Chapter 25
Chapter XXV
Roman
Oh, Pluto. At this point, I didn’t care if I ended up on the god of the underworld’s bad side.
I pinched the bridge of my nose, surrounded by empty coffee cups, protein-bar wrappers, and the slow death of my patience. I was in the control room, watching footage of yet another one of Demi’s disastrous dates.
She wasn’t even trying. She was acting as if she were hosting a dating podcast. Who did she think she was? Jay Shetty? None of these yahoos were the guy for her. That much was obvious. But could she at least pretend?
Instead, she was playing everyone’s best friend. Worse—she was turning them into saints of the let’s-be-honest-with-each-other sentimental sap variety. This season wasn’t reality TV. It was Mayberry with microphones.
If that wasn’t bad enough, her cheerleader-best friend energy was contagious.
It was seeping into everyone. Now every couple’s date was heartwarming.
Touching. Practically sponsored by Hallmark.
(But not even they would want to pick up this season, which was going to be rated B for Boring.) No one wanted to step on toes.
No one wanted to be a drama queen or a douchebag.
At this rate, it wouldn’t surprise me if someone broke into “Kumbaya” mid-sunset walk.
Did I realize what a hypocrite I was being?
Absolutely. Demi’s words kept echoing in my head—about me cheapening love, turning it into a spectacle.
She wasn’t wrong. It’s not that I didn’t want genuine matches.
I did. It mattered to me. Deeply. But I also needed people to watch the show.
My crew depended on it. Their paychecks. Their futures.
And no one was going to tune into this snoozefest.
I watched as Blaine reached for Demi’s hand.
My eye twitched. I should’ve been grateful for the romantic gesture.
But I didn’t want him to touch her. Just like I hadn’t wanted any of the others to.
And they all had tried, save Todd. Each time, it had felt like a sucker punch.
Maybe because I knew what it felt like to hold her hand.
Maybe because I couldn’t stop thinking about the moment I could’ve kissed her—and didn’t.
Part of me, and my entire Cupid side, regretted that choice.
But it was against the rules. And Demi was on a deadline. She was supposed to find true love. A soulmate.
And I wasn’t sure I was anyone’s soulmate.
Least of all hers.
Almost instantly, his hand popped off hers. He backed away, blinking like he’d just come out of a trance. Almost as if he’d been . . . No, it couldn’t be. Could it?
It was like she’d given him the opposite of a love pulse.
Could she do that? I paused, rewinding the footage in my mind.
It made me realize she’d done something similar to every guy.
Each time they touched her, they backed off.
And then they started talking. Spilling their guts.
Confessing things they hadn’t told anyone. Like she was their best friend.
I’d seen enough. I pushed back my chair and stood.
Demi needed to be confronted about this.
I didn’t care that it was late at night.
We had a deal. One I, admittedly, wasn’t currently living up to.
But every time I thought about how to find more men for Demi to be around, something in me seized up.
It wasn’t like me. Finding love for others was my thing, my gift.
Something I had felt confident in until now.
But true love was different.
Demi was different.
And I wanted to know her better, as selfish as that was. Even if she was sabotaging my show.
“I’m gonna take fifteen,” I said to Felix, a junior editor.
He gave me a thumbs-up.
I slipped out of the control room and guiltily looked around, making sure no one saw me.
The last thing I needed was to be caught sneaking over to Demi’s cabin.
Although I didn’t think anyone on the crew would blame me for going over there to talk her into at least pretending she was trying to find love on our show.
And to quit turning everyone into the best versions of themselves.
That didn’t sound right, but there was a method to the process, and she was obliterating it.
However, there were still rumors circulating online that I had a crush on her, and I didn’t need to add fuel to that fire. Granted, it was true. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Which probably made it an even worse idea to visit her, but I had to risk it for the sake of the show.
I managed to sneak out of the lodge undetected.
Most of the crew had already gone home for the night, depressed about how the season was shaping up.
No one was looking forward to the first episode dropping next week.
Normally, at this point, everyone would be anxious but excited.
Probably reveling too much in the drama that would have and should have already unfolded.
It was just human nature. But this season, we weren’t dealing with only humans.
We had a goddess with an agenda on our hands.
While I hustled across the grounds in the dark, with only the moon and stars lighting my way, my Cupid side started scripting an ode to Demi. That part of me wasn’t giving up. Not on her. Not on the idea of breaking through to her heart.
And there was no stopping this one:
“An Ode to Demi”
You make me want to forget the rules.
Forget the ratings.
Forget that I’m supposed to be the one pulling strings,
not getting tangled in them.
I watch your footage like a fool.
Rewind your laugh like it’s a clue.
Pause on your smile like it’s meant for me.
You are not mine to want.
But I do.
And that’s the worst part.
Because you’re not just rewriting the show.
You’re making me want to rewrite myself too.
While that was good and true, it was insanity. The last thing I needed tonight was to spout off poetry to Demi. Especially because I knew that part of me was already angling to throw pebbles at her window again. Like some lovesick teenager. Or worse—like a cast member on my own show.
But that’s exactly what I found myself doing when I arrived at Demi’s cabin.
Another pile of pebbles awaited me. Was Demi right?
Was there more to us? Were the gods trying to throw us together?
If so, why couldn’t I break into her heart?
And why put her on my show where she would be off-limits to me?
But it was getting harder to deny there might be more to it. More than just us forging a partnership on her quest.
I stood there in the still of the night, shaking the pebbles in my hand, wondering for the hundredth time what I was doing and how it might come back to bite me.
Knowing my luck this summer, I’d take her eye out or shatter the window.
Or even get caught and end up as tabloid fodder and without a job.
I should have just knocked on her door like a normal person, but there was nothing normal about this, and I had to do something to appease the god in me before I broke out in song and confessed to feelings I wasn’t sure about. But . . . I had to ask myself, was it really my god side? Or was it me?
Feeling like the biggest fool, I tossed a pebble at her dimly lit window, hoping she was still awake. The rock hit its mark and, thankfully, didn’t break the glass but only made a small tink noise. A small acknowledgment that I’d once again passed the point of no return.
The one pebble was all it took this time.
Demi pulled her curtains apart and threw up the window, her glare already locked and loaded.
She was ready for me.
I was not ready for her.
Or at least not for her in a sports bra and the tiniest athletic shorts known to man—bare skin glistening with sweat, moonlight catching every curve like it, too, had a crush on her.
I wanted to worship her where I stood.
The god in me wanted to drop to his knees, shout his ode, and vow undying devotion.
But the mortal in me? He just stood there, stunned. Speechless.
“What do you want?” Demi narrowed her eyes at the pebbles in my hand. “And you realize I have a door, right? Maybe try knocking on it? Do you need a tutorial on how that’s done?”
I let the pebbles slip from my hand and scatter on the ground like they were embarrassed on my behalf.
“Uh, I’m a Cupid,” I stuttered. “This is kind of our thing. Romantic gestures.”
What the hell was I saying? Romantic gestures?
She lifted her brow, skeptical yet seemingly amused. “You’re trying to be romantic?”
“Yes. I mean, no. Maybe. Hell, I don’t know.”
She cracked a small smile. “Well, if this is your idea of a possible romantic gesture, I’m terrified to see what an actual one would look like. A wrecking ball to the cabin to get my attention?”
I let out a heavy breath and dragged a hand through my hair. “Honestly, I would probably do that and more to get your attention.” I paused, hardly believing I’d just confessed that to her. If she only knew every song and poem I’d scripted for her. “But that’s not why I came here.”
“Oh.” Her voice dropped. She was clearly disappointed and confused. Any hint of a smile vanished.
She wasn’t the only one confused.
I braved stepping closer. Close enough to catch the greens and blues swirling in her eyes like the beginnings of a storm.
“Demi, you’re wrecking my show.” Wrecking me.
She folded her arms in front of her. “How precisely am I doing that?”
“You know exactly what you’re doing. I thought we agreed you would leave the matchmaking to me.”
“I’m not making any matches,” she defended herself.
“But I’m not going to lead these men on.
That’s just mean, and I’ve already done enough damage.
Besides, being in the mortal world has turned me into an emotion barometer, and the only way to turn it off and stop sensing everyone’s feelings is to get them to talk about it.
It’s not like I love being able to read people. It feels intrusive.”