Chapter Four Shelby
I’m not sure how much makeup to reapply.
My wedding makeup and any evidence of tears are gone, but I’m trying to decide how much of the real me to show in this video.
Normally I’m fully made up, even when I’m looking natural.
It’s important that I look sincere but secure in my decision.
I am secure in my decision. There is no way in hell I’d marry that cheating scumbag.
Finn talks about being alone so easily, but he doesn’t know what it’s like to truly be alone.
To feel adrift in the world with no anchor.
My little sister, Phoebe, is all I have, and I don’t want to be an albatross around her neck.
I want her to have the freedom to go after her dreams and live her life.
I’ll always be there to love and support her, but ever since we were little girls, it’s been my job to protect her.
We had our grandparents, of course, but in a way, I stepped into a little mother role.
Not that I understood what I was doing at six years old, but with the wisdom of age and experience, I see it for what it was.
I want to be connected to someone. I want to have security and a family.
That’s why I went on his show in the first place.
I had a burgeoning social media presence that the producers noticed, and they approached me to make an appearance.
If I didn’t think it was possible I could be attracted to the Bigfoot bachelor and could see myself agreeing to marry him, I wouldn’t have gone on the show.
I’ve never dated a shifter before, but it’s not something I’m opposed to.
Love is love. Goodness knows human men aren’t all that.
My followers fill that need for community and connection to a certain extent.
I’m not delusional enough to think they are truly my friends or really care about me as a person, but I am shallow enough to enjoy knowing that someone will show up when they get the push notification that I’m streaming.
There have been a lot of times when I’ve reached out and no one was there, so I’ll take this virtual connection, no matter how fake and fleeting it is.
Looking around the room, I try to find a blank space that won’t give any clue to where I am.
Some of my followers can be incredible detectives, noticing background details to figure out where I am if I don’t tag a specific location.
Sometimes I play a game, changing one minor thing, like putting a book upside down on my bookshelf.
The first follower to notice and comment gets a shout-out and maybe something from my merch shop.
Sometimes I get called out because there’s a burned-out bulb in a string of fairy lights for more than one day in the room’s background I often film from.
I love that my followers are paying attention to what I do.
There’s an armchair in the corner with a bare white wall behind it in the guest room.
It’s a nondescript blue armchair. With the door and windows closed, there’s no sound from Finn’s cooking or from outside.
After making sure anything that could give a digital clue to my location is turned off or masked, I sit in the armchair and prepare to film my statement.
I’ll record the video and review it rather than streaming live.
That way I can edit and I’m not at risk of sharing details I don’t want to.
I also don’t want to see the comments coming in.
I have no idea what, if anything, is already out there.
I know my people would tell me how important it is to “control the narrative,” but I don’t care.
I want to get through today. Then tomorrow.
Then next week. Eventually I’ll care about “the narrative.” Maybe. But today is not that day.
I rest my laptop on my thighs and turn on its camera. Then, I adjust the angle of the screen so no one gets an up-the-nose shot. My clip-on light illuminates me in a soft, natural glow. No clues to my location anywhere in the background. We’re good.
I hit record and smile as genuinely as I can.
“Hey, friends! This wasn’t a video I expected to make, but here I am.
I don’t know what has been posted already or what is out there.
I don’t know, and it doesn’t really matter.
” I make a shrugging gesture and shake my head.
“As you may have known, today was supposed to be my wedding day. Surprise! I’m not married. ”
I hold up my naked left hand for the camera to see.
“I won’t get into”—I pause, quirking my lips to the side while I try to find the words—“get into any of the reasons or details of why the wedding didn’t happen. Maybe someday I will, but not today.”
My sigh lifts my shoulders. Normally, I enjoy making videos, but this isn’t fun.
“My purpose for this video is just to let everyone know I’m safe.
I’m okay. I’m taking a break from posting because I have things I wanna think about.
” I look off into space, considering my words before turning back to the camera.
“I need to decide what I wanna do moving forward. I thank you all for your love and support.”
Self-consciously, I scratch my right eyebrow.
“I’m gonna be honest. I don’t know if I’m ever going to read the comments on this post. But whether I do or don’t, I hope you respond with kindness and remember I’m a real person with real feelings here.” I give a soft smile. “That’s it. Thanks. Love you. Bye!”
I watch the video to make sure there’s nothing weird and then upload it with a VPN. There’s no way I can stay hidden for long. I just don’t want people on Finn’s doorstep in the morning. This is a place of serenity. I don’t want to taint it with my mess.
The steak smells delicious as I step out of the bedroom. My stomach gives a loud grumble, and Marsha pops an eye open to glare at me in annoyance from her bed.
“Sorry,” I mutter as I pass her. I think I’m forgiven because she gives a little purr as I walk past. Or maybe that’s a death threat. Hard to tell. I guess we’ll see what happens.
“All done,” I say to Finn. “Put me to work.”
He grins at me over his shoulder as he scrubs his hands in the sink.
“If you’re okay with eating on the deck, you can set up the tray tables. I’m getting the steaks ready to go in the oven. How do you like yours cooked?”
I’m distracted watching him dry his hands. He has nice hands. They’re huge—that’s to be expected—but they are also graceful.
“Medium,” I say. “Do you play the piano?”
I cringe at my randomness. “Filter not included” was probably written on my birth certificate.
If it wasn’t, it should have been. I wonder if either of my parents were like this.
My throat clogs, and I feel the need to take a steadying breath to keep from crying.
Again. I can usually think of my parents without tears, but on days like today, when tears are so close to the surface anyway?
No chance. I know so little about them. They’re like a giant hole in my life, and I peek into it every once in a while, trying to figure them out, but there’s...
nothing. Nothing but my own longing and grief sitting heavy in my heart where images of them should be.
My grandparents were wonderful, but they had lost their only son and the daughter-in-law they loved.
They were suddenly parents to two young girls when they thought they were free to enjoy their retirement years.
I used to ask them a lot, after my parents first died, to tell me about them.
But when I saw my grandmother crying afterward once, I never asked again.
Even remembering happier times was painful for them.
Finn’s brows raise, and a small, sexy smile graces his lips. “I can. Why?”
Shrugging, I open drawers to find silverware, pulling out knives and forks when I find the right drawer.
“I don’t know. You have graceful hands. They look like they could play piano.”
He moves so I can reach the paper towels to rip off a couple and glances down at his hands, turning them over and studying them.
“Oh. Thank you. I don’t have a piano here, just a guitar. I’d like to have a piano someday when I have my own house.” He looks up at me. “My mom’s a piano teacher.”
“I’m not musical. I’m not artistic.” Sighing, I admit, “I don’t have any talents.”
His brow furrows. “That’s not the first time you’ve said that in, what?
An hour? And it’s not even true.” Gesturing toward the phone in my hand, he says, “You talk to people on camera and apparently are good enough at it that companies pay you to post about their products. Having a warm personality and the ability to influence people is a talent.”
I huff out a laugh. “Great. You make me sound like a used car salesperson or someone on the shopping channel.”
“Hush.” Finn motions toward the back porch. “Table or trays? I’m good with either, so pick which one you prefer.”
Setting up the trays, I look over the marsh.
If you ignore the bugs flying around outside of the screened-in sanctuary, it’s beautiful.
There’s a serenity to it as the breeze rustles through the marsh grasses, the water of the nearby creek lapping against its banks, creating a backdrop for birds singing and chirping.
“Here we are,” Finn says, carrying our plates and putting mine down on my tray before sitting in the chair beside me with his plate. Dinner looks delicious, and he’s been a wonderful host. This is the nicest thing anyone has done for me. Maybe ever.