Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Really? That’s the one you picked?”
I gaped at my mother in the mirror as she disdainfully eyed the white satin gown I wore.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing.” She shrugged, doing a half circle around me. “It’s just not the most flattering, is it?”
“I thought it was nice. That’s why I picked it,” I deadpanned. Where the hell was Emma to take my mother to her seat?
One nice thing about this fake wedding was the stunning beach front venue. Not only were we out of the compound, but the views were gorgeous. The glass of champagne I’d been given while getting ready didn’t hurt either.
Emma finally stuck her head through the door and pointed to my mother. “Rebecca, it’s time to take your seat.”
I barely registered my mom leaving as Emma swung the door open wider and walked in.
“You look fantastic,” she said.
“Can we speak candidly?” I asked, knocking back the last sip of my champagne and twisting the stem of the glass in my fingers.
“Shoot.” She sat down and pulled off her headset.
“I’m a fraud.”
She chuckled. “It’s reality TV. Nothing is that real.”
“This whole week I’ve been playing house with these guys, and now this?” I held up my heavy skirt. “I’m going to be a laughingstock."
"I promise, you won’t.” She walked over and held my hand. “Seriously, I’m in the behind-the-scenes meetings. I talk to the crew. Everyone is set on giving you a sweetheart edit. And even if they weren’t, I’d make sure of it.”
I raised my eyebrows like I didn’t quite believe her. I wanted so badly to see Emma as a friend, especially in contrast to Brady’s no-nonsense attitude. But she still worked for the show.
“I suppose you think I should get engaged after this, too,” I eyed her, trying to gauge her genuine reaction.
She sighed and shook her head. “I mean—I don’t know. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think it could be good for your career. Tons of people in the industry have fake relationships and it can do wonders for relevancy. But if that’s not where your heart is at, you shouldn’t force it.”
There was a distinct lack of pressure or guilt or any of the other building emotions I’d been feeling recently in her response. It was refreshing. No one ever wanted me to act for myself. They only wanted me to do what they felt was best.
“I’m worried I’m going to let everyone talk me into something I don’t want to do,” I said, staring in the mirror at my heavily pancaked face. It was like the makeup team was hoping if they applied enough product, the humidity wouldn’t strip it all from my skin.
Emma folded her arms across her chest. “That’s BS.”
I sighed. “It’s just the truth.”
“Tell Brady to go fuck himself if it’s not what you want to do, Trace. Your mother, too, for that matter. That woman needs a swift kick in the—”
“Emma!” I choked out a laugh at her sudden outburst.
“I’m just sayin.” She held up her hands. “But seriously, you should be able to do whatever you want to do. If getting engaged is a big deal to you, don’t do it. Tripp is a good guy, but if you’re not feeling it, you’re not feeling it.”
I groaned. “But the publicity.”
“Screw the publicity. Screw everything that isn’t what you want to do.”
How was it that Emma, a stranger to me less than a month ago, was more passionate about me sticking up for myself than I was? That couldn’t be a good sign.
A knock barely registered before the door flew open and Brady stormed in. “Okay, all the cameras are set downstairs, we’re starting in twenty. Trace, we'll give you a few minutes by yourself, it’ll be a long night of filming.”
“Long but fun!” Emma added, giving me a thumbs up and trying to look upbeat.
Brady and Emma left in a rush, not micing me up for once since there would be a microphone waiting for me at the “altar.”
Then I was alone. The silence was almost deafening.
I stole a glance out the window, looking over the gorgeous set up that appeared to be straight out of a bridal magazine. Chairs lined a sand walkway that ended in billowy white fabric. I spotted my mom cornering Brady as he walked outside. He looked tortured, and that lifted my spirits a bit.
Another soft knock came at my door.
Didn’t they say twenty minutes? It hadn’t been nearly enough time. I was really looking forward to savoring my moment alone.
Another knock. It was too tentative to be the crew. They typically barged right in without my permission.
I got up and walked over, slowly opening the door.
Tripp stood there, slightly hunched over, glancing back and forth down the hallway.
“What are you doing here?”
“Can I come in?” he asked, breathless and panting.
I stepped aside, allowing him to enter the room. He bent over, and I got him a glass of water from the pitcher by my vanity.
“Sorry,” he gasped before sucking it down. “I had to run here to avoid Brady.”
It was our first time interacting without cameras, and I couldn’t help but notice he looked damn good in his suit.
“What’s up? Isn’t it bad luck to see me before the wedding?” I attempted a joke.
He smiled. “This whole thing is probably bad karma.”
“Thank you! That’s what I said.”
He looked momentarily dazed, taking in my appearance. “Wow. You do look beautiful, though.”
“Thanks.” Heat blazed my cheeks.
“I wanted to talk to you.” His eyes flicked between my face and the now-closed door to the outside.
“About what?”
His eyebrows shot up. “Everything. They’re trying to—Brady said.” He sucked in a breath to slow his stumbling words. “They want me to propose to you at the end of this.”
Shame crept into my chest. They were basically forcing him into the situation against his wishes.
How embarrassing.
I couldn’t get a man on my own, so they were constructing a storyline for me.
“I know. I’m sorry—”
“I need to know how you feel about that.”
I shrugged, helplessly. “I think it feels way too soon.”
“It definitely is.” He swiped at his damp forehead.
“But they’re pressuring me. My label, the show, my mother. I’m so sorry if they’re pressuring you, too.”
He shrugged as if that were the furthest thing from his mind. “They said it would be good for you. For me, too, I guess, although I don’t know if I’m interested in that kind of fame.”
“You should not feel any obligation, Tripp. Seriously. This whole thing is ridiculous.”
“It is, but…”
Why did my heart stutter? “But?” I encouraged.
“But…I don’t know. I wasn’t lying when I said I like you, Trace. You’re sweet and I’m dying to get to know you better.”
I waited for him to continue.
“And Brady said that an engagement at the end of a reality TV show is more or less just an agreement to keep seeing each other. The public loves it, and we can see where this goes. It could be a win-win.”
Wow. He was actually considering it. I was shocked. I knew they’d do anything to try and pressure me, but I’d figured they’d never convince Tripp. What could he possibly have to gain from this whole ordeal? He wasn’t in the public eye. He wasn’t trying to feed an image.
He’d only get me.
Yet he was considering it…
Tears sprang to my eyes, and I blinked them away, completely touched by his sweet gesture.
“You don’t have to do that. Getting engaged would be serious.”
“I know that.” He licked his lips. “But I would, if it’s what you want. I think…I think we could be good together. Outside of here. I want to get to know you. Introduce you to my family. Take you on a real first date—one that doesn’t involve us in formal wear.”
We both laughed.
“We could still go on a date after all this, you know. A proposal wouldn’t be mandatory,” I said.
“Could we, though? If this show doesn’t end with me proposing to you, what kind of narrative are they going to run with? That I’m afraid of commitment? Or that we weren’t that into each other? Do you think we’d really have a shot at giving this a try without the theatrics?”
His words twisted my gut. They sounded too specific. Like a threat, the kind of thinly-veiled one Brady had no doubt delivered to try and pressure Tripp into following his script.
“I’ll think about it,” I finally said.
“Just give me a signal, okay? Because from my side, unless something crazy happens, I’m going to do it. And you can say no up until the end, but I had to let you know where my head was at.”
“Thank you, Tripp.” I gulped back my appreciation for how open and vulnerable he was being right now. He was letting me know his intentions, and it was all I could ask for.
Then he took a step closer, dipped his head to mine and gave me a sweet kiss. Something that almost resembled butterflies fluttered in my stomach.
“I’ll see you down there,” he said.
“See you,” I said, giving his hand one last squeeze.
With that, he was gone.
The crew would be here to collect me at any minute. Then it was time to face the music. All eyes would be on me as I walked toward the altar. I hoped I didn’t fall.
But as they gathered me and I set off down the aisle, surrounded by the most stunning backdrop I’d ever seen, I realized that walking toward Tripp felt more like a death march.