Chapter 7
seven
WREN
By noon the next day, I’m the opposite of cool. I’m tense, anxious, and halfway unglued. I stare at myself in the three-way mirror of the wardrobe room and have a minor freak-out. Or major, depending on how good your self-esteem is normally.
God. Am I really going through with this? I think about how I’ve been assigned to fawn over Ryan and my neck heats.
This can only go badly.
“Are you sure this isn’t too much skin?” I call to Jennifer, staring at my reflection in the mirror. I’m wearing a full-length tulle skirt, a black crop top that says PRINCESS across the chest, spike heels, and the ever-present black choker.
My hair is fuller and shinier than it’s ever been. My skin glows. I look… not like me, but like a version of me from a parallel universe where I got enough sleep and had a personal stylist.
I should feel like an impostor. I should feel like a fraud.
But instead, I kind of like it. The heels make me feel taller.
The skirt hugs my hips just right. There’s something bold in my reflection I’ve never seen before.
I don’t fully recognize Mirror Wren, but she looks like someone who gets what she wants.
I’m not used to this much skin. Or sparkle. Or attention. My usual look is “invisible intern,” not “backup singer at a royal wedding.” Right now, I look like I’m either about to strut down a runway or start a riot. I don’t even know which.
Jennifer stands behind me, clucking her tongue.
“It’s perfect. I know you can’t see it, but you’re really pulling it off. I’m not ever going to lie to you about that. You have a banging body.”
My cheeks heat. “Thanks. You too, obviously. I mean, look at you.” I gesture at her little blue dress.
She chuckles. “At least someone appreciates it. Now, come here.”
She crooks a finger at me and leads me back into the crowded dressing area where the other bachelorettes are milling around.
Jennifer steers me to an unoccupied vanity, grabs a little pot of silvery highlighter, and brushes it along my cheekbones and the tip of my nose. I wrinkle my nose, but she just grins.
“You look perfect,” she declares. “Really gorgeous. I’m sure you have nothing to worry about tonight.”
The word gorgeous doesn’t fit me. It’s like a borrowed dress. Pretty, but not mine. Not meant to stay.
It’s only week one out of eight. At the rose ceremony at the end of each week, Ryan will line up the bachelorettes and eliminate one or more of us. Supposedly, he has a lot of say over who stays and goes. And I already want to crawl into a prop closet and stay there until filming wraps.
A snort escapes me. “The bachelor hates me. Like, literally. I’ll probably make the cut, but it doesn’t mean anything. Trust me.”
Ryan definitely wants me gone. It’s only by Elena’s magic “I’m the head producer of this show” juice that I’m even here, much less that I’ll make it through the eliminations round.
I’m not just nervous. I’m spiraling. It’s not about the show. It’s about standing up there, waiting to be chosen. Or not. It’s every school dance I never got asked to all over again.
I try to tell myself that I have nothing to be worried about, but that specific exposed nerve is being trod upon over and over again.
“Hey.” Jennifer squeezes my arm. “It’ll be okay. Even if you’re kicked off the show, you’ll get your promotion sooner. Isn’t that what you’re here for?”
“Whoa.” I blink. “Jennifer, you are a gem. Thanks for reframing the situation like that.”
“That’s what I’m here for.” She opens her arms and I give her a tiny hug.
I laugh. “That’s not your job at all, but I really appreciate it.”
Someone calls her name and she pats me once more before hurrying off. I glance around the dressing area, taking in the other contestants for the first time as a group.
Whitney’s already laughing like she’s on a first-name basis with the crew. Annabeth’s adjusting her mic for the third time while JacqLyn poses like it’s a high-glam photo shoot. And me? I’m just trying to remember how to breathe.
A girl named Divya narrows her eyes when she catches me looking, like she’s already decided I’m competition. Joke’s on her. I don’t even want the prize.
I glance sideways at the contestant next to me. A girl named Brooke.
Brooke has toned arms, sleek dark hair, and the kind of confidence that comes from years of winning things. She catches me looking and raises an eyebrow.
“What?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly. “You just look… fierce, that’s all.”
Her mouth curves into something that might be a smile. “Thanks. I’m Brooke, by the way.”
I nod. She doesn’t know it, but she was one of the earliest picks for the season, so I’ve already dug through her bachelorette file. Not that I say any of that. My status as a PA is still under wraps.
“I’m Wren,” I offer.
She smirks. “Yeah, no kidding. After your entrance earlier, I think everyone knows who you are. Honestly, you’re probably number one on the hit list of most of the girls here. Because of the history you and Ryan have.”
I drop my gaze. I spent the morning with Elena, going over how to present myself as confident and self-assured, someone with history and chemistry with Ryan. If only the others knew the real story. That I’ve never even kissed him.
Meanwhile, some of these girls probably have entire relationship resumes. Mine is a blank sheet of paper. If they knew that, I’d be a joke.
Elena’s advice was to let people draw their own conclusions. Let them think what they want. The truth is so much more pathetic than their assumptions.
A PA steps into the doorway. “Ladies, five minutes to air. Please make your way down to the patio set.”
Brooke stands and smiles at me. “Good luck tonight. Though I don’t think you’ll need it.”
I don’t need luck. I need armor. Because when he looks at me, I’m never sure if he wants to mock me or kill me.
I smile back. “You too, Brooke.” I follow her into the hallway.
The patio set looks like the courtyard of a Mediterranean mansion: stone walls, a pool, string lights, and rose petals everywhere. White silk is draped between pillars. It’s romantic in that stagey, TV kind of way.
Lights. Cameras. Red wine breath and tight smiles. This isn’t a date. It’s a firing squad in formalwear.
All the bachelorettes are guided to their places. Hana, the goth producer who’s in charge of me, waves me over.
“Hey Wren. Funny seeing you here.”
“Where do you want me?”
She points to the far right, front row. “Right here.”
I take a deep breath and head to the spot. Around me, the other contestants settle into place. Divya’s talking about a five-year plan with anyone who’ll listen. Letitia’s modeling her champagne flute like a lifestyle influencer. I’ve never felt smaller or faker.
“Don’t worry,” Hana whispers. “It would be ridiculous to let you get cut this early.”
“Right,” I murmur. “Because The Last Kiss definitely controls Ryan.”
She grins. “I saw your scene earlier. There’s definitely chemistry.”
“Places!” Marcus shouts. “I don’t want to lose the light.”
“Break a leg,” Hana says before disappearing.
I stand there, willing my face into something neutral. My feet hurt. My stomach is in knots. I keep thinking about the bare inches of skin between my skirt and top, how unlike me this outfit is.
Everyone else looks like they belong on a magazine cover. I look like someone broke into their sister’s closet and prayed the cameras wouldn’t zoom in.
Then Ryan walks in. The world shifts. Not because he’s hot, though God help me, he is. But because suddenly, this whole ridiculous show feels like it might actually hurt.
He swaggers into the center of the circle and smiles.
“Wow, it’s beautiful out here,” he says.
Several girls titter like he’s hilarious. I don’t roll my eyes, but it’s close.
I hang back as the other women cluster together. They all seem to know how to pose, how to laugh, how to sparkle. I tug on my skirt and silently count my breaths.
Ryan brushes lint off his fitted suit. He looks good. Tall, broad-shouldered, the jacket cinched perfectly at the waist. I hate that I notice.
He spots me and his eyes linger. His brows rise slightly. Then comes the smirk.
God, I hate him so much.
He’s drinking me in like he can’t help it, and I suddenly regret every decision that brought me here. I miss my oversized T-shirts. I miss being invisible. I miss not caring what Ryan Haart thinks when he looks at me.
Okay, I’m lying to myself. I’ve always cared what he thought.
The host steps up. “Welcome back to The Last Kiss . Ryan is about to make his selections. Ryan, how are you feeling?”
“Good,” he says. “Excited. Blown away by the beauty and brains here. It’s honestly intimidating.”
“Are you ready to let one of these women go?”
He nods. “I’ve talked to a lot of the girls. I’m making my decision based on the vibes I felt.”
My stomach sinks. If he’s going off vibes, I’m toast.
This is it. I’m the girl who joined late, who doesn’t flirt loud enough or dress sexy enough. I’m the freak with a classics degree and a three-book-a-week habit. Of course, I’m not the right choice.
The host hands Ryan the tray of roses.
He starts with the obvious choices. Brooke. Letitia. Annabeth. Heidi. JacqLyn. Then a bunch of others: Divya, Whitney, Mei, Raven, Daisy.
It comes down to three of us without roses: Nikki, Trinity, and me.
Even though I’m relatively sure that I’m safe, owing to the fact that I’m here because Elena wants me to be, I still find myself getting nervous. The fact is, I don’t really know Elena that well. She says I’m not getting kicked off, but is that what will happen?
Ryan steps toward Trinity. “We had an interesting conversation, but I’m not sure our visions for the future align. Are our values really on the same page?”
Trinity flushes. “Of course, there will be differences. But maybe we could find common ground.”
He gives her a tight smile, then moves on.
“Nikki, you’re gorgeous and fun, but I didn’t feel that spark. You know what I mean?”
“I do,” she admits, though her smile looks forced. “But sometimes sparks take time to catch fire.”
He nods. Then he turns to me.
“Well, well. It’s down to you, Wren. What do you think should happen here?”
I try not to grimace. I’m not going to beg for a date on national TV. I am, however, going to use the lines that Hana slipped to me earlier. I lift my chin and try to flutter my eyelashes.
“I don’t know, Ryan. I thought we had good chemistry. There’s history here. I think it’s worth exploring. Don’t you?”
His smirk spreads. My stomach tightens.
He hands me one of the two remaining roses. “I’ll be sure to take you up on that.”
I don’t let myself smile. I don’t let myself breathe. This doesn’t mean anything. It can’t. He’s playing a role, same as me. Still, I tuck the rose close to my chest like it might shatter if I don’t protect it.
Then he turns back to Nikki and gives her the last rose. Trinity’s out.
Whatever happened during their time together must’ve been rough.
The cameras cut. I exhale hard and make a beeline for the guy with the champagne tray.
I have never needed a drink more in my entire life.
I made it through the first rose ceremony. One down. Seven to go.
I can fake this. I have to. Even if someone’s already watching too closely. Even if Divya keeps shooting me looks like she’s trying to solve a puzzle. Even if Ryan’s smirk felt like a white-hot dagger when he handed me that rose.