Slowly, I turn my head to the side to look at Henry. We are in a black sedan together, seated side by side on the way to the main hotel of the resort hosting our villa, with one of the Mexican production assistants driving. I’m wearing an orange dress with a slit cut dangerously far up my leg that I’d picked up for two hundred dollars online.
“What?” I ask, sounding drunk to my own ears.
He turns his torso around so he’s facing me fully. He isn’t wearing a seat belt, a detail I can’t help but fixate on.
“Are you okay?” he asks me. My brain runs a mile a minute as I search for anything I could say to him with my mic on.
“Yeah,” I say, running up against the wall. “I’m fine.”
“Is this about Chicago?” he asks, and I realize he means is this about him. I scoff.
“No,” I answer icily, turning away from him. “This is not about Chicago.”
The table for the dinner portion of my one-on-one with Marcus is set up on a balcony overlooking the lagoon below. The tables are polished wood, the chairs wicker, the whole thing projecting a laid-back vibe.
Marcus is laughing with Janelle when we get there. His eyes light up at the sight of us, and it’s the first time I realize it’s not some romantic notion guiding him. He’s toying with me, and he can’t wait for the fun he’s about to have playing this game.
“What did you think of today?” he asks me once the cameras are rolling. He casually plucks an oyster off the table in front of him as if he’s forgotten the rules. As if we can eat on camera. He loosens the meat and slurps it up greedily before washing it down with a long pull of white wine.
I sit so quietly as he does this that I almost feel like an animal avoiding a predator, but I snap to as he tosses the empty shell back onto the table.
“It was enlightening,” I finally say.
He grabs up another oyster, face bright. “Wasn’t it? I like when we’re together. I like that you push my boundaries.”
My brain circles the drain of this thought, inescapably caught up in its tide. The panic button is flashing in front of my eyes; no one is going to get me out of this but me. “There are things, though—” I start to say. My eyes flick to the cameras, the assistants, the producers watching us. There’s always an escape plan; Marcus himself had an escape plan. “There are concerns. For me.”
I swear I see the effort it takes him to hold back a smile, and I absolutely feel the way everyone watching leans in. “Concerns?” Marcus repeats, wiping his hands on a napkin.
I look around at the cameras again. “Them,” I say. “Reality,” I go on. “And what this is. Marriage in a few weeks seems daunting.”
“I’m guessing marriage has always seemed daunting for you,” Marcus replies easily. It’s close to the truth, but maybe a dig as well.
“You too,” I answer without a moment’s hesitation.
“Guys,” Janelle starts, her voice wary at where this is all headed, wanting to rein us in.
“Let it play out.” That’s Henry’s voice, I know it. But I don’t see him, not with the bright lights shining down on Marcus and me. “Keep going,” he calls to the two of us.
“Sure,” Marcus says, “maybe I panicked a little in the past. But that’s because it was the wrong time. The wrong person.”
“Tell me something true about me.” I lean forward, elbows on the table, chin in my hands.
He licks his lips, like he’s going to devour a juicy steak. “This feels like a test, Jac.”
“It is,” I say.
“Okay,” Janelle calls again. “Perhaps a moment with your producers?”
My heart is pounding as Marcus drops his napkin into his chair and stands up, no longer interested in me.
Henry and Priya are whispering to each other, looking at me. I stand up, pushing my chair away, and subtly slide out of my heels. I take off walking quickly in the opposite direction before anyone can fully see what I’m doing. I feel someone following behind me with a camera at a cautious distance. I get to the barrier separating the dining area from the pool and grab my dress into my hand, put a leg over the barrier, and jump it. At that point, I start running.
“Jac?” someone finally calls. “Jac!” And then I feel them chasing me. It’s a pointless escape but at least it gives me purpose. I glance backward, and a camera is following me. I can’t yet decipher if that is good or not. “Leave me alone!” I call behind me, running past the pool and toward the beach farther on. Inevitably, there is nowhere to go, and Henry is sprinting after me in a considerably more casual outfit. He catches my arm, stares down at me. We haven’t been this close since the airport in Chicago, where he let Marcus catch us.
I stop for a minute, trying to suck in air before I tell him, “I’m leaving.”
He fights to catch his breath, too. “I see that.”
“Let me go,” I say. “I want to go.” I pull my arm free and continue walking away from him, down the shoreline, even though there’s nowhere to go. I can disappear.
Henry is following me, a few paces behind. “Why do you want to go?”
“This is fake,” I call over my shoulder. “It’s all fake.”
“The way you’re acting,” Henry goes on, “seems like you’re panicking because of something else.”
I stop, turn to face him. He knew what those words would do to me, but still, he stays far enough out of the way to be out of shot; I don’t miss it. “What is it then, Henry?” I ask him. It’s amazing to me, the way I know he thinks it’s about him.
“You don’t think I should leave, or you don’t want me to leave?”
They’ve got the light on me now. Bright.
He puts his hands in his pockets. “It’s at least worth a conversation if you’re going to go.”
“Marcus has figured it out,” I say. “The real me.”
He flinches ever so slightly. He hears it, I think. He hears what I’m saying but he doesn’t want to. “Who’s the real you?”
