I’m standing at the door, fully dressed and made up. I’d never look like this in real life; I’d never even wanted to. Henry is next to me, and for the first time this morning, we’re alone. His eyes are on me, and I take a deep breath, self-conscious.
“Look,” I start.
“I don’t want you to get engaged,” he says.
Something happens then. Something so subtle, I’m not sure I would’ve noticed it had we not spent so much of the last two months together, had I not constantly been on the lookout for something real. There is a raw, genuine pain on his face, the kind I only saw that day in Charlotte. The kind that says he feels something again, finally.
“It’s too late,” I say, not bothering to keep my voice low, “but you knew that.”
He shakes his head, pushes his hair back. “It’s not. It’s really not. I’m sorry.”
I wrap up the small train of my dress in my hand, ready to step outside, where Becca and the car are waiting for me. I’ve only taken two steps when he says something else. “Don’t do this.”
I look at him over my shoulder, give a half shrug, and go.
The car takes us to a helicopter that takes us to the trail leading up to the mountaintop where the proposal will take place. I realize how numb I’ve become to things like this, to a helicopter and a château in the French countryside, and mentally try to talk myself into enjoying it. Into enjoying this too tight white dress that John forced me to wear. I lost feeling in my toes over a month ago thanks to all the high heels I’ve been wearing. But still, I feel pain.
I’m nothing anymore except an open wound, and maybe that was the only logical way this could end.
When we land, Henry offers me his hand as I step off the helicopter, and I don’t mean to, thought I’d already had my moment, but I meet his eyes again. They betray nothing, the way they must have at a dozen other proposals.
“ITM?” he asks.
“Can’t my last fuck-you be that I don’t give one?”
“It’s the last day of filming and you’re still hostile.”
“It’s not like anyone’s going to start liking me now, anyway.”
“I like you.” That’s Rene, our French cameraman.
I smile at him, tilting my head sideways. “None of the other cameramen ever talked, Rene,” I tell him.
He shrugs. “I’m French,” he says simply.
“Over here,” Henry says, pointing to a spot that has already been set up for filming, overlooking the beautiful blue sky, the mountains rising in the distance behind it. “It’ll be a quick one.”
“That’s so like you,” I say without emotion, and even that doesn’t make a dent in the exterior. I shouldn’t feel disappointed.
“How are you feeling?” Henry asks, once we’re set.
We’re both drained, so drained. But I want to put on a show. I should make my last stand something good. “I feel like I’ve been waiting my entire life for someone like Marcus,” I say. “I really believe this is actually the beginning of a journey, one we started twelve weeks ago, and I still see so clearly the first time I saw him. I think I knew then.”
“Knew what?” Henry asks.
“I knew he and I were the same type of person. It took a while for that to sink in, for my feelings to catch up to everything else, but there’s no doubt anymore.” I stare straight at the camera. “This is what I deserve,” I say.
“You can just say no.” Henry’s mask is gone; it’s bordering on desperation.
“And then what?” I ask.
“Should I still be filming?” Rene asks.
Priya is hurrying back over to me, and we are back in motion all over again.
After the interview, I wind up the train of my dress in my hand and wind my way up a hill with everyone else. I spot Marcus when we’re about fifty yards away, standing there with his crew surrounding him. A slate gray suit, jacket open, white button-up with no tie underneath. Trim, tall, standing there like a storybook prince. He’s, inexplicably, smiling.
I almost let the stupid fairy-tale moment suck me back in.
I remember when I arrived at the mansion that first night, saw him, and almost fell for the trick. Now, everyone else is seeing this moment, and they’re believing it, too.
I play my part.
Deux Moi Blind Item
Friday, 3:22 p.m.
Anon please. You won’t believe this, but a friend of a friend works on the 1 and I’ve heard a certain contestant got close—very close—with a producer this season. Yep, that’s right, the villain you all love to hate herself carried on a relationship with a producer on set. Like this season could get any juicier.
After the One—Five Months Later
25
Ain’t It Fun
I saw it. I saw all of it.
Every Instagram message, every Reddit post, every article, every motherfucking TikTok.
