I take a deep breath, ready to do the whole monologue I knew they wanted, the grand apology, staring out at the audience. “I—” And then I see him. Right there, in the second row, in a button-up shirt and tan blazer, hair slicked, staring right at me.
Henry fucking Foster.
“Jac,” Becca prompts me. “You were saying?”
I turn back to her, shaking my head as if shaking out of a reverie, knowing he’s there, knowing he’s watching me. “Becca,” I begin again, releasing Marcus’s hand, “what are we all doing here?”
“Sorry?” she says.
“Like,” I say, “why? Literally all of this, why?”
“We’re here to celebrate your relationship with Marcus,” Brendan says, his eyes going to one of the producers. But they don’t cut to commercial—of course not. This is great television. They have to see where it’s all going.
“But not really, right?” I ask them, my heart pounding. “What we’re really here to do is to remind everyone how much they hate me and how unfair it is that I get to be happy when Kendall was heartbroken. But Kendall isn’t heartbroken either, is she? Kendall just got the score of her life.”
“Jac,” Marcus says warningly.
“You’re here to ask me about all the rumors online. You’re here to burn me at the stake. And I’m here because y’all said you’d sue me if I didn’t come.”
“I think we better cut to commercial,” Becca says, cheerfully. “When we’re back, we’ll find out what Jac and Marcus plan to do next.”
I stand up. In the audience, Henry does, too, buttoning up one button on his jacket. He looks like a dream, or maybe a nightmare. I can feel the crowd murmuring, watching the two of us. But fuck them. I’m happy to be their villain at this point.
“Still!” I say, my voice rising precipitously as I stare him down. “You’re still here!”
“Jac, calm down.” Charlotte’s there now, hurried onstage, hands on me.
“Is he back on the fucking show now?” I demand, gesturing at Henry, who is making his way through the audience, everyone staring up intently at him. “Are you going to put him on camera?”
Henry is in front of me now, alive and in the flesh. I’d been so sure he was gone forever.
“You’re still here,” I whisper.
“Let me talk to her,” Henry says.
I take a step away from him, turning my gaze to the person at his right. “Charlotte, come on! You got me again.” She doesn’t meet my eyes as I laugh darkly. “Trust you, right? You were just waiting for the opportune moment.”
“We’re both getting what we want,” Charlotte answers, not bothering to keep her voice down.
“Fuck off, Charlotte,” Henry shoots back at her.
“I want out of here,” I demand.
Priya looks pissed, but at the unfazed look on Marcus’s face, she shrugs. “You take it, Marcus. We’ll bring her back out when she’s calmed down.”
“Fuck you, Priya.”
Henry, clearly having given up on maintaining this charade as much as I have, grabs on to my arm and drags me off set, out through the backstage, into a utility closet of some sort, closes and locks a door behind him.
“You’re on live television, Jacqueline.”
I can’t help but let my gaze devour him, something I never thought I’d do again. Henry’s face is Henry’s face the way it always is, carefully controlled, both distinct and wanting. I could never see another face for the rest of my life and maybe that would be fine. Maybe I could die now and it’d be over, and I’d remember his face forever.
One last happy memory. One last betrayal.
“You look terrible,” I say.
“So do you,” he answers in a way that lets me know he couldn’t resist.
“One final con,” I say. “You here, waiting to break me down one last time. When do you think it’ll be enough?” I grip my hands tight, into balls, nails digging into my palms. I feel myself near tears, near feeling, near giving in.
“I’m contractually obligated to be here, too,” Henry says. “This was the deal when I left France. I was out once they considered the season over. Surprise, they didn’t need me for edits, but they needed me sitting in the audience for the season finale.”
“Being a pawn in the game feels pretty shit, huh?” I can’t help but say.
He swallows, putting his hands in his pockets. “You won’t believe me, but I actually didn’t want to hurt you again.”
I bark out a laugh. “You can’t resist editorializing even this, can you?”
“Fine,” Henry answers sharply. “I didn’t fight it because I wanted to see you. Because some part of me feared you really had decided to go through with this suicide mission with Marcus to prove a point to me, and I didn’t want you to do that. So, here I am.”
“It’s not your choice!” I yell back at him. “I have to get something out of all this misery.”
“So, do it on your own terms, not on this show’s.”
“The show always wins,” I say, my voice ragged. “You know that.”
“I—” he starts like he’s headed somewhere, toward a fight, but then he stops, slumping back against the wire shelves behind him. “Not this time,” he says, pushing his hair out of his face.
