The Revenge Games Duet

We both lean in for another kiss, lingering until Cliff yells, “Cut.”

Wes pulls away first but maintains his position. His body begins to shiver with the brutal cold finally settling in. “You like it?” He strains while his teeth shatter uncontrollably, cradling my waist in his arms and using my body to warm himself up.

“It’s beautiful,” I respond almost speechless and mesmerized by the exquisite piece of jewelry that now sits on my finger.

“Great work, guys, but we have one problem. Wesley, for fuck’s sake, you got the dress color wrong,” Cliff shouts, disgruntled, shoving his coffee cup into the chest of his assistant, causing the brown liquid to spill all over her white coat.

“I did?” Wes replies with a half-assed laugh.

“That’s right,” I confirm, remembering the moment we first met. “It was white.”

“Oh…” Wes’ face drops, his devilish smile disappearing quickly. “That dress.”

The dress that caused our first major fight which ended up in the tabloids. It all started because his jealousy reared its ugly head when he caught an ex-cast member commenting on how I looked ‘fuckable’ in that dress.

“Sorry, guys, but since we have that first episode aired we need to get the facts straight,” Jenny, our co-producer, informs us.

“You mean I have to do this again?” Wes complains, removing his hands from my body, folding his arms while kicking the snow beneath his feet.

“Wow!” I drag out. “God forbid you have to propose again?”

“C’mon, Em, I didn’t mean it like that. I just want this over with.”

His face softens, and perhaps I’m a bitch for pointing out that my feelings are hurt. But like everything that’s happened in my life it all feels staged. And this so-called perfect moment suddenly feels very imperfect.

The cold becomes unbearable. My feet are frozen in the expensive pair of boots I’m wearing. The dress I have on has long sleeves, but because we have to get this proposal right, the designer requested I didn’t wear a jacket. The million-dollar diamond necklace adorning my neck feels like cold steel against my already-frozen skin.

I should have taken it as a sign.

Everything about this is to bring in ratings.

To make the television network rich.

And somewhere amongst this scripted moment, Wes and I are supposed to make it come alive. Show everyone what true love is all about.

I do love him. We’ve built a life together over the last three years. We purchased our first home, moved in together, and spent the previous year growing our fitness line. We’ve even adopted a dog—George Puggington.

Everyone refers to us as the ‘unstoppable duo.’ We’re taking the world by storm and at the ripe old age of twenty-six. Forbes predicted we would be billionaires by the time we reach thirty.

It’s win-win in everyone’s eyes.

Everyone’s but my own.

There’s a commotion around us, the crew touching up my makeup and hovering over me while my knees shake with the cold.

Wesley taps his foot, frustrated and impatiently waiting for them to finish when the ring box slips out of his shivering fingers and onto the pile of snow in front of me.

I don’t know what compels me to bend down and pick it up. As I lean down, ignoring my fingers stiffening from the cold, I lift it toward me until my focus moves to the scar on my knee. Three stitches from when I fell off a zip-line at the age of ten. When I didn’t have a care in the world. When life was nothing but unicorns, rainbows, and making my brother’s life hell.

The good old days before life became a circus show.

But who do I have to blame?

The man professing his love to me in front of the entire world?

The millions of fans who tune in at seven every Monday night?

Or myself, for thinking I had to prove a point?