“So, Becca,” he says. “What made you decide to tell this to Preston today?”There’s the tiniest emphasis on the word “today.”
Because I had to seize control of a story I never wanted to tell at all. Because the man I am desperately in love with, the man I thought I had aconnectionwith, used my pain to further his fucking career and I just found out about it last night, that’s why.
My anger is back, and that’s good. I can use that. “I told him today,” I say, very carefully and deliberately restating the question, “because I knew I couldn’t hide it any longer. On a journey to love, it’s so important to be honest and straightforward.”
Nate’s jaw tightens. Probably pissiness at getting called out, at getting caught with his pants down (literally). I force myself to believe it’s that.
“Makes sense,” he says flatly. “So would you say your feelings for Preston have changed since yesterday?” He clears his throat. “Since your date, I mean.”
The cameraman gives him an odd look, and I remember the last time I noticed the camera crew looking at Nate oddly during an interview—when we were joking about muffins. Flirting, the sexual tension thick in the air.
This is so very far from that. Even if I still remember the way my body felt against his; even if I know I’ll never forget the way he moved inside me, the way his tongue traced along my most sensitive parts.
I don’t doubt that the sexual tension was real for him, too. But wanting to bang someone doesn’t necessarily equate to real feelings.
It doesn’t equate to love. Another lesson I should damn well have learned a long time ago.
I realize the silence has stretched on too long. I need to answer the question.
“The date yesterday was a pivotal moment for me,” I say with a tacked-on smile, though I know the words sound as flat as his are. “I’m really looking forward to seeing where this journey will take us.”
It wasn’t exactly an answer to the question, but I’ve said “journey” now twice within two answers, so Levi will probably be happy. If I talk about feeling “like I’ve finally found my prince,” or how “I’m starting to believe in happily-ever-afters,” he’d throw Nate an effing parade.
I’m not inclined to go that far.
“What would getting this week’s tiara mean to you?” He’s asked this question in almost every interview—I’m pretty sure it’s a requirement. But he’s never said it with this snide little edge to it before.
Which makes my own hackles rise further. “I believe that getting this week’s tiara would mean that Preston also wants to see where this relationship can go. I believe it would mean that he has real feelings for me.” I put a tiny emphasis on the “real” the way he did before with “today.”
Nate looks down at his knees, and I notice that his hands are gripping them tightly. “I think that’s good for now, Becca,” he says, not looking back up.
I’m taken aback. I’ve never had an interview this short.These suckers can stretch on for hours sometimes—though it never seemed to feel too long when I was with Nate.
And the question fights its way through my anger: Is he really hurt? And if so, does that mean he didn’t betray me? Does that mean he feels—
“Town-crier’s about to show up,” he says, by way of explanation. “So you should go join the others.”
Shame creeps in, for starting to let my guard down, for letting cracks start to form in that dam so soon. “Right. Sure,” I say and head toward the area of the lobby that’s been set apart for the show and made to look like a cozy living room.
My face burns the whole way, because I still want so much to believe in Nate. I never felt about Rob the way I feel about Nate, not even in the very beginning.
Back then, I did trust him. Rob wasn’t always awful to me, and I trusted that he loved me, that he always would. He was so good at making that seem real to me, until he didn’t have to anymore. By the time we got married, I already knew that was never true and would never be true, but I went with it anyway because I thought it was all I deserved. My therapist says that I felt like negative attention was better than none.That I felt like being with someone was inherently better than being alone—and I was wrong.
Nate isn’t Rob, I know that. Not even close. Not even if he did use me and exploit my pain, he could never be Rob.
But if he didn’t use me, if what I felt from him was real . . . does it even matter? Can I ever really trust someone when I can’t even trust myself?
I sit down with the other girls, who were summoned here too.There are six of us left, and they’re talking about who they think will get the next date, as the cameras shoot us from seemingly every angle.
Daisy looks bored, picking at her nail polish—she already had her one-on-one earlier this week. My name’s not going to be on the scroll, either, for that same reason. Which leaves the other four—Addison, Madison, Londyn, and Sheree—all saying they’re sure it’s going to be a group date and pretending to be really excited about that.
I eye Londyn. I know she also has a crush on Nate, and according to Olivia, he got her to open up about things she was holding back. Is he building a relationship with her, too? What would have happened if Londyn had been the one to show up at his room?
Stop, Becca. Stop stop stop.
Luckily, this is made easier by the fact that Bartholomew enters, scroll in hand. And this time, walking next to him is host Swiss Barrington, who we usually don’t see much other than at the tiara ceremonies.
“Ladies,” he says, flashing that wide, pearly Swiss Barrington smile. “I hope you’re enjoying your time with Preston in Germany.”
