“I know you are, and I appreciate it. But some things are more important. Things like real love. I think we’ve forgotten that on this show.”
Jazzy had the decency to look abashed, even giving a half nod. She was a good person. But I think we’d all lost sight of why we’d first started this show. I knew I had. Demi had made me see that.
I pushed back from the desk, the chair scraping against the floor, and rose to my feet. My hands flexed uselessly at my sides, itching for something—anything—to hold on to.
“Should we go?” I asked, my voice hollow.
Every second was a countdown, hurtling me closer to the moment I might lose Demi forever. My chest tightened, the weight of inevitability pressing down.
It was a Roman tragedy in the making.
As we walked out together, Jazzy slipped her arm around me and gave me a side hug.
“You look like you could use this.”
She wasn’t wrong. But I could use more than a hug. I needed a miracle.
In the makeup chair, the brush felt like sandpaper against my skin. The suit wardrobe had picked out for me tugged at my shoulders, the fabric heavy, suffocating. All the while, the impending sense of dread threatened to swallow me whole.
I racked my brain, desperate for answers. How could I be brave for Demi when inside I felt as scared as a child? My hands clenched and unclenched in my lap, the tremor in them betraying me.
Junie’s words echoed like a drumbeat:Daddy, you have to be very brave for Demi today.
What did that mean? Was it the key to Demi’s heart?
The question gnawed at me as I walked toward the clearing where the matching ceremony was being held. Each step felt heavier than the last, like I was dragging chains behind me.
Why did I feel like I’d forgotten something—or worse, like something vital was slipping through my fingers? My breath became shallow, the air too thick to draw in.
How must Demi be feeling? It was her life that hung in the balance, and I was powerless to save her.
I’d tried. Hell, I’d tried. Maybe I shouldn’t have given in to her. Maybe I should have searched longer for her true love. But even as the guilt ate at me, I knew one thing with absolute certainty: I would never regret our time together. I would never regret loving her.
The ceremony was perfectly staged. Lanterns lined the gravel pathway, ready to flicker to life as soon as the sun dipped below the horizon. A wooden dais with steps around it sat in the middle of the clearing, surrounded by wildflowers in every color. The setting sun bathed it all in gold, as if blessing it.
Harp music floated through the air, delicate and haunting. The sound crew had even woven in the chirp of crickets and the rustle of leaves, crafting a perfect illusion of magic.
But nothing about this felt magical.
To me, it was a nightmare come to life. Every lantern was a countdown, every note of the harp a reminder that time was slipping away.
I balled my fists, nails biting into my palms, trying to anchor myself against the rising panic. The world shimmered with enchantment, but all I could see was the shadow of loss waiting at the edge of the moonlight.
My crew handed me a mic pack, and I took my place center stage on the dais.
I knew the cast would appear out of the forest—first the men, then the women—emerging from the shadows like participants in a ritual. They would stand in a circle around the dais, their faces lifted toward me as if I were someone worth worshipping.
The Architect of Love.
Demi was right—it was a laughable title. A crown I hadn’t earned. The only love I’d architected this season was my own—and tonight, it might be torn from me forever.
The harp music swelled, lanterns flickered, and the expectant hush pressed down on me. My throat tightened, the dais feeling as if it were a stage for my failure.
I forced my shoulders back, but inside I was crumbling.
One by one, the cast members filed out of the forest. The men in linen suits, crisp and pale against the deepening dusk. The women in flowing dresses of purples and golds, their hems catching the lantern light as they moved.
But I only had eyes for her.
