“We shoot the tower and something suggestive and then leave.” He shifts a little uncomfortably. Maybe because we’re talking about sex again.
“You’re assuming I’ll still be around to the top three,” I say.
He glances over at me. “What do you think your chances are?”
I look out at the mass of women—thirty of them, to be exact. “I guess, technically, it’s three in thirty.”
“You know,” he says with a wry smile, “that there’s a simpler fraction for that, right?”
I cringe. “One in ten.That’s what I meant.”
“Uh-huh.” He sounds more amused than judgmental, but I feel my cheeks burning.
Ishould be Ditzy. Here I am in business school, and I can’t even do basic math. Rob used to mock me for wanting to go to college.It would be a waste of money, Becca. I mean, you barely graduated high school.
Which was true. But I didn’t actually try to do well in school. I think what I wanted was to do bad enough that my parents would pay attention to me. It didn’t work.
“So yeah,” I say, trying for amused rather than embarrassed. “One in ten.”
He studies me for a moment. “Do you really think everyone has an equal chance?”There’s a small narrowing of his eyes around a too-neutral expression on his face. He’s talking about race, I think, but doesn’t want to say it outright.
I look back at the shifting, glittering clumps of gorgeous women.There are exactly three Black girls.There’s one girl who looks like she could be Latina. All the rest appear to be very white—and overwhelmingly blond.
I chew on my lower lip.The lack of diversity is seriously messed up, but all I can think is that if I was “Princess Charming” and Nate was one of three Black guys in a sea of white, I’d still feel this attracted to him, thisdrawnto him. I can’t imagine not picking him, over and over again.
“I guess it depends on who Preston really connects with,” I say carefully.
He looks away. “Sure.”
I feel the disappointment radiating from him. I’m not sure if I’ve offended him or just let him down, but both feel pretty shitty. Especially because I know what he meant, and I know he’s right. I haven’t seen every season of this show, but I’ve never heard of a Black contestant making the top three. Which is terrible, both statistically and in general, so there’s definitely a real problem here, and probably I just minimized it.
“You’re right,” I say. “They don’t all have an equal chance, and that sucks.”
He gives me a side-eye glance. “So what do you think your real chances are? Not of making it to the tower, but tonight.”
I consider this, but it doesn’t take long. “Really good,” I admit. “I mean, I have that great backstory. Deaf daughter, dead husband. I doubt the show wants me out yet.The producers will probably pick me tonight even if Preston doesn’t.”
I get the feeling he wants to agree with me, but can’t quite say it outright, maybe because someone might hear. “It’s not just backstory, though,” he says. “If a girl isn’t good on camera, it doesn’t matter what her backstory is.”
Great. “Ha, well, I guess that lowers my chances.”
“I told you you’re good on camera.” He sounds irritated. “Are you really concerned about this?”
I fidget with the poofs of silk just below the bodice of my dress. I want to say no, or maybe even snap back that it’s none of his business, just to get out of answering the question.
But more than that, I want to tell him the truth. “It’s stressful not knowing how I’ll be perceived. Not just being in this room full of girls who are judging me—and yeah, I’m doing that to them, too, I know, but—” I shake my head. “It’s worse, because it’s not just them. It’s all of America.”
“Do you care what everyone else thinks?”
That’s a seriously loaded question, way more than he knows. Because Ishouldn’t. I’ve spent years trying to repair the damage Rob did to my self-esteem. I’ve made so much progress.
But this whole process feels like it’s knocked my legs out from under me. Like I’m right back to where I was—feeling awkward and dumb and incompetent. Knowing I can’t hide that, no matter how hard I try.
“I shouldn’t care,” I say quietly. “But I do.”
I expect to feel more disappointment from him, that maybe he’s fully realizing how wrong he was about me being brave and rocking this. But his expression is softer than before. His lips part like he’s going to say something and then he closes them.There’s another beat, and then, “Can I get you a drink?” he asks, with the hint of a smile. “As a producer, I’m supposed to have tried to ply you with drinks long before now.”
My heartbeat picks up again at those warm dark eyes, even if they’re so much more guarded than before I stepped into this mansion. “Are you offering and thus making me feel like I have to say no? Or are you just going to get me a drink?”
His dark eyes glint, his smile widening. “Good point.There is a definitely a correct option here. I’ll be right back.”
He goes to the bar and brings back a drink, which I eagerly accept, because god, do I need that.Then he says he needs to get back to his interviews and heads off, and I’m left to mingle with the girls again and vie for Prince Charming when really, I’m way too interested in someone else.
A guy who doesn’t feel the same way and would be off-limits even if he did.
