“Oh, no, it’s—it’s gorgeous. I’m just . . . I was just dizzy for a second. But I’m fine.” I force a big smile to show how I’m totally, totally fine.
He seems to buy it. “Good. But yeah, I get it. It’s been a long day. I’m really looking forward to spending the evening in. Here, have a seat and I’ll pour us some wine.”
The cameras still haven’t left, and I don’t think they’re going to until they have some clear indication that Preston and I are ready to start making some truly non-network-TV-friendly content. Which I am feeling less capable of every second, and I didn’t start out feeling all that capable to begin with.
Which is ridiculous. I’ve been dating onTinder, for god’s sake. I had an emotionally abusive nightmare of a marriage for ten years before that. It’s not like I need to be madly in love to get it on.
At least not until I was with Nate and never wanted to be with anyone else ever again.
I sit on the edge of the bed, and Preston uncorks the wine and pours us a couple glasses. He hands me my glass and sits right next to me.
“I’m really looking forward to getting some alone time with you, Becca,” he says.
My throat feels too dry. “Me too,” I manage, before taking a sip of wine.There’s a long beat of silence, which I know I need to fill. I can practically feel the producers willing me to sayanything. “I had a lovely day today.”
Oh god. Alovely day? Am I going to talk about thetemperate weathernext?
Preston doesn’t seem to mind, but really, this probably fits with the Becca he knows. He leans close, reaching past me to set his wine glass on the nightstand, his body shifting toward me. I know what’s happening next, and I know what the producers want to happen next, and like everything else in the last several days, I feel like I’m just being tugged along without the will to fight it anymore.
I set down my own wine glass and turn back to Preston. Maybe therecanbe a connection, some chemistry. Maybe I’m just not trying hard enough, still holding back too much.
So when Preston leans in to kiss me, I really kiss him back. I try to imagine I feel anything for him like what I feel (still) for Nate. I try to imagine that the very nearness of him makes my body feel alive the way it did with Nate. I try and try, and our kiss lasts much longer than the previous ones, but I’m just going through the motions, like I’m an actress who’s done a scene too many times.
Preston pulls back and smiles, and the production team, having gotten the footage they wanted, takes off. Darlene gives us a wink and a none-too-subtle head tilt toward the basket full of condoms they have so graciously provided.
We’re alone in the room now.The fire cracks and pops. I take a big drink of wine, and Preston does the same.
He stands. “Do you mind if I take off this prince jacket?” he asks, already unbuttoning the shiny gold buttons. “I’ve got a shirt on underneath, but god, this thing gets scratchy.”
It’s nice of him to ask, given that we’re in the DallianceTower and clothing removal is generally expected here. “Sure,” I say. I’m wearing a shimmery cocktail dress—overdressed for an Irish pub. I’d like to change into the Snoopy pajama pants and matching tank top I smuggled into the overnight bag they had me pack, but I don’t feel particularly like suggesting I want to “get a little more comfortable.” Even though Preston would probably see the writing on the wall when I come out of the bathroom looking like I’m attending a sixth-grade sleepover rather than wearing some sexy lingerie.
I am definitely not wearing that lingerie tonight. I am probably never going to wear that lingerie again.
So I just kick off my heels and stretch out on the bed against the pillow mountain.
“It’s nice not to have the cameras in our faces,” Preston says, peeling off the jacket and then his boots, so he’s just wearing a basic white t-shirt and black pants. He sits back on the bed the same way I am. “I could stand to go an hour without talking about my ‘journey.’”
I chuckle.The awkward tension dissipates a little. “You know, until Rosie found that damn frog the other day, I had made it this whole time without ever once mentioning in an interview about having had to kiss a bunch of frogs in the quest to find my prince. I think I was the last holdout.”
He laughs. “I can’t tell you how many of the women said that directly to me.”
“Seriously? I mean, not that I don’t believe you, but—”
“Twelve.Twelve women used that line on me, seven of them before the first tiara ceremony. Every single time I had to act like it was the most original thing I’d ever heard.”
“I’m starting to see why I’ve stayed around so long. Lack of fairytale-related pick up lines.” I regret the words the minute they leave my mouth, because they sound too flirtatious.
I’m feeling queasy again, or maybe it has never really left and I just keep rediscovering it. It’s not just because I don’t feel that way about Preston—that’s a fact now, no denying it—but because it feels like I’m being unfaithful to Nate.
Who I am not dating. Who very well might have been using me. Who very well might never have felt anything for me at all but sexual attraction.
Or who might have felt that same connection, maybe even love.
“You know, Becca,” Preston says, and I blink back to where I am, with the guy I’m actually on a date with. His expression is serious. “I feel like I want to be honest with you.” He sucks in his lips and frowns down at the bedspread.
“Okay,” I say carefully. Is he going to tell me he’s not into this?That he’s noticed that when I’m around him, I have the personality of a sack of potatoes?The thought fills me with no small amount of relief.
“I’m really glad I’ve gotten to know you over these last few weeks,” he says, his tone hesitant. “But I think you should know that I didn’t feel anything between us at the beginning. It was the producers that kept you around at first.” He looks up at me with a cringe.
