough for me to hear.
“No room on my door for you,” I tell him.
After the safety procedures, Beck and Mallory lead us to the front of the boat, where a blanket, chocolate-dipped fruit, and a bucket of champagne are waiting for us.
“Told you there was a bottle of cheap champagne at the end of the safety-briefing rainbow,” Henry whispers into my ear.
For a while, the boat crashes against waves until we settle out at sea without any land in sight. We are posed like dolls with a lavender-and-orange-sherbet sunset at our backs, and Gretchen curses under her breath at my hair’s unwillingness to obey. Henry and I have nothing left to say in this moment with the cameras rolling, so we say nothing at all.
He leans back with his arms braced behind him, and I lean against his chest as the boat rocks gently back and forth and the sun dips slowly down the horizon.
We share a soft, chaste kiss or two, but for the most part, our silence is comforting and lived-in. I resist yelling over to Beck to ask if we’re moony enough for her. She must be happy with whatever footage she’s getting, because she doesn’t interrupt us or give us any direction at all.
My eyes flutter shut for a few moments, and even though I can’t distance myself enough from the cameras and crew and boat staff to actually fall asleep here against Henry’s chest, I’m able to let my mind drift just enough that for a few brief seconds I can trick myself into thinking it’s just the two of us floating on the Titanic door. Because there was definitely room for two.
And maybe—just maybe—fate isn’t a total crock. Maybe the fairy tales aren’t all wrong.
The crew follows us as we walk back to my villa, our fingers intertwined as ours hands swing between us.
“Was that awful?” Henry asks.
I shake my head. “For a TV date, it was decidedly not awful.”
In the distance, the waves crash and there’s enough noise for me to feel comfortable asking, “I’ll see you soon, right?” It’s the closest I can bring myself to asking him if I’ll see him back at the château next week.
He brings my knuckles up to his lips. “Not soon enough.”
In front of my door, he wraps his arms around me and kisses me. It’s not a television kiss. It’s a private kiss, the kind that makes me sure that his decision is made. Henry has picked me. And I’ve picked him.
“All right, you two,” Beck says as we begin to pull apart. “Mallory, escort Henry back to his villa. And, Cin, it’s time to go home.”
Home. Home. I can’t even fathom what real life will feel like. Cell phones and television and the triplets and my stepsisters and my stepmom and Sierra and tabloids and internet. Just the thought of it all makes me feel like I’m drowning.
“Soon,” I whisper to Henry.
He links his little finger with mine in a secret pinkie promise.
Inside, my bags are packed except for the leggings, Vans, and cropped sweatshirt I left out.
When I walk back outside with my dress draped over my arm and the baby-blue espadrilles dangling from my fingers, I find Mallory smacking on a piece of gum and waiting for me.
“Where’s Beck?” I ask.
She shrugs. “We gotta go. You’re on the last flight out, and if you don’t make it, you’re stuck here until tomorrow.”
I hand her the dress and shoes. “Irina wants you to keep the shoes,” she says. “And honestly, you could just take the dress too.”
“Oh, okay,” I say. My complicated feelings about Irina are slowly growing into a soft spot, and I’d like to think she feels the same way about me.
“Will I get to say goodbye to everyone?”
She looks at me, her brow pinched together. “That’s not really how this works.”
I nod and follow her to the entrance with my two suitcases, my most faithful companions, rolling along on either side.
A black limousine is waiting for me, and the driver hauls my suitcases into the trunk as I stuff the dress and shoes in my carry-on.
“Well,” I say to Mallory, and hold my arms out for a hug.
She doesn’t move and just eyes me uncomfortably.
“I guess this isn’t a hugging situation?”
She laughs a little and shakes her head, before taking pity on me and giving me a quick side hug.
I realize that for the crew, this whole experience is a constant cycle of people going home, but I’m feeling a little more emotional than I expected; I imagined this moment would be bigger, but instead, I’m quietly heading back home to sit by my door and wait for an invitation to the final ball.
I settle into the seat, and we begin to drive toward the gates.
Leaning my head back against the leather seat, I feel a resistance growing in my chest. I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go back to the real world. I also don’t want to compete with other women for Henry’s attention, but I’m not ready for whatever comes next. There were times in the last few weeks when I couldn’t even imagine this moment finally arriving. But it’s here and gone. And now so am I.
Behind us I hear a muffled rumbling and a faint scream.
“Sir?” I ask the driver. “Do you hear that?”
The driver looks over his shoulder quickly, but I can tell from his expression that we have a language barrier to contend with.
I roll down the window and stick my head out.
Sure enough, a golf cart is chugging toward us. “Cindy! Wait!” Beck screams. “Wait!”
“Stop,” I tell the driver, and he seems to know what I mean, because he slams on the breaks.
I swing my door open and begin to scoot out of the car, but Beck jogs up to the door, leaving Zeke in the golf cart.
“Scoot over,” she says. “I’m going with you.”
“To LA?” I ask incredulously.
“No, no, the airport. Hurry,” she says, motioning again for me to scoot.
She settles in and gives the driver a thumbs-up to continue on. “Privacidad por favor,” she says.
He nods once, and the privacy screen separating us from him slowly rises.
I lean over and give Beck a suffocatingly tight hug. “You wanted to say goodbye!”
She croaks a little. “No.”
“Oh.” I pull back from her.
“Well, yes, I wanted to say bye, but I’m going to see you in a couple days, so not really. I really just needed to talk to you. Privately.”
“Is everything okay?” I ask, panic ratcheting my voice higher. “Is it something back home?”
“Everyone is fine. Erica is going a little batty not being here to helicopter-stepmom produce you, but oth
er than that, everyone is fine.”
“Okay. So what’s going on?”
She turns to me and grips my shoulder. “I have huge news for you. It’s the execs. They love you. They weren’t sure at first, but seeing the response to you—and our ratings…let’s just say their love language is numbers and you’ve got them.”
“Well, that’s…nice.”
Beck’s face is red and her eyes wide with excitement, like she could burst. “Cindy, they want you to be the female suitor next season.”
“What?” I’m so confused. I can’t quite piece together words. “I thought…the show…it’s not over. I can’t be the suitor if—I…”
Beck shakes her head. “We’ve had wifey on lock since the very beginning. That’s how it’s always worked. Surely you knew that. Besides, that’s not the real prize, anyway. Cin, I’m talking a show—a whole show with you as the star. You’re already America’s sweetheart. Now it’s your turn to find your sweetheart. Oh my God. I need to write that down. I just gave myself chills.”
“Wifey?” Dread begins to settle in my bones like cement, and I feel completely disconnected from this present moment. “What do you mean, wifey?” They don’t think I can win? They don’t think Henry will pick me?
“Wifey…it’s just a dumb thing we call the girl who’s the sure thing. We agreed on it from the beginning. Even Henry knew. God, probably right after goat yoga. He’s agreed to pick Sara Claire. The network execs really love her for the finale. They’re pitching a wedding special to Henry right now. They want to tie it all into some LuMac-sponsored thing or something…I don’t know. I just work with what they give me, and this season it was Sara Claire.”
“Does she…Surely Sara Claire has no idea.”
Beck shakes her head. “Oh God no. At least, I don’t think so. Honestly, it doesn’t really matter. We’re just glad the network decided so early on and that Henry agreed. Really helps us frame our narrative for the season and kind of warm viewers up to—” She stops abruptly as she realizes she’s getting into territory I have no interest in. “None of that matters, okay? So listen, go back home and chill for a bit. After this season wraps, we’ll bring you in for some meetings. You’ll want to get an agent. And…pocket money…I could probably expense you some pocket money until we settle on a deal for—”