They promised, but now I see what they’re promises are worth. Abso-fucking-lutely nothing.
My vision is spotty. No, not spotty. The only thing I can see is their faces as they refused to meet my eyes, not one of them would do it. Court was staring at the toes of his stupid shiny shoes. Thayer had his head tipped back staring at theceiling. Grieves was staring past me, over my shoulder at the camera I knew was stationed behind me. Piers… He was staring at Forsythe. And the prince? Well he was focused on where our hands were linked together.
And not one of them denied him or offered me comfort.
Everything Marshall and Lulu showed me was true. Everything was fake. Just putting on a good show, like Lulu told me was going to happen from the very beginning. Keep one of the Americans on nearly until the end. This was all just a game to them. Appearances.
Even Piers.
I choke down a sob, but it blooms into a whine and then suddenly Lulu is in front of me. Her face a combination of pity and anger. I have no clue what she has to be mad at. But then she hisses, “I told you this was going to happen. But you’d seemed so sure, I’d started to think maybe we got it wrong. Fans are going to be furious at them. The backlash is going to be fierce.” Ah, yes, the fans. That’s the real travesty here, not that I’ve just had my heart ripped out on national television.
“Can I go home?” I ask, cutting off Lulu’s rant, aware of the camera hovering over her shoulder, focused on me.
She frowns and curls her hand around my upper arm. “No, sorry, hon. We’re going to send you to a hotel. You’ll have to stay there until the finale. Then you can go home.”
I’m vaguely aware that maybe I should have some kind of reaction to that. “Okay, whatever. Can I go now?”
Her frown deepens. “We were hoping to get a confessional…” Behind me there’s a feminine squeal. Isadora. She babbles something I can’t make out, but her meeting with the pack is going decidedly better than mine.
Of course it is.
The girl who beat the shit out of me in the Capture the flag challenge gets to stay, gets to advance to the scent ceremony, tothe courting stage where things are flipped and the pack plans dates and gives gifts. The part that every omega wants.
My eyes sting. “I can’t-Lulu, I can’t stay here. Not right now, please.”
Her lips tighten. “We told you this would happen. And you’re under contract. If you want to get paid, you’ll do the confessional.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell them the money doesn’t fucking matter, but unfortunately for me it does. I haven’t worked in a month. I have bills. Half of Ginny’s school fees. Rent. But the thought of sitting in front of a camera and cracking my heart open for the world to see? Of letting this fucking show profit off of my heartache?
Yeah, I don’t think I can do that.
I’ll figure out my finances when I get back. If I have to I’ll ask Haven and her pack for a loan. They’re rich enough that it won’t even be a drop in the bucket.
I lick my lips and look into the camera. “You want a confessional? This sucks. I’m hurt.” I look back at Lulu. “That’s as good as you're gonna get out of me right now. If it's not enough for the contract then… I guess I’m not getting paid.”
Behind me, Isadora is still gushing. There’s the low murmur of male voices blurred in with hers, all sounding so fucking happy. So pleased with the outcome. As if they didn’t just rip my heart out for the entertainment of the masses.
But what else did I expect?
I was warned from the very beginning that this could only end one way for me.
I was the fool who didn’t listen.
This is as much my fault as theirs.
And isn’t that a kick in the ovaries.
Lulu let me go, lips pursed and eyes squinting in a way that lets me know she’s very disappointed in me. I don’t care though. Marshall escorts me back to my cabana where he watches as I pack, throwing my clothes haphazardly in my bags. Zipping them up ten minutes later.
I want to be gone.
“Can I have my phone back?” I ask, as he walks me to the tiny dock, and the waiting boat. All I want to do is call my mom, talk to Ginny, and cry to Haven. I want to feel connected to someone who I know loves me. I’m a little worried if I don’t have it soon, I might remain disconnected from everyone for the rest of my life. Broken beyond repair.
“Nope.”
“When?” The question comes out tight, hoarse.
He sighs, apparently over my wallowing. “When the show is over and the finale has been aired. You know this, Florence.”
