It started the next day on my date with Jonas. Yes, they made me go on one even though it was clear we had no future together. Ratings.
We were horseback riding along one of the property’s trails, a camera crew trailing us like annoying shadows. The silence between us was intentional. Kind of hard to pivotfrom “I never want to see you again” to “So, what’s your favorite color?”
Besides, silence added tension. Or at least I hoped it did.
I was winging it.
So I focused on the scenery. The place was stunningly beautiful. The trees looked greener here, the grass richer, like someone had dialed up the saturation. Even the sky seemed bluer, stretched wide above the jagged peaks of the Tetons. They didn’t just look majestic—they looked like they belonged to another realm entirely.
“Demi,” Jonas said, clearing his throat, voice low and contrite.
I didn’t respond, playing my part. Just kept sauntering along on Ginny, my chestnut mare, letting the silence stretch.
“Demi, I feel like I owe you an apology,” Jonas said, trying again.
He had no idea how much I appreciated him making a fool of himself. Especially because this kind of thing was so beneath him.
I’d broken his heart, and yet here he was—showing up for me in a big, messy, public way.
I turned toward him casually.
The cowboy hat was laughably wrong on him, but Marcie had insisted we “look the part.” Jonas was gorgeous, sure, but he was no cowboy. He was chaos wrapped in tailored clothes. Broody but weirdly chill. An enigma of contradictions.
I figured that came from constantly being at war with who he really was. I understood that more than anyone.
Jonas pulled back on the reins of his palomino. I halted Ginny too.
“What do you have to be sorry for?” I asked, letting my voice go low and mysterious.
He exhaled. “Because I know we agreed to never see each other again after that fateful night.”
FYI: There was no fateful night. This was all for show. I could hear the online commentary now and busy fingers trying to dig up our past. Good luck with that.
“A night we agreed never to bring up again,” he added quickly. “And we won’t. But I think I might’ve given some people here the impression that our breakup was your fault. That was never my intention.”
I shrugged, pretending it didn’t bother me.
“People believe what they want. You don’t owe me anything.”
“But I do,” Jonas said, voice tinged with desperation. He was such a good actor. Hosting his own show probably helped. Not that anyone here knew that’s what he did—on this show, he’d been introduced as a researcher for a private European university.
“Really, Jonas, it’s fine. After everything, I think we should just give each other some grace and move on.”
“But I can’t move on. Not from you.”
That one hit harder than I’d expected. We hadn’t rehearsed this part. Oh, Titans, I hoped he didn’t mean it.
Then he said, “I’d like to sing you a song.”
“What?” I barked out a laugh. “You don’t sing.”
Seriously, where was this coming from? This was not part of the plan.
The cameras zoomed in. I felt like I’d slipped into an alternate reality.
“A man must have some secrets, love,” he said, with that maddening British calm.
“Um . . . all right.”
