Chapter 33
thirty-three
RYAN
The helicopter ride to the resort feels like it lasts forever and no time at all.
I’m sitting across from Wren, pretending to look out the window at the coastline below while really watching her reflection in the glass.
She’s gripping the armrests so tight her knuckles are white.
I want nothing more than to reach over and take her hand.
But there are cameras rolling and Elena is sitting right next to the pilot, occasionally turning back to check on us with that predatory smile of hers. This whole setup screams manipulation, from the romantic sunset timing to the overnight bags the crew loaded without asking what we wanted to pack.
“An overnight escape with Ryan.” That’s what the date card said. Like we’re going on some dreamy romantic getaway instead of another carefully orchestrated scene in Elena’s twisted love story.
The resort comes into view as we descend. I have to admit, it’s impressive. Infinity pool, private beach, the kind of place that costs more per night than most people make in a month. The producers aren’t messing around with this one.
We land on a helipad that’s been decorated with rose petals and candles. Because of course, it has. Elena’s nothing if not thorough in her pursuit of maximum cheese factor.
“Welcome to paradise,” the pilot announces as we touch down.
Wren shoots me a look that says “kill me now” and I have to bite back a smile. At least we’re on the same page about how ridiculous this is.
Elena climbs out first, gesturing for us to follow. “Ryan, Wren, welcome to your romantic overnight date. You have the entire resort to yourselves until tomorrow afternoon.”
The entire resort. Jesus. I knew the show had money, but this is next-level.
“The dining room has been set up for a candlelit dinner,” Elena continues, checking something on her clipboard. “After that, you’re free to explore. Your rooms are on the second floor.”
“Rooms?” Wren asks. “Plural?”
Elena’s smile sharpens. “Well, yes. We can’t very well put you in the same room, can we? What would the viewers think?”
Right. Because heaven forbid the audience actually believe we might want to sleep in the same bed. That would be too real for reality TV.
“The cameras will be capturing your dinner and some ambient shots around the property,” Elena goes on. “But you’ll have plenty of private time to… connect.”
The way she says connect makes my skin crawl. Like our relationship is just another plot point for her to manipulate.
“Any questions?” she asks.
“How long do we have before the cameras start rolling?” I ask.
“Fifteen minutes. Just enough time to freshen up and get into character.”
Get into character. As if my feelings for Wren are just another performance.
Elena and her crew disappear into the resort, leaving Wren and me alone on the helipad. The sun is setting over the ocean, painting everything in shades of gold and pink. It would be romantic if it weren’t so obviously manufactured.
“Well,” Wren says, adjusting the strap of her overnight bag. “This isn’t subtle.”
“Elena doesn’t do subtle.”
“The woman once told me to cry prettier for a confessional. Prettier. Like my tears weren’t aesthetically pleasing enough.”
I laugh, despite the tension coiling in my shoulders. “Rich told me to look more conflicted during last week’s rose ceremony. Apparently my face wasn’t conveying enough inner turmoil.”
“Were you having inner turmoil?”
“About sending Raven home? I don’t know. I guess.”
Wren’s expression flickers with something I can’t read. “Right. Raven.”
There’s an edge to her voice that makes me pause. “What about Raven?”
“Nothing. Just… you two seemed close.”
“We were friendly. That’s it.”
“Friends who had a lot of chemistry on camera.”
“Chirp.” I step closer, lowering my voice even though there’s no one around to hear us. “Are you jealous?”
“No. I’m just… I mean, it’s not like you didn’t have options.” She’s avoiding my eyes. “It was easy to imagine you picking someone like her.”
“Someone like her?”
“Fun. Outgoing. The type of person you usually go for.”
“Is that what you think?”
She finally looks at me. “I’m scared that when all this is over, you’re going to realize you picked the wrong girl.”
The vulnerability in her voice hits me like a punch to the gut. Here we are, on this ridiculously romantic date, and she’s worried I’m going to change my mind about her.
“Wren, look at me.”
She does, reluctantly.
“There is no wrong girl. There’s only you.”
“But Raven was more…”
I cut her off by kissing her, quick and soft but firm enough to make my point. When I pull back, her eyes are wide.
“Raven was great,” I say. “But she wasn’t you. And you’re the only one I want.”
Pink spreads across her cheeks, and she looks down at her feet. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay, I believe you. For now.”
“I’ll take it.”
A crew member appears from somewhere, waving us toward the resort. “Five minutes to places!”
Wren sighs. “Showtime.”
“Hey.” I catch her hand before she can walk away. “Just because they’re filming doesn’t mean it’s not real. What’s happening between us… that’s not for the cameras.”
She squeezes my fingers. “I know. It’s just hard to remember sometimes.”
“Then let me remind you.”
The dinner setup is exactly what I expected. Candles everywhere, rose petals scattered on the table, and an infinity pool glowing blue in the background. It’s beautiful in that expensive, try-hard way that someone spent a fortune on to make this look effortless.
Wren emerges from wherever they took her to get ready.
I nearly swallow my tongue. She’s wearing a flowing white dress that makes her look like some kind of goddess, her hair loose around her shoulders and catching the candlelight.
She hesitates at the edge of the terrace like she’s not sure she’s allowed to take up this much space.
“Wow,” I breathe.
She ducks her head, but I catch her smile. “Elena’s team. They said I needed to look more ‘romantically available.’”
“Well, mission accomplished.”
The cameras start rolling and suddenly we’re back in performance mode. I pull out her chair, and she thanks me with that camera-ready smile. We settle into our designated roles. The perfect bachelor and his potential bride, falling in love over expensive wine and artfully plated food.
I lace my fingers with hers under the table. The camera won’t catch it, but maybe the producers will. Maybe they’ll zoom in. Maybe they’ll cut it entirely.
Except it doesn’t feel like a performance when she laughs at something I say, her whole face lighting up.
“So,” she says, twirling pasta around her fork in a way that shouldn’t be sexy but absolutely is. “If we were on a normal date, what would we be doing right now?”
“Normal date?”
“You know. Without cameras and producers and a location that costs more than my college tuition.”
I consider this. “Probably arguing about where to eat.”
“Arguing?”
“You’d want some hole-in-the-wall place with authentic atmosphere and I’d want something with a decent beer selection and burgers that don’t come with sprouts.”
“I like sprouts.”
“I know. It’s disgusting.”
She throws a piece of bread at me and I duck, grinning. The cameras eat it up, but it’s real. This is how we are together when no one’s watching. This easy banter, this comfortable friction.
“Where would we go to compromise?” she asks.
“The Tin Shed. They have those loaded potato skins you’re obsessed with.”
She pauses, fork halfway to her mouth. “You remember that?”
“I remember everything about you, Chirp.”
The words come out more intense than I meant them to. Something shifts in her expression. The playful energy turns charged, electric.
“Everything?” she asks quietly.
“Everything.”
We’re staring at each other across the candlelit table. I forget there are cameras rolling. I forget we’re on a TV show. I forget everything except the way she’s looking at me, like I’m something precious and terrifying all at once.
“Cut!”
Elena’s voice shatters the moment. Wren jerks back like she’s been burned. I have to resist the urge to tell Elena exactly what I think of her timing.
“Beautiful work, you two,” Elena says, approaching the table. “Really lovely chemistry. We’ll pick up after dessert for the transition to your evening activities.”
Evening activities. Right. Because even our alone time has to be scheduled and scripted.
“What happens now?” Wren asks.
“Now you have about two hours of private time. No cameras, no crew. Just the two of you and this beautiful setting.” Elena’s smile is sharp as a blade. “Try to make the most of it.”
That’s the problem. I already am. I don’t want any of this to be hers to use.
She disappears with her team, leaving us alone on the candlelit terrace. The silence feels heavy after all the direction and movement of the crew.
“Two hours,” Wren says.
“Two hours.”
“That’s not very long.”
“No, it’s not.”
She stands up from the table, smoothing down her dress. “I should probably change. This thing is beautiful but not exactly comfortable.”
“Don’t.”
She pauses. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t change. You look…” I trail off, searching for words that won’t sound like a line. “You look incredible.”
“Elena’s team gets the credit.”
“Elena’s team didn’t make your eyes light up when you laugh. Or the way you bite your lip when you’re thinking. Or how you get this little wrinkle between your eyebrows when you’re concentrating.”
She touches her forehead self-consciously. “I do not get a wrinkle.”
“You do. Right there.” I reach out and smooth the spot with my thumb. “It’s adorable.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“About you? Completely.”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. I count that as a win.
“So what do you want to do with our two hours of freedom?” she asks.
I could suggest a dozen things. We could walk on the beach, explore the resort, sit by the pool and talk. But there’s only one thing I really want to do.
“I want to kiss you,” I say honestly. “Without cameras. Without wondering who’s watching or what they’re going to do with the footage. I just want to kiss you because I want to, not because it makes good television.”
It’s all coming apart now. The plan. The persona. All the decisions I’ve made that led me right here. And I still want her like it’s the only thing that makes sense.
Her breath catches. “Ryan…”
“I know it’s not much of a plan. But I’ve been sitting across from you all night, watching you in that dress, listening to you laugh. All I can think about is how much I want to touch you.”
I don’t want to rush this. But I also can’t stop thinking about that dress hitting the floor.
“The cameras could come back early.”
“They won’t. Elena’s too professional to mess with her own schedule.”
“Someone could see us.”
“Let them.”
She stares at me for a long moment. I can practically see her internal debate playing out across her face. Caution warring with desire, fear fighting with trust.
Finally, she steps closer. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Kiss me, Ryan. Kiss me like you mean it.”
I don’t need to be asked twice.