Murray, maybe? One of the other producers? Z?
There was a thought. Where were they keeping Z? Given how intense they were about the bubble, he had to be somewhere on the property.
Maybe Romeo-Dylan and Z were roomies. Maybe they had bunk beds down there in the cabin, just like we had in the Villa, and now they were sitting out on their shared deck together.
If that was true, I hoped they were filming it for theMarry Me, Julietwebsite. That would be hilarious bonus content, seeing Romeo-Dylan and Z fall over each other and argue about whose turn it was to make dinner and fight over the wardrobe space for their incredible suit collections.
But it probably had its upsides. For Romeo-Dylan, anyway. It must be really tough and really lonely, being the star of the show. He could probably use a friend.
Oh my God. Was Z the mysterious friend who’d been watching us and judging us in the love machine date?
I tried to figure it out if it was possible, and I was almost positive it was. Z had done the little introductory spiel on the group date, but then he’d disappeared until right at the end, when he came back for that snap elimination. He could totally have been sitting in some secret room with a million screens, watching us all.
I squinted hard at the two people on the deck, wondering if I was right. Was Z the one who had somehow decided that Kumiko and Parisa and Jess D’s love machine was better than my extremely elegant catapult? Just because they hadn’t had an all-out shitfight while they were making it?
But then one of the figures on the boat stood up and walked towards the railing, and all my Z conspiracy theories were driven right out of my head.
What the fuck wasDylandoing on Romeo-Dylan’s boat?
There were trees spilling down the hillside towards the edge of the lake. I stole through them, wincing every time a stick cracked under my feet, as though the Dylans might somehow hear me.
The trees didn’t go all the way to the waterline, but they came close. I did my best to conceal myself behind one of the larger ones, grateful that I was a) a tiny enough person that hiding behind a tree was a legitimate option for me, and b) wearing relatively muted colours.
Unlike Dylan. That orange dress – the same one she’d been wearing the day we met – was practically hi-vis.
Romeo-Dylan had joined her, and they were standingtogether at the railing. I wasn’t close enough to hear what they were saying, but they were clearly deep in conversation as they looked out over the water. Romeo-Dylan was leaning casually forward, his hands folded loosely together, occasionally glancing up at her. Dylan was standing tall, but even from here I could tell – somehow? from her shoulders, maybe, or her posture? – that her fingers were clenched tight around the rail.
Romeo-Dylan straightened and put his hand on Dylan’s back.
I could feel that hand on my back, as firmly as if it was shoving me to the ground and holding me there.
Because she was turning to face him, leaning into his hand. They were close now, so close together, Romeo-Dylan looking into Dylan’s beautiful eyes and her looking back, and then her arms were around him and his were around her and they were hugging each other like they never, ever wanted to let go.
I felt so stupid I could vomit.
Whatever it was I thought I’d felt last night, I was absolutely kidding myself.
Dylan wasn’t the least bit interested in me. Not even the tiniest bit.
And neither was Romeo-Dylan, for that matter. I was nice and unthreatening enough to keep around – a wifey on paper – but that was all. I was vanilla ice cream: inoffensive enough to keep in the mix until you’d got rid of all the flavours you didn’t like.
Neither Dylan was into me. Because – as should have been obvious all along – the only people the Dylans were into were each other.
13
Lily got the next single date (‘Roses are red, clowns are so silly, I know you like fire, make one with me, Lily?’). She got in everyone’s faces about it and was, in general, really fucking annoying, but try as she might – and she truly did try! – she couldn’t get a rise out of Dylan.
I wished she had, to be honest. ‘God, Lily Fireball is so irritating’ was one of the few genuinely safe topics Dylan and I had to talk about.
It wasn’t like I startedavoidingDylan. As we’d all well and truly found out over the course of the pandemic, you can’t avoid someone you’re locked down with. Especially not when you share a bunk bed with them.
But I made a point of spreading my time around. I got in a yoga routine with Kumiko. I asked Jess D to teach me how to bake. I even tried to go jogging with Parisa.
‘You know she runs marathons, right?’ Dylan asked, when I collapsed on the floor, unable to move.
‘Nnnnggghhhnnngghhh,’ I replied.
She laughed and sat down beside me. ‘And her legs are about three times as long as yours. No wonder you couldn’t keep up.’
