A couple of hours later our makeup artist, Reba, hovers over me with her brush, touching up just under my eyes. Our regular camera crew, Karl and Josie, stand in position as we sit on the white sofa.
“I can’t wait to make you my wife.” Wes grins, tracing the tip of my ring which still sits on my finger burning my skin.
“I guess we should start planning the wedding?” I manage to say with a smile, but I’m mentally aware my body language needs to be relaxed and not tense.
“I’m thinking Paris. Winter. Just like when I proposed.”
“That sounds beautiful.”
“You’re beautiful.” Wesley tilts his head and moves his body in, placing his lips on mine. He knows it’s the only way to touch me, and so I allow it. Kissing him back as if I want him, as if he’s good and pure, never breaking my heart.
Every time we filmed over the past few weeks, he touched me as much as possible. I know very well he wants more and he isn’t shy in telling me so.
I just can’t do it. It’s almost feels like I’d be letting my inner woman down.
There had been one occasion where I almost caved—he looked handsome that night and said the right words. What stopped me was the way his eye wandered mid-conversation to another woman walking past in a tight red dress.
I may not have had any sexual activity since the night in the lake, but that’s game over, loser.
“I’m so lucky to have you. Don’t you think it’s fate? Us being on this show and falling in love?” He waits for my response, and because this conversation is scripted and not reality, I try to remember my lines as best as I can.
“I do think it’s fate. And one day our kids will watch this show and see how we fell in love.” I bite my tongue immediately after, tasting the nasty metallic tang of blood in my mouth.
Before the conversation can continue, my cell dances across the coffee table. Karl motions for me to pick it up, continuing to roll the camera.
“Hey, sis!” Ash’s loud cheer barrels through the speaker, and I couldn’t be happier to see his face even if we are being filmed. Cliff always prefers video calls rather than regular calls. Apparently, the audience responds well to them.
“Good news?”
“We won the game today!”
“Congratulations,” I beam with joy. “Dad must be so happy.”
“He’s here with us. Actually, he and Coach are downstairs talking about something.”
It’s not uncommon for the cameras to film private conversations. If Ash consents to this conversation being on the show, Cliff may use this footage. Most of the time, unless the topic is interesting, it ends up on the cutting-room floor.
“And Logan? He must be just as pumped as you.”
Ash laughs, chasing down a blue Powerade before responding, “So pumped that he’s on the balcony surrounded by his girl posse. Did I tell you Alessandra wants to move out? I think she’s over the random girls dropping by.”
I keep my smile fixed, trying to ignore the ache in my stomach. The feeling is odd and unsettling. It’s the same feeling I got when Mom and Dad took Ash to Disneyland one year, and I was forced to stay with my grandparents because I had projectile-vomited all over the hotel room.
The matter of fact is, we had a fling. It wasn’t even a fling. It was a moment of insanity. That moment of insanity should not translate into any sort of jealously—full stop.
“Tell him I said congrats, and give my love to Dad.”
“Will do.” He appears distracted, talking to someone in the background. “Oh, and Alessandra and I have some news.”
“You’re pregnant?” I blurt out.
“No,” he answers panicking, I can almost see him breaking into a sweat. “We’re thinking about having a proper wedding, something low key. Once this season dies down.”
“That’ll be nice.”
Wes takes the cell from my hands, saying hello to Ash. They talk for a couple minutes about the game even though Wes has no interest in sports unless it involves a ring, mud and two girls in bikinis.
“Great. We’ll be there,” Wes finishes, handing the cell back to me.