Chapter 17
“ T ell us Nova, who do you think sent you the messages a couple of nights ago?” Irene sits on a highchair this time.
She’s holding a cup of—what looks like—steaming coffee or tea in her hand.
Her infamous iPad rests on her lap and she’s nursing that same friendly smile I’ve come to look forward to.
After waking up at the crack of dawn, visiting Lottie, and checking the plants in the garden, the production team messages me for an interview.
“Rhys?”
“There’s no wrong answer.” She sets her mug down.
“Well then, Rhys and Dean.” I’m sitting where I sat last time. Except this time, because the sun isn’t fully out, lamps are on and warming the place with its orange presence. An LED strip lights up from beneath the couch, turning the area into an illusion of a home with a professional atmosphere.
“How do the messages make you feel?”
“Good,” how else would you feel? “Excited too. Rhys has a comforting, charismatic vibe to him that I enjoy. And Dean is…” Sexy, smoldering, mysterious with jaw-dropping attractiveness and panty-melting attentiveness .
“Doesn’t that excite you?”
Tucking a strand behind my ear, “It makes me nervous.”
“But you picked him for your date today, didn’t you?”
Not that it’s any of her business but, “I want to get to know him.” More like force him to answer all of my questions.
Irene picks a clump of mascara off her eyelashes. “Do you think he feels the same?”
Well, he did tell me to pick him. “I do.”
She jots down on her iPad. A couple of words. Maybe a scribble. Then turns it off. “And if he didn’t pick you?”
After that night? There’s no way he didn’t. “I doubt it.”
“I admire your confidence, Nova.” Irene hops off the high chair. “I’m hoping it stays.”
That doesn’t sound like a compliment.
When the camera’s turn off, Irene scrolls through her phone and two staff members walk up to unplug the interview mics.
I bite my lip. “Irene.”
She looks up.
“There’s no filming at night, right?”
She turns to staff members with a questioning look. “Not that I know of,” she looks back at me. “The cameras automatically turn off. Everyone here but Austin and I go home.”
My skin itches.
“Right,” my smile feels dry. “Just wondering.”
You have to walk on the cobblestone pathway through the forest to get back to the house .
I feel him before I see him.
He sits on the ledge of the small deck in front of the sliding door.
Dean’s hair sweeps over his forehead. Not soaking wet, but wet enough to not be fully dry. He holds a large glass full of green liquid that looks awfully like a smoothie.
His lips move quietly, tracing words I can’t pinpoint.
“Hi, Ogre.”
Dean stands abruptly, hiding the glass behind himself. “Hi, Lovebird.”
Tilting my head, “Why does it feel like you’re doing something suspicious?”
Red tinges his cheeks to the tips of his ears. “Nothing suspicious,” he replies.
I nudge towards his arm. “So, I’m seeing things.”
“You are,” he’s smiling. Almost . Whatever curve on his lips is, it’s close to a smile.
“Hm,” I walk until I’m standing in front of him. “If I tickle you right now, I wouldn’t find a glass in your hand?”
He narrows his eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“You sure, big guy?”
Whatever challenge he sees in my eye has him surrendering. “Not happy about this,” he mutters under his breath before handing over the glass.
I was right. It’s Dean’s smoothie.
Except there’s white Jasmines decorating the top of it.
“It’s for you,” his blush deepens.
I look at the glass, then at him. Afterwards, my heart slows and turns into an overwhelming mess. What’s this feeling and why am I feeling it?
“You made it for me?” With the flowers? He carefully picked the grown ones, the nicer ones, the ones that smell fresh and loved. Dean picked out the stems, leaving the petals floating mindlessly in the drink.
I’m floored.
Under different circumstances, I’d barf at the idea of drinking whatever this is.
But because he made it for me and took his time with it, I take the glass from him, swallowing dryness, and taking a hesitant sip while holding my breath.
The first hit on my tongue surprises me. It tastes like strawberry and a hint of peanut butter. “This is… surprisingly good.”
A hazy look of approval flourishes through his features. “It’s a shock you didn’t dump it.”
“Trust me,” I take another sip. “I thought about it.”
“I had to return the favour somehow,” he says before sitting back down.
I follow suit next to him. “Favour?”
“You made me cereal.”
I choke loud and hard.
He snorts back a chuckle. “Good?”
Wiping my lips, “ Great .”
Both of us know how amazing that cereal was.
He’s treating me better than I treated him.
“Did you go for an interview?” He asks after a minute.
“I did,” I offer him the glass, but he politely shakes his head. “Have you been to the interviews?”
“I have.”
“And you talk ?”
He turns his head, raising a brow. “Why do you sound surprised?”
I shrug. “In my head, you’re all grumbles, grunts, and snarls at people. Do they force you to talk or you just do?”
One indifferent shrug. “They ask questions and I answer.”
“More than five words with multiple syllables?”
Dean sighs, a smile tickling his cheeks. “Yes.”
“Impressive,” I finish the drink. “You keep surprising me, Dean.”
He freezes, his shoulders going stiff, his face going blank. Then all at once, a thousand emotions, each contoured differently from his eyes to his jaw, to the tick in his throat, mesh together.
“What?” I slowly ask.
“You said my name,” he says shockingly. He’s replaying it in his mind. The exact moment I decided to say it.
“Do you not want me to?”
“I do,” he quickly says.
I try not to think too hard about that.
“Oh! Before I forget,” I take out the folded paper from my jeans and hand it to him. “This is for you.”
Dean takes it from me, unfolds it and reads: I’m impressed with your UNO skills.
His eyes line over it repeatedly before saying, “Thank you.”
“I didn’t think you were competitive,” I change the direction of our conversation to something easier. Playful.
There’s a hard lump digging into my chest and it has nothing to do with nerves. But something different, exotic, and permanent.
“I never used to be until I started playing with my brothers. My competitiveness is nothing compared to Cal and Azar’s.”
“Are you close with them?” Azar talks about Dean from time to time. But it’s in soft tones like his older brother’s gone before actually being gone. Yet, I’m starting to think that’s because of the time they spent apart.
“Sometimes,” his tone falls flat .
“You have to give me more than that,” our arms brush. Causing an electric tingle. “Azar mentioned once that Cal stepped up at one point in their lives, is that when you were in prison?”
Dean shuts his eyes like the very thought of reliving those days scares him. They must. I can’t imagine what he’s been through. Every second of being away from his brother—his mom. Then coming back to a life that belongs to him yet isn’t his.
He doesn’t answer.
“It’s not my place to say this,” I continue talking when I know I need to stop. “But for what it’s worth, I know Azar loves having you back. He talks about you when we’re alone. And your mom admires you. Not sure about Callahan, but I know that even he?—”
“ Stop .” It comes out thick and sharp. Not like a knife, but the edge of a paper.
My back goes rigid. “I didn’t mean to push, but I’m curious about you. I want to know what your life has been like?—”
His eyes burn green. “It’s none of your business, Nova.”
The atmosphere changes. Gone is the teasing and the flirtatiousness. Instead, it’s full of cobwebs and neither of us want to clean it up.
“Hey,” Austin slides the door open. “We’re announcing today’s match in five minutes.”
My eyes are on Dean when I say, “We’ll be right there.”
But Dean is already standing up. Not looking at me. Not giving me attention.
Rage fills me. Dark. Red. And completely unfiltered.
If he wants to be a manchild over a few simple questions then there’s nothing I can do about it. Maybe he’s like Nadine and needs space to think it through. If that’s the case then fine, I’ll give it to him after our date today .
I head inside before Dean.
I stop in my tracks.
The familiar whiff of a strong scent hits my nose.
It’s the one from last night.
But when I focus around me, there’s a lot of people in the room. Rhys, Hina, and Shaan are already on the couches.
It’s not like I can sniff everyone one by one, although that would be the best way to find out who was spying.
Austin stands by the wall, eyes hunched together while he puts his phone to his ear. This happens multiple times before he shoves it in his pocket.
I take a seat somewhere open enough for Dean to sit next to me. Even if he needs space, the decent choice is to sit next to me after shoving pick me down my throat.
Irene walks in, talking on the phone. “Yes, Dad. I know.”
Austin perks up, his shoulder moves back.
She looks at him, rolling her eyes at whatever is said at the other end. “I trust Austin to take care of it and so do you.” She mumbles a couple of more short replies before hanging up.
“Is everything okay?” Austin asks the second Irene puts her phone away.
“He said he’ll pull out his investment if we don’t make it interesting.”
“Did he say anything about me?” There’s a light in his eyes as he waits for Irene to answer but she shakes her head.
“He said he’ll call you when he’s free.”
Austin nods at that. Then I watch as he takes his phone out, messes with the side button, and shoves it away.
Dean chooses then to walk inside, his eyes meet mine for a moment and I shuffle further away from the empty space to let him know his seat is still here.
The first red flag should have been when he sits far, far away from me.
Irene and Austin get together to start announcing the matches.
My heartbeat’s in my throat, my spine rigid, and my chest expanding by the minute.
Hina gets matched with Shaan.
“Dean is matched with…”