I know all of this, and I don’t know her name.
I know all of this, and she just learned mine.
It’s starting to hit me how awful this situation is for all of us. Lying to Onion hurt her, but we’re not getting out unscathed.
I’m in love with a woman who didn’t know I existed. She doesn’t know that I’m the one to whom she sent those late-night texts when she worried she was unlovable.
She doesn’t know that it was me who cried with her when she watched a movie where the dog died.
She doesn’t know that any of it was me.
She didn’t even know I existed until I walked through that door.
I didn’t realize how much it would hurt to love someone, to know someone, and yet be a stranger to them.
Chapter Eight
Grant.
I don’t even know the name of the man I knew as Sax, but I know the name of this Beta who had his nose buried on my wrist when I woke up.
Grant.
He’s gorgeous. Ethereal. His hair is long, a blend of silver and lavender that waves around his face, perfectly highlighting his pinkish-ivory skin, and is immaculately styled in a blowout that brushes his collarbones. Somehow, I know that hair and makeup didn’t style it like this. I bet he looks like this all the time. His outfit is like nothing I’ve ever seen on a man before, with billowing fabric draped across his frame in a way that enhances his trim figure but doesn’t swallow it.
His honey-colored eyes are smudged with dark liner, and they’re lined with tears.
Tears?
It’s an unconscious decision for me to grab his hand, squeezingit in my own. “Are you okay?”
His face creases in a sad smile. “I should be asking you that. You’re the one who passed out.”
As soon as the words leave his pouty lips, my head throbs with my pulse. “Shit, I did pass out.”
I look around my room for a bottle of water.
Wait. My room?
Looking at the room I’m in with a critical eye, I can see how the production crew has attempted to turn this bedroom into a replica of my own. Marlie must have sent them photos, because they got pretty damn close, even if it is missing my near-permanent clutter.
Is this their way of making sure I felt less unsettled? Because they knew who was going to walk through that door?
They knew.
Bradley and Bridgette knew.
Drew knew.
All those comments about how this was going to be a good thing suddenly make sense.
Fucking reality TV. Everyone knew, and they let me face the three of them without any preparation.
I know I’m not at home, but the familiar texture of the bedspread and the soft grey walls do more than I would’ve anticipated to calm me down. I can almost trick myself into believing that I’m home.
That I’m safe.
When my eyes land on Grant, the breath leaves my lungs.
