Twenty-six
Becca
We’re in Ireland now, and I’ve spent the day on my final date with Preston walking along the edge of a sheer, awe-inspiring cliff, where we can look out at the crashing waves or look back at the rolling hills that are so emerald green it’s like they’ve been through a saturation filter.Then later, dinner at this great pub where we ate soda bread and boxty and listened to an Irish band.
Like so many of the other dates I’ve been on, it’s beyond anything I could have expected to experience in my life. And yet, I feel like I’m sleepwalking through the entire thing. Everything is a blur, and I don’t want to be here anymore. Much as I miss my girls, I don’t want to be home either, having to pretend at happiness and fun to make up for all the weeks I’ve been gone. Having to pretend that every part of me doesn’t feel like it’s broken into pieces and being held together by a layer of determination that is thinning by the minute.
I also can’t handle facing Paula and Kurt again, not after what I know, but when I get home, I won’t be able to avoid them entirely, because I depend on them for childcare.
Staying here, seeing this through, seems more important than ever. But that’s killing me, too. Both seeing Nate—when he’s interviewing us at our hotel or standing with the other producers at the tiara ceremony—or not seeing Nate, when he’s avoiding me.
He seems to be able to do that even more now, which I suppose makes sense.There’s only three girls left—me, Madison and Addison—and they don’t need as many producers on the front lines, so to speak.
Clearly, they don’t feel like they need Nate to pry any more out of me.
So I’m just stumbling through the endless days of travel, getting desperate enough to seek out Madison and Addison to hang out with.They are both awful in their own unique ways. Madison, who I’m always a little afraid will poison my food but will then no doubt deliver my eulogy with a pageant-ready smile and a “It’s too bad she didn’t pass up those carbs, bless her heart.” And Addison with her constant need to bitch about Madison and Madison only.
Of the two, I prefer Addison; it’s kind of nice to have someone to openly bitch about Madison with. It’s not like I care much anymore how the show’s going to portray me. I lost that battle weeks ago. Really, when it comes down to it, I know this—I’m awful, too.
And now I’ve arrived at Dalliance night, which will only add fuel to the fire.
The cameras follow us as Preston and I emerge from our limo to stand in front of this gorgeous castle in which Preston and I are going to spend the night. Preston gives my limp hand a squeeze and smiles down at me. I honestly have no idea why he’s still keeping me here, but once again, I survived another tiara ceremony, where he sent Londyn packing. Since our one-on-one, we’ve had exactly one more end-of-date kiss that wasn’t much longer than the first one. He holds my hand on the dates sometimes, but I’m never the one reaching for his. I can’t imagine his dates with the other girls are so . . . passionless.
He’s such a nice guy and really, he deserves better than what I’m doing to him. I keep hoping I can invest myself in this more, give it a real shot, but especially after that chat with my in-laws, my mind isn’t here.
And my heart has never been. It’s been Nate’s from the beginning, and I can’t seem to wrest it back no matter how hard I try.
“Here we go,” Preston says, holding up the brass key that was brought to us on a tray with our dessert at the pub.
“Here we go,” I say back with a wan smile. My eyes flick toward the production team, as they so often do, but Nate wasn’t with us for the rest of the date, and he’s not here now. Probably that’s a good thing.
Preston tugs me forward and we enter the castle. It’s an actual hotel, with a lobby and reception desk in the front room, but there are tapestries hanging from stone walls and big oaken chairs with high, carved backs and a roaring fireplace.
“Your highness,” one of the hotel clerks says with a smile on his face as he bows low. “My lady.”
From the amusement on the clerk’s face, it’s pretty clear this isn’t the first time he’s greeted Preston this way. We’ve been in Ireland for several days now, and I’m the last Dalliance week date of the three.The clerk’s face just confirms to me that Preston has spent a couple nights already in this very same castle. Possibly the very same room.
It’s skeevy as hell, but it doesn’t bother me nearly as much as it should. And hey, it’s not like I can be ticked at him for sleeping with other people.
The hotel clerk leads us up the winding stairs to the room at the top (in the tower, of course), and Preston brandishes the key again. Darlene asks him to keep holding it up for a few seconds, then says, “Becca, would you mind taking a step to the side, you’re blocking the shot.” I move. “Okay, we’re good,” she says. “Preston, insert the key now, but do it slowly.”
Very subtle. I only barely manage not to roll my eyes.
Preston gives me a knowing smile, like we’re in on the joke together, which I appreciate. I manage to bring myself to smile back.
Then he’s opened the door, and we get a look at our Dalliance room, complete with cameramen waiting inside for our reaction.They won’t stay, but they’re going to get as much footage of this as they can while they’re here.
The room itself is gorgeous, with a big canopy bed. No lacy curtains like the bed that—no, Becca, don’t think about talking about that bed with Nate, about imagining him bending you over, of him wanting that same thing at that exact same time . . .
No lacy curtains.This bed isn’t so much “princessy” as “queenly.” Lots of tasseled pillows in deep golds and maroons. Sconces with candles on the walls (just for ambiance—there are real lamps, too). Another fireplace, the romantic fire already crackling away. Rose petals strewn on the bedspread. Wine chilling on the decorative wooden chest at the end of the bed.The room smells a little musty, but is also mixed with a fake flower garden scent—like someone did a full spray-down of Glade.
That’s a little less romantic. But overall, the kind of gorgeous luxury that one could expect when spending a night with a handsome prince. But I’m far less enchanted about the whole thing than I should be.
I blink at that word. Enchanted. I remember writing that in the beginning of my journal, how I felt embarrassed to even say it, like I was giving in to the show pressure to make everything a fairy tale.I’m enchanted by P,I said. Everything about Nate drawing me in, everything between us feeling like magic.
Now I think itwaslike magic—something that looks real, but ultimately isn’t. And I feel both like the stunned audience watching the magician, trying to figure out how it was done, and also like the woman being sawed in half.
“Becca?” Preston asks, his brow furrowing. “Is everything okay? Is the room not . . .” He looks around, because what bad thing can you say about this room?
