“A strategic romance,” Niall deduces.
“A strategic romance.” Colton’s face lifts in a devilish smile.
All the while, I feel like I’ve been tricked by the devil himself. Little beads of sweat form at my hairline as my heart pounds.
No, no, no. Obviously I am missing something. It may have started off as a strategic romance, but it didn’t end that way. I will my heart to settle down as I wait for Colton to clarify. But moments of unbearable silence creep past as the merciless heat of the spotlights sends a stream of sweat trickling between my shoulder blades.
“So, your romantic relationship was all for show?” Niall says, breaking through the awkwardness.
Correct him, Colton. Say something.I beg Colton with my eyes to tell Niall and the rest of America the truth. The truth of how he really feels, the truth I felt back on the island, but he refuses to look at me. He’s stuck with that crooked little smile on his face.
He can’t be serious.
“It was all for show,” Colton says, the words a knife to my gut.
My eyeballs burn as I try my best to hold back tears. But no. Colton and I … we are … he’s my perfect kindling. He couldn’treally have been acting this whole time. Unless, maybe he was. My mind flashes back in time, recalling every single instance that Colton had truly shown me affection off camera so that I can prove to myself it wasn’t just for show, but to my horror, I come up empty-handed. I find that every time he’d shown me true affection, a kiss, a handhold, there’d been a drone, a cameraman, a mic. And the coloring book and our messages back and forth—we weren’t exactly secretive about passing notes. It was plain as day for our lapel cameras to see. There may have been that time on the beach with just him and I and the almost kiss, but was he really trying to kiss me? Was it all in my head?
A ball of emotion rises in my throat as I try to comprehend this terrible new light shed on our story. A story that I’ve been interpreting wrong this entire time. I look to Niall, only to find him staring at me expectantly. Did he ask me a question?.
“I’m sorry, could you repeat the question?” I mumble, hoping beyond hope that he can’t see the sheen of tears across my eyes.
“Is Colton right? Was it really all for show? For your strategy?”
His question presses into me until I feel like a glass bottle being crushed for recycling. I do my best to hold it together, even though the floor is littered with the pieces of my broken heart. “Right, our strategy.”
In one desperate move, I look over at Colton, giving him one more chance to correct Niall, to take it all back, to change the past, but he doesn’t.
Colton’s brows make the slightest twitch, as if asking what’s gotten into me. Then he nods in my direction, smiling at me just as he had last night in the Bunk Hut. I feel sick, nauseous with how wrong I’ve been.
I’ve done it again. I let someone occupy the center of my heart, only to walk away shattered inside. I feel the familiar cage close around my heart, its steel bars keeping me safe and secure. “Colton’s right. Our relationship was all for show.”
Chapter 27
COLTON
Something is wrong with Missy. I glance over at her. She’s curled up against her backpack that’s smashed against the airplane window as a pseudo pillow. Her perfectly styled curls from the winners’ interview are thrown up in a ponytail as she sleeps through our red-eye back to Colorado. My eyes take in her sleeping form, hoping that if I look at her long enough, I’ll find the piece to the puzzle I’m trying desperately to solve.
After the winners’ interview, Missy had done a full one-eighty. I thought we’d executed our closing interview perfectly. There may have been some awkward pauses here and there, but as a whole, we came across united and strong. But the moment the spotlights shut off was the moment she shut off, too. I’d followedher off stage, wanting to know why she’d look so … defeated, but we’d immediately been handed matchingSunsets and Sabotagejoggers and T-shirts and told to change before catching the shuttle to the airport. We weren’t even given a chance to say goodbye to Bill and Maria, as they were in the middle of their own interview when we left.
Missy twitches in her sleep, and the thin airplane blanket draped over her body falls to her lap. I pick up a corner of the blanket and pull it back up to her shoulder. Is Missy worried about Maria and her injured leg? Or is she sad that the show is over? For a moment, I wonder if Bill didn’t talk to her, but I distinctly remember seeing him talk with Missy right before the winners’ interview just like he said he would.
I sigh with frustration and lean my head back on my leather headrest, listening to Missy’s rhythmic snores. She has the prize money wired to her bank account and her dreams within reach. So why is she so off? Isn’t this all what she wanted?
After the interview, I’d peppered her with questions as we rode on the shuttle to the airport and sat in the terminal, but my inquiries were met with polite indifference and those dreaded wordsI’m fine.Which meant she was absolutely not fine. And as soon as we got on our plane and in our seats, Missy had curled up and fallen asleep before the plane had finished boarding. I’ve spent the following hours wide-awake, fearful that, just like the pre-island days, Missy has put up walls again with no intention of letting them down.
Anxiety winds inside of me as our plane comes to a full stop at our gate at the Denver Airport. I thought we’d built a genuine friendship, but now I’m worried it’s disintegrated under the lights of reality.
“Missy,” I whisper, gently nudging her shoulder.
Missy groans, then readjusts her head on her backpack.
“Missy, we just landed in Denver. It’s time to get off the plane.”
Missy jolts awake. “What?” Frantically she looks around, then opens the airplane window shade. “Ack.”
She nearly hisses at the bright morning rays that manage to blind everyone in a ten-foot radius and immediately shuts the window cover. Her eyes find mine, her lips lifting into a soft smile. There she is. My heart lifts at the sight. There’s the Missy I’ve come to know on the island with her smile bright and face open. And, nope. It’s gone. Suddenly, Missy’s demeanor changes from light and soft to cold and hard, leaving me to ask myself, once again,what changed?
Missy stands and crouches beneath the seatbelt and no-smoking signs as she straightens her rumpled T-shirt with its giantSunsets and Sabotagelogo, and then she slings her backpack around her shoulders.
