by Lizzie Shane
“That’s fine. I just… can you ask her?”
Miranda smiled, the professional smile that never made it all the way to her eyes. “Absolutely. You sit tight.”
Caitlyn sat, her mind blissfully blank. After the last few days of thinking things over—Will, Daniel, the show—she felt like she had come to a few decisions. Now she just had to be brave enough to act on them. No matter what Mimi said, or how adventurous Will had encouraged her to be, she wasn’t exactly known for her bravery.
Five minutes later, Miranda reentered the dressing room. “Miracle of miracles. She’d love to see you. Just hang on a second until we can clear the hallway and then we’ll sneak you down there.”
Caitlyn nodded.
It was funny, the little things about the show that had already begun to fade from her memory. Being held in a room so the wrong people didn’t bump into one another. The pleasantly dictatorial demeanor of the producers and cast wranglers, telling them where to be and what to do. The ubiquitous psychologists, waiting in the wings to talk to them about what had happened and coach them into opening up on camera more.
She wouldn’t miss it. Not one bit of it.
Elena’s dressing room was three doors down and an exact mirror image of hers. The Latina beauty was sitting at the vanity when Miranda opened the door, but immediately rose to face them. She planted her hands on her curvy hips and arched her long neck in a look that could have been haughty or combative, but Caitlyn now recognized it as Elena bracing for impact. She’d taken a lot of hits in the last few months. The Slutty Suitorette.
“Hi,” she said awkwardly.
Elena nodded. “Hey.”
“I’ll just leave you two alone. No cat fights off camera,” Miranda said, though the joke fell flat in the tense room. “Just knock on the door when you’re ready to leave, Caitlyn.”
And then they were alone. The two women who had made it to the end of the Epic Journey Toward Love that was Marrying Mister Perfect.
She was still stunning. Samantha might have been the most beautiful, but Elena trumped everyone on sheer sexual magnetism. Salma Hayek, eat your heart out. She tossed her long black hair, eyeing Caitlyn guardedly.
Elena had always been impatient, impetuous and blunt. Caitlyn took a page out of her book.
“Did you love him?”
“Did you?” Elena countered after a minute pause.
“I thought I did,” she admitted. “Or that I might. I was never sure.”
“I was,” Elena said. And the tension suddenly left the room. Her defensive posture eased and there they were, just two women who’d been stupid enough to date the same guy at the same time. “I threw myself into it completely. I was absolutely convinced that he was the one. I told myself it was true love. I can be very persuasive – even when I’m only fooling myself.”
“Do you still?” Caitlyn asked softly. “Love him?”
Elena hesitated. Then finally… “No. I hated you for a little while,” she admitted, then shrugged. “It was easy to blame you for every time he lied to me. But eventually I wised up and became grateful you’d taken the bullet for me. I would have married him.” She grimaced with distaste—somehow making even that expression seem sensual. “I was that sure. And what a nightmare that would have been.” She nodded to Caitlyn’s bare left ring finger. “You’ve called it off?”
Caitlyn nodded. “A few weeks ago.”
“Brave,” Elena murmured. “If you wanted him, though, you’d have my blessing. No hard feelings.”
“I wondered if I owed you an apology.”
Elena’s face—always so revealing—clearly displayed her surprise. “Oh, querida, no. You don’t owe me anything. I made my own mistakes.”
“They haven’t been kind to you. In the press.”
“The Slutty Suitorette? My father is appalled. He’s barely speaking to me now. I suppose I could have predicted that, if I’d been thinking.”
“Why did you do it?” Caitlyn asked. “I’ve always wondered. Why play the villainess?”
“Why play the tramp, you mean?” Elena shrugged again, but that edge of defensiveness was back. “I thought he would be worth it. I never dreamed he would pick someone else. Mister Perfect.” She gave a low, humorless laugh. “You know sometimes I wonder if I even knew the difference between falling for Mister Perfect and falling for Daniel. I’m pretty certain he didn’t know the difference—and that was the really dangerous part. But I figured it out too late. I doubt I ever would have figured it out if he hadn’t rejected me. You’re smarter than I am.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
“No? You figured out the secret. It’s easy to think he’s your last and only shot at happiness. That if you don’t want Mister Perfect, or if he doesn’t want you, you’ll never find anyone. They encourage you to think that. But it’s a show. It’s a lie. It’s not your life. And love isn’t one guy selecting the best possible girl from a bunch of desperate candidates like the world’s most fucked up job interview.”
Caitlyn’s heart clenched, thinking of Will and what she’d thought love was and everything she’d thought she had with him. “What is it? Love, I mean.”
Elena snorted. “Hell if I know. Let me know if you figure it out, okay?”
Caitlyn smiled a little, feeling that same macabre kinship. Survivors of the same natural disaster. “Deal.”
Will waited until all three of his sisters had seated themselves at his kitchen table before he asked the ten million dollar question.
“Am I still hung up on Tria?”
Claire and Laney exchanged a glance.
Julia hummed a sympathetic noise. “Only you can say what your heart feels for her—”
“I’m not in love with her. That isn’t it.” He tried to remember exactly what Caitlyn had said. “Am I being a dick, clinging to anger and resentment to avoid real relationships?”
“Well…” Julia hummed.
“You have every right,” Claire said, dripping sympathy. Though she was usually the first one to tell him to get his head out of his ass. His family had been babying him. Letting him wallow. Shit.
“Who said that?” Laney asked, cutting right through to the juicy part with her keen gossip radar.
“Caitlyn.”
“Marrying Mister Perfect Caitlyn?” This from Claire.
“Oooh, did she tell you if Daniel proposed to her?”
“Focus, Julia,” Laney snapped, “Will is having an emotional breakthrough.” Both she and Claire glared at their middle sister.
“Caitlyn is my emotional breakthrough. Mister Perfect did propose. She said yes. Then she broke it off. Because of me. Of us… There was an ‘us.’ But when she told me that she’d jilted Mister Perfect for me, I lost it. I yelled. I was a fucking moron and now she’s gone.
“Typical guy,” Claire shook her head.
“Help me fix it,” he pleaded.
His sisters had all descended on his apartment within fifteen minutes of his call, arriving en masse since Laney had swung by to pick up the others, which was both wonderful and terrifying. Now he just needed them to wave their magic wands, give him invaluable girl advice like they had since he hit puberty and show him the magic gesture that would make it all right.
It had to be all right.
“Um…” Julia and Claire exchanged a glance, for once looking at a loss for genius girl advice.
“You do realize she’s on television, like, right now,” Laney said. “The Finale and Reunion Special air tonight.”
Shit. She was with him. Right now. Mister Perfect could be pleading his case. Probably being fucking perfect.
He swore.
Claire shoved him toward his couch. “Sit. We’ll watch with you. Moral support.”
“You’ll watch with me so you can feed off my love life like emotional vampires.”
“Like I said,” Claire said cheerfully as Laney turned on his television. “Moral support.”
He could have kicked them out, b
ut the truth was, he really could use the moral support – even if it did come with a certain dose of emotional voyeurism. His sisters were dramatic pains in his ass, but they were his and they loved him and they wanted him to be happy and right now he needed all the voices he could find petitioning God to send Caitlyn back to him. So he sat with his sisters and prayed at the altar of reality television for the woman who seemed to have become the love of his life.
Chapter Forty
The lights burned down, as warm as a tropical sun. Caitlyn sat stiffly, as far away from Daniel as she could get on the cozy little love seat, her hands folded in her lap. They weren’t shaking. And for once her stomach was fine. It still felt strange, knowing this was being broadcast live to millions of households in America, but she’d found her center. All of this didn’t seem to matter so much anymore.
“I don’t see a ring,” their host, Josh Pendelton, said gently, oozing empathy and charm. “We all watched that romantic proposal, we saw that very happy couple on the screen, but now I understand things have changed. The airing of the show can be hard on our couples. We’ve seen it before. Are you still together?”
“We broke it off,” Caitlyn said, soft, but firm.
Daniel cleared his throat. “Josh, may I say something?”
“By all means, Daniel,” Josh smiled, debonair and always composed. “The floor is yours.”
Caitlyn wasn’t sure what to expect. Some manifesto on Daniel’s part? But she supposed she should have seen it coming when he turned to her and reached for her hands. She let him take them, though his grip felt unnaturally hot.
“Caitlyn. I still love you.”
She almost sighed. Of course you do. The man didn’t know what he felt. She opened her mouth, started to shake her head, but he plowed on before she could refute his claim.
“I’ve missed you, sweetheart, and I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want you back. You’re it for me.”
The nausea was back. Lovely.
“I know I made mistakes.” His eyes flicked to the side, where the other Suitorettes were sitting. Several necks craned as everyone turned to stare at Elena—who was probably planning a voodoo doll with Daniel’s name on it. “But I still believe we’re meant to be together. I still want our life together.” He pulled something from his pocket. A ring box. A very familiar ring box. Well, shit. “I love you, Caitlyn. The one thing I did that wasn’t a mistake was picking you.”
Ouch. She hoped Elena kicked him in the balls later. “No, but it was my mistake to say yes.”
A gasp rippled through the crowd and Caitlyn winced. Okay, yes, that had come out much more harshly than it had sounded in her head.
Here was Mister Perfect. Still handsome. Still romantic—if in a generic, non-specific way that made her feel like she was just filling a role. Perfect Fiancé. Not Caitlyn.
But he was offering her that life again. That tempting life. Husband. Children. Happily-ever-after.
Bird in the hand.
From the look on Daniel’s face, she knew she could name her terms. On national television, no less, so he couldn’t renege. She had no idea where she stood with Will. They hadn’t exactly left things in a good place. He was still nursing wounds from being jilted. He might never want to get that close to another woman. Taking a chance on Will might very well blow up in her face and leave her heartbroken and alone.
The choice had been so hard before. She’d been so panicked. So unsure.
It was ridiculously easy now.
“Daniel, I’m sorry. You’re a good guy, but I can’t marry you. In the last few weeks, I’ve started developing feelings for someone who has been a great friend through this entire process.” Use the jargon, Caitlyn. Always a process, never a nightmare. “I don’t know if he feels the same way or if anything will come of it, but it wouldn’t be fair to you to pretend my heart isn’t otherwise engaged.”
“Would this be Will Hamilton? The man you were photographed with a couple months back?” Josh asked, smoothly taking back the reins of the show.
“No comment,” Caitlyn murmured.
She had a thousand things to say to Will, but she wasn’t going to say them on national television. Her love life wasn’t their business anymore. The rush that accompanied that thought was practically orgasmic.
She may have screwed things up with Will by not being up front about things with Daniel, but he was still the only man she could imagine marrying and she was going to win him back. It was her turn to woo him.
Miranda moved through the darkened studio. The show had finished airing hours ago. Caitlyn was on her way back to her hotel, several of the other Suitorettes were either on their way to the airport or to a bar. Another successful season… but she didn’t feel satisfied. Just tired.
The dual specters of American Dance Star and Bennett Lang had hung over her for the second half of the season, the decisions providing equal parts temptation and dread. She didn’t know if she could take over Bennett’s job—even if it was her dream job—without being reminded of him every second of every day. And on the romantic side, if he was retiring, she wasn’t even sure how their lives would go together—if there was even a hope for them as a couple.
She still couldn’t escape the feeling of inequity. Like he wanted to be her adored mentor rather than her partner.
She reached for the last light switch on the set, only to see a figure moving up on the love seat where all of tonight’s drama had taken place. A very familiar, muscular blond figure.
Miranda sighed. Daniel had had a rough night. The Suitorettes had taken him to the carpet for leading them on—which admittedly was part of the show. Then Elena had torn him a new one for treating her like a disposable sex doll—which admittedly, he deserved. And then Caitlyn had practically laughed in his face when he tried to re-propose to her. Poor guy.
This is what rock bottom looks like, champ.
She tucked her tablet under her arm and climbed the risers up to the main stage area. Daniel looked up, his pretty face contorted in confusion, muscular back bowed.
“I don’t understand what happened.”
She was reminded of the first audition tape she’d seen of him. Wholesome, laughing, unspoiled. Poor guy. “You bought into your own image.”
His head lifted and he blinked up at her. “What?”
Miranda sank down onto one of the set couches, slipping her heels off her aching feet and tossing her tablet onto the cushion beside her. “I could tell you that Caitlyn just fell in love with someone else. That you were a pebble on her road to true love or whatever bullshit. Or I could say that it was the pressure of the show—being apart for months on end while it’s airing and not being able to comfort her when she had doubts. I could tell you that it wasn’t you, it was her, but I’m feeling particularly honest today so I’m gonna give it to you straight, Danny Boy. It’s you. You started out as a nice guy—the guy all of America wanted to date, the one every mother in America hoped would meet her daughter—and then you drank the reality show Kool-aid, started reading your own press clippings, bought into your own hype and became a royal, first class, grade A douche.”
His chin rocked back like she’d socked him and Pretty Boy glowered at her. “Is this supposed to be comforting?”
“I’m not here for comforting. Go to a club after this and five girls will line up to comfort the hell out of you all night long. I’m giving it to you straight—which is a rare commodity in this town so you should take it as the manna from heaven it is.”
His mouth tightened in anger. “So I’m a douche.”
“You are. But the good news is you might not be an irredeemable one. You were a genuinely great guy when you came on the show the first time. And then the fame changed you. It happens to a lot of people—some more severely than others.”
“I’m not famous,” he said, but something about the way he said it convinced her that he knew it was a lie as much as she did. And that he would lap up every drop of attention that came his w
ay.
“Sure you are. You’re famous for being the one everyone wants—which is a dangerous kind of fame. Society is busy screaming about how men are assholes and here you are—a unicorn. The One Good Guy. But the second you buy into that crap, you stop being the One Good Guy and become just another brand of asshole. As soon as you believe you’re God’s Gift to Women, you aren’t anymore. Catch-22.”
He grimaced. “I used to teach that book.”
“To second graders?”
“High school. I taught high school for a year before I moved to fourth grade. I never taught second.”
She shrugged. “Until they’re old enough to go on the show, they don’t exist to me.”
“And you think my reality is skewed?”
“I never said mine wasn’t.” Miranda liked her glass house. “I just answered your question about how this happened. You became an ass. The kind of man that a sensible girl like Caitlyn would never choose to spend the rest of her life with. It took her a little while to wake up and smell the asshole, but when she did she had a big strong fire-fighter on hand to make sure she got her happily ever after.”
“And that leaves me where?”
“Single and unemployed in Hollywood. Don’t worry. It happens to the best of us.”
His head snapped up at that. “They fired you?”
“Of course not, dummy. I’m amazing. I can write my own ticket.” Literally. American Dance Star was waiting. If she wanted it. “Believe it or not, you turning into a dick on national television and then getting jilted was great for the ratings because we were able to spin it. Everybody’s happy.”
“Except me.”
“Well, yeah.” And Elena. She’d taken a beating in the court of public opinion and Miranda still felt bad about that. Not that Daniel seemed to care. “Were you really going to be happy engaged to Caitlyn? You barely know her. And honestly? Right now you barely know yourself. Maybe figure that out before you go running into marriage with the first gorgeous, smart, sweet, stable girl to come along.”
