Twelve
Becca
As soon as Daisy starts shrieking about her melted chocolates, I slip around the pool to a quieter area and sit down on a marble bench beside a statue of a woman with a high-ruffed collar and her hair braided in a circle around her head like a wreath. She appears to be looking at me judgmentally, like she thinks I’m showing too much neck. Or perhaps like she thinks I have abandoned my children to travel across the world on a dating show where most of my time is spent listening to grown women bitch at each other.
I’m starting to think I deserve the judgment for the latter.
I’ve leaned over to check out the plaque and see who this austere woman is—the author ofHeidi, apparently—when I hear footsteps coming up behind me. I turn to see Preston approaching, followed by two cameramen and a producer. I notice then that I hadn’t been followed by anyone.The drama taking place by the fire pit—still taking place, judging by the raised, shrill voices—seems to have taken most of their attention.
But it’s back on me now.
“Hey, Becca,” Preston says. “Sorry about all that craziness. I think you made a good call, slipping away for a bit. Mind if I join you?”
I smile at him. “Go right ahead. I don’t think Johanna Spyri here will mind.” I glance back at the statue. “Or at least be any more unhappy than she already is.”
Preston laughs, but he sounds tired. Possibly from the non-stop drain of the show, though I don’t think tonight’s chocolate escapade is helping. I do like that he doesn’t seem to particularly enjoy the drama. Maybe Jo’s right, maybe he really does want a classier woman. And since I’ve been fantasizing about all sorts of very non-classy things I’d like to do to a certain producer and I also essentially tried to take advantage of a stuck zipper to seduce said producer, I doubt I fit that description.
But I’m still here, despite Jo’s premonition (she, however, is not, which I felt terrible about and not just because now I’ve got to room with Londyn.) Maybe Preston is more interested in me than I thought. I haven’t had a one-on-one date with him, but after the music festival group date, I did get to talk to him some more. We talked about my kids and my dreams of opening a restaurant, though it all felt more surface than it did when talking about those same things with Nate. From the very beginning with Nate, I wanted him to know more than the surface Becca. I think he does, more than most people do.
What would he think of me if he knew all the things I’ve been keeping from him, all the things I keep from everyone?
Then again, I’ve gotten the feeling the last several days that Nate doesn’t think of me much beyond what’s necessary for the job. He’s been friendly and warm during interviews, but I don’t get the sense that he’s seeking me out, looking for extra time with me, and every day my heart aches more from it.
I didn’t imagine that look of hunger in his eyes; I know I didn’t. I’ve played it over in my head a thousand times.
But intense sexual attraction doesn’t necessarily mean he wants anything more. It’s possible—likely, even, given how insanely gorgeous these other women are—that he feels the same level of attraction for some of them, which makes my chest feel like it’s caving in. Besides, he’s doing his job here, and I’m sure he doesn’t want to risk that for anything, let alone a one-time romp with a contestant.
Or maybe hedoeswant more and that’s why he’s avoiding me?
I’m so confused, and no amount of journal fantasizing about “P” is helping me know what to do. If I only had the courage toaskhim—
“You seem quieter than usual tonight,” Preston says.
Shit. Right. I’m supposed to be talking with the prince.
“Am I?” I ask.
“It’s not a bad thing,” he says quickly. “I actually like that you seem to take things in, to think them through. You’re not inclined to wade into the conflict.”
“Well, if you listen to Daisy, it’s due to the wisdom of my advanced age,” I say, then wince. Probably I shouldn’t be saying bad things about other girls right on the heels of him complimenting me on being above all that.
But he chuckles. “Yeah, well, if thirty’s an advanced age, I’m not far from achieving the wisdom of the elders myself.”
I smile. He really does seem like a nice guy, and—harem of women he’s dating aside—I’m starting to feel more and more guilty about leading him on. Especially if he is interested in something more with me.
I should try to make myself more open to this. I can’t put all my hopes and feelings into a guy who is unavailable.
“I do get the sense, though,” Preston says slowly, “that you’re holding back. And I’m pretty sure I know why.”
My stomach drops. “I, uh. I don’t—”
“It’s hard for you to talk about your late husband, isn’t it?”
Oh god. My husband.
“Yeah, it is.”This is potentially the most honest statement I can make on the matter.
Preston’s lips turn down. “That makes sense. Losing him must have been so traumatic, both for you and your daughters.”
