Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
winnie
The house falls silent when the chime rings out. Winnie stops mid-conversation. She, Cynthia, Charlotte, and Harper share quick glances over steaming cups of coffee. All at once, they jump to their feet and chirp, “Date card!”
Twenty women immediately flood to the front hall, where cameras wait to capture their reactions as the front door opens.
A porter walks in, carrying a single envelope on a gleaming silver tray.
Winnie is too nervous to move. She grabs her friends’ hands as her stomach swoops.
In the back of her mind, she hears that deep tenor again, his whisper thrumming through her.
O, I am fortune’s fool.
She knew what he was referencing immediately—that day in his room, that moment when she’d been so sure he was about to kiss her she almost blacked out until her stupid brother interrupted.
Yes, when Romeo said it, he was absolving himself of all blame.
But on Tyler’s lips, it sounded like an apology, like a promise.
And if he meant what she thinks he meant—that he knew he made a mistake, that he was sorry—then her name will be on that card.
It just has to be.
Which is why she holds her breath as one of the girls—Lenora, she thinks—steps forward and takes the envelope.
“What’s in a name?” Lenora reads. “That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”
Winnie’s heart skips a beat.
Romeo & Juliet.
She’d recognize that line anywhere. It’s a sign. It has to be.
Lenora looks up. She scans the room. Her gaze passes right over Winnie and lands on—
“Victoria, meet me at Descanso Gardens. Let’s see if love blooms. Tyler.”
Shrieks erupt. A gaggle of women surround Victoria and sweep her up the stairs to get ready. Winnie stays exactly where she is, frozen with shock.
He didn’t write it. He would never be so cruel.
Would he?
She shakes her head, banishing the silly, self-conscious thought. Of course he wouldn’t do that. It’s Tyler. He’s one of the kindest people she’s ever known. He would never do that to her. This has the producers’ names written all over it—one in particular.
Anglerfish, Winnie thinks, remembering Sam’s warning. Nina wants drama. She wants a reaction. She’ll do anything to get it.
They would have heard what he whispered to her last night. They’re using it against her, and she’s feeding right into their hands, standing here like a sullen teenager who wasn’t invited to the party.
Don’t give them the satisfaction.
“Coffee?” she asks, turning to her friends a bit too brightly. But they don’t mention it as they return to their breakfasts over by the window.
Three hours later, another envelope arrives.
Another name gets called.
Winnie plays it cooler this time, clapping along with everyone else, plastering a smile to her lips. They’re doing this on purpose, she reasons. Saving me for last, making me sweat it out. Maybe Tyler wanted to meet me at night. It’s more romantic that way.
The excuses grow stale when the third and final mini-date envelope arrives and her name still isn’t called.
The knots tightening her stomach keep her awake that night, not at all eased the following morning when fifteen more names get called for the group date, leaving Winnie and one other girl the only two not chosen for a single date all week.
The hours pass extremely slowly with no phone, no television, no books, and no friends.
Victoria and her posse ice Winnie out, so she spends most of the afternoon lying out by the pool…
spiraling. It’s a relief when Harper and Charlotte finally return with the first batch of women.
Apparently, the date was some dance challenge that they all failed.
Charlotte collapses on the sofa the second she steps inside, face buried in her hands.
When Winnie asks what’s wrong, Harper struggles to keep in a laugh while the other girl moans from behind her palms.
“He’s the meanest person I’ve ever met.”
Winnie glances at Harper in disbelief and mouths, “Tyler?”
“No.” Harper snorts. “The dance instructor. He was one of those guys from Celebrity Ballroom. Vlad something-or-other.”
“Vladimir Demidov,” Charlotte practically growls. It’s the meanest Winnie has heard her sound, though that’s not saying much. She’s like a frustrated Care Bear.
“He made her cry.”
Charlotte drops her arms, aghast. “I did not cry.”
“You definitely cried.”
“Maybe a little.”
Winnie grabs onto the distraction and demands the complete story.
The three of them retreat to their room upstairs and entertain each other for the rest of the night.
Cynthia joins them the second she gets back.
It’s like the middle school sleepovers she never got to have, lying around in pajamas playing silly games, eating candy, sharing secrets—only it’s better, because there’s also champagne.
Production supplies alcohol in a never-ending loop, probably to make them all act ridiculous for the cameras, which they probably do, but it’s fun also.
She can’t remember having this much fun since she first went to NYU and met Sam.
They spend the entire next morning getting ready for the puzzle ceremony that afternoon.
Winnie opts for a clingy evergreen gown with a high neck and a cutout down the length of her spine.
Cynthia pulls them all into a dramatic rendition of the immortal pop hit “What Makes You Beautiful” by One Direction while Harper helps sweep her hair into a dramatic bun.
Charlotte does her makeup, crafting a charcoal-and-emerald smoky eye Winnie will never be able to replicate no matter how hard she tries.
She’s desperate to make an impression. All she wants is ten minutes to ask Tyler what he meant, why he said what he said, then did what he did, and if she even has a chance.
Keith enters the room first.
A sinking feeling twists her insides as he launches into a speech about difficult choices and growing connections.
By the end of his diatribe, he’s ushering them into the room with the bleachers.
They’re skipping the cocktail party. Apparently, Tyler knows exactly what decision he wants to make and he doesn’t want to bother with more conversation, which is so like him she would grin, if not for the foreboding sense of doom gathering in her heart.
She stands for the second time with all the women while the producers set up the room, angling the cameras just right, arranging the puzzle pieces, preparing a tray of champagne for the victors.
Gravel crunches outside the windows, a reminder of the fate awaiting five of the girls.
By the time Tyler enters, Winnie is fully prepared to say her goodbyes.
It’s inevitable.
He had all week to speak to her—he didn’t. She’s been misreading the signs for her entire life, and the last puzzle ceremony was no different. She has no idea what he was trying to tell her with that little Romeo quip, but whatever it was, it doesn’t matter.
She’s got to let it go.
To let him go.
Then, “Winnie.”
He says it before Keith even has time to finish speaking, as if he’s been holding it in for so long he just can’t keep it in a single moment more.
His eyes burn, the blue heat at the center of the flame as they sweep over her, lighting her up on the inside.
Even as she tells herself not to overreact, every inch of her comes alive with the spark.
He’s looking at her as if he wants to devour her, raking his gaze down her body, mapping a path.
Fire shoots up her spine and deep into her belly.
By the time she’s standing in front of him, she’s worried the barest touch will make her combust.
“Will you accept this puzzle piece?” he asks in that low, shiver-inducing, bedroom voice.
Winnie’s defenses are helpless against it. “Yes.”
He sweeps her hair to the side as he did before, a move she can’t help but remember he didn’t repeat with any of the other women that night.
Warm breath tickles her skin. A wave of tingles cascades down her shoulders as he settles the necklace into place, fingers tracing the high edge of her neckline.
She didn’t realize she’d donned this dress like armor, but maybe she had, because even the memory of him hooking his finger around the thin strap of her red gown leaves her breathless.
He turns his face just barely to the side. His lips graze the shell of her ear.
“Hope is a lover’s staff,” he whispers.
Two Gentlemen of Verona, she recalls—a lesser-known play, but one of their professor’s favorites, which is why they studied the comedy for a solid two weeks.
Tyler’s gaze is intent as he pulls back.
Please, his eyes seem to say. Please.
But she isn’t sure what he’s asking. Please what? Who is the lover? Who’s holding the staff? What hope? Shakespeare lived five hundred years ago, but somehow, he’s easier for Winnie to interpret than this flesh-and-blood man standing before her, pleading with her to do…something.
She turns to go, but he takes her by the hand.
Winnie looks back.
He drags his thumb across her knuckles, squeezing her fingers as if he doesn’t want to let go. Some unspoken struggle pinches his brow, draws a deep groove down the center of his forehead. His jaw clenches. He flicks his gaze to the side.
Winnie follows that glance directly to Nina.
The producer stares at Tyler expectantly, but his eyes are already back on Winnie.
She feels their heat like a brand as he lifts her hand to his lips.
He holds his mouth against her skin for a beat too long, demanding her attention.
She gives it, but the wheels in the back of her mind start spinning.
Nina.
Tyler.
Anglerfish.
Drama.