“Oh, Rik,” I say, living outside of my own misery for a moment, grabbing her hand. “Of course you do. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’ll be there with you,” she says then, tilting her face down toward me, squeezing my hand in hers. “I’ll go with you to After the One so you don’t have to go by yourself. And yes, the producers asked me to, but I wanted to so you wouldn’t be by yourself.”
I sigh deeply, my fingers tightening around hers. “This is humiliating,” I say.
“It’s all in the service of good TV. It’s not real. Anyone who has half a brain knows that.” She finishes the sentiment, releasing my hand and taking an aggressive bite into her pizza.
“It feels pretty real to me,” I tell her. We both take a beat, sitting in the quiet of my house, Yank’s paws clicking on the kitchen tile as he paces back and forth between the two of us. “Was he in Mexico?” I finally ask. Rikki had been filming 1 in the Sun there during the winter.
Rikki grabs up a napkin, all the while looking at me, confused. “Henry?” I nod. “No. Elodie said he flew back from France the day you wrapped filming and put in his notice. He didn’t even help with editing the season.”
I slump back in my chair, momentarily speechless, my heart pounding. It sits between us, tilts the world.
Twenty-five hundred miles away, I still imagine him alone out on that beach.
“Have you talked to him?” I ask her.
“No,” she says. “Well, yes. At Elodie’s birthday party. He was only there for a bit. He said he’d been spending some time getting to know himself; you know how he is, all cryptic and smirking and hot.” I do. “He asked about you,” Rikki says, a slight smile on her face.
The words are like a punch to the gut, and I almost whisper as I ask: “He did?” I haven’t spoken to him, of course. I can’t. It’s too painful, and judging by his lack of contact, I figure he’s moved on. Another season, a new story.
“Jac,” Rikki says, finally pushing the pizza box away from her, folding up her napkin, and throwing it on her plate. “Come on, you think I didn’t notice all the eye-fucking you two were doing? Or you sneaking out of the room in Chicago? What happened?”
I sigh. “What do you think? He loved the 1 more than he loved me.”
She sits with that, nodding. And then: “Is there anything I can do to help you? Seriously? Like, what’s even going on with you and Marcus?”
“Marcus and I are going to push through the media storm and quietly break up,” I tell her. That endgame is all I’ve been thinking about for months.
Rikki nods, her face passive. “So, what’s next?” she asks.
I think about it for a minute, back through the months, back through all of the plane rides and fights and unending elimination ceremonies, back to the last time I really felt happy.
“I don’t know,” I admit.
IT’S FINALLY THE end—gratifying and terrifying. I’m here, back in my stage makeup and perhaps the most unforgiving white dress yet (“C’mon, you’re engaged,” Charlotte had said). Backstage, live, while they play the last episode of the 1.
Contractual obligation, to go out and face a crowd that hates me. You’d think I’d be used to the hatred by now, absorbed enough of it via social media, but I’m still not.
“You look great,” Charlotte lies to me, touching my arm almost affectionately. “You’re going to do great.”
I take little comfort in that. “Is this going to be even worse than the Women Tell All?” I ask.
Charlotte scoffs. “Of course not. You’re in love, you’re getting married, and, more importantly, you’re here to defend yourself. This is going to be a celebration. I’m sure you’ll have a chance to explain yourself, but that will be all.”
I stare straight ahead. “I’m not going to explain myself.”
“Sure you won’t,” Charlotte says, the touch of irritation in her voice unmistakable. “That would be too helpful. Might get the audience on your side, and we wouldn’t want that, would we?”
Both of us watch the backstage television as Kendall’s face comes onscreen, bright, beautiful, and moisturized in the French countryside. “I don’t know,” she says, her eyes shining so much, I almost believe her. “After our date, I really feel like this is it—Marcus is my person.”
Marcus’s parents had already run the hard sell on Kendall in this episode. They found me difficult to connect with, surprise. I had sweated through those conversations, wishing to be anywhere else. I was constantly reminded how seriously his family took this, when to him and me, it was nothing more than our own sick little game.
And now, onscreen Kendall is walking up the same mountain where Marcus and I got engaged. Like a tic, I automatically stare down at the ring on my finger, the one production had been holding for me until this moment. I tilt it this way and that, watching it shine. It is honestly beautiful—vintage and elegant, per the jeweler employed by the 1, a 3.25-carat emerald-cut stone, surrounded by twenty-seven round diamonds, with the platinum band sporting another sixty-seven round diamonds. I suspected one of the producers had pushed Marcus strongly toward a classic look for me.
Watching Kendall almost makes me sick. She’ll go onstage before me, and then they’ll show our engagement afterward, but once the footage is aired, everyone will know that the spoilers were true, as they’ve suspected for weeks. The Wicked Witch of the South got the ring. There will be media appearances upon media appearances where I’ll have to play the love interest again.
“Listen,” Charlotte says, eyes trained on me. “They’re probably going to ask you about the tabloids. There’s nothing I can do about it.”
“Nothing you can do as an incredibly powerful producer on the show?” I retort, venom in my words.
“Listen, Jac, not to be cute, but sometimes, when you’ve made your bed, you do have to lie in it.” Then she stalks off.
“I was surprised,” Kendall says onstage. “After everything with Jac, I guess she was the one for him. You can’t always predict people, you know?” She smiles winningly as the crowd boos me. “Hey, I’m going to be fine, and I truly do wish both Jac and Marcus all the best moving forward, whatever else happens in the finale. It’s as much a mystery to me as all of you.” Complete bullshit. She knows good and well that we’re engaged.
“There’s some other exciting news, right, Kendall?” Becca prods her.
“Wellllll,” Kendall begins, dragging the word out. “I guess it’s time to let the cat out of the bag.”
“Or better yet,” Brendan jumps in, “let’s roll the promo.”
Then Kendall appears onscreen in a taped promo, wearing an emerald green dress in front of a white background, smiling wryly as petals fall around her. “This time”—she kicks up the petals—“it’s my turn.”
I watch, with my soul floating somewhere above my body, as the thirty-second promo plays, introducing us to Kendall’s season of the 1. The camera cuts back to Kendall, looking radiant, as the audience applauds furiously. Just like she always wanted.
She’d do this, again, I think. Even with the good edit she received, even with everything, she’d really do this again?
Priya is sitting in a chair near me, scrolling through her phone. “I thought it was supposed to be Shae?” I ask her.
