“You’re under contract. If you don’t go back, even if you’re just going back to get eliminated, you’ll be in breach of that contract and they can sue you.”
“Shit.” Molly looks gutted. Panic creases her brows, and she begins to wring her hands. “Okay, well, that part is not good. But…I could get a lawyer. I could explain to them what Demi was doing. I could fight it.”
Nolan clears his throat, catching Molly’s attention briefly enough to say, “Chloe will also lose her job if you don’t go back.”
Molly freezes, whipping her head around to look at me in concern.
“Nolan! I wasn’t going to tell her that part,” I huff.
“What? Why not?” Molly asks, aghast.
“Because I don’t want you to make a decision based on my fate.”
“Respectfully, Chloe? But fuck that,” she scoffs. “Obviously, I don’t want to get you fired. I just…I don’t know if I have it in me to go back just to get kicked off. It’s the principle of it. I’d go back, if I knew I had a shot at staying.”
“And I don’t care if I lose this job. Not if you don’t want to return to the ship. But…I think I might have an idea,” I say carefully. She looks at me, her head cocked and her gaze sharp, a single, sculpted brow arched high.
“I’m listening…”
“How do you feel about grand gestures?”
TWENTY-NINE
Molly’s ‘90s Hits, Now Playing:
I WANT IT THAT WAY — BACKSTREET BOYS
TWELVE WEEKS LATER
Molly’slower lip trembles slightly as a makeup artist reapplies—for the third time today—the vampy red shade of lipstick Sora picked out for her this morning.
“Thanks, Lorraine,” Molly manages to say through pursed lips, her tone cheerful and bright. After a full day of interviews with every major entertainment media conglomerate, a slew of digital bloggers, andLove at First Sail’s network crew, there’s a subtle raspy edge to her voice that on anyone else might sound like exhaustion or illness, but on Molly sounds sultry.
Which is perfect, because that’s what we’re going for on theLove at First Sailseason finale tonight. Not a villain, not a monster, and definitely not some nobody who gets kicked off in the fourth week—like Carly.
Tonight, we’re going for “bombshell with a heart of gold.”
“Hey, Molly?” Sora’s head pokes around the doorframe and into the dressing room, a headset slung loosely around her neck and a clipboard clutched at her side. There’s a hint of anxiety straining her youthful features, but her eyes are brimming with a familiar kind of excitement I’ve only ever seen in two situations: kids at a trampoline park when their friend double-jumps them to the fucking moon…and when I looked at myself in the mirror on my first day of college. When I knew I was exactly where I belonged.
“Oh, hey, Sora. Am I up?”
“Yup,” she replies, a broad smile directed first at Molly, then at me. “Thirty seconds to air.”
Molly and I exchange giddy glances, and she pushes to her feet, her expression twisting into a sly grin. “It’s showtime,” she sing-songs.
I follow her out of the room, making sure to swipe my walkie-talkie off the table and clip it to my belt next to my phone, which has been buzzing repeatedly over the last ten minutes. I know it’s likely Kyla or Nolan, both of whom are in the audience with Morgan, but I don’t bother checking it. I’m focused on Molly as she struts down the long corridor, echoing with the urgent voices of crew members.
Unlike the majority of the season, the grand finale—in which the winning couple is picked and awarded a $100,000 prize—is filmed on a set with a live studio audience.
So, the rest of the world will find out at the same time Molly does if she and Duncan will be walking away with cash in their pockets. The winners are always awarded the money, no matter what, but whether they choose to leaveLove at First Sailand stay with their winning partner is completely up to them.
As we round the corner and enter into the soundstage’s main studio, there’s an energetic hum in the room. Audience members are talking and laughing, crew members are calling directions to one another across the stage, and contestants, who are already seated front and center on the finale couch, are murmuring quietly to one another.
Sora leads Molly to a bank of tall, narrow black drapes, hung vertically in a quarter-circle on one side of the stage. Once we’re tucked between the thick curtains, it’s like all the sound has been snuffed out in the tiny, padded space. It’s a reprieve from the insanity of the stage and the wings.
“You know your cue?” Sora asks, her voice immediately absorbed by the dark fabric. Molly nods, flicking her eyes to the stage she’ll have to walk out onto in a few seconds, and I can tell she’s getting nervous. The confidence that was easy to find in her features only a few minutes ago has been replaced with lowered brows and an uncertain gaze.
“Just stick to the plan,” I say soothingly as I take her hand. She shifts her clear gray eyes to meet mine, and I give her a warm smile.
