18. Heidi
HEIDI
Iwatch from the control room as Delaney’s face fills the monitors. She looks striking in a silver gown that shimmers under the lights, making the shock on her face even more obvious when Max tells her she’s not The One.
She looks completely blindsided. Without a word, she turns and walks away. It’s perfect television, and while Miles grins at the footage, I can’t ignore the pang of guilt in my gut.
We keep a camera on her as she hurries off. The moment she stops to catch her breath, Marissa steps in. It’s always best to catch them immediately, before they have time to polish their thoughts or hide their raw reactions.
I can’t hear Marissa’s prompt, but Delaney’s response is loud and clear.
“He doesn’t even like them!” she shrieks. “He’s not into Colette, and he’s definitely not into Grace. They barely talk. It’s like watching two statues try to have a conversation.”
Beside me, Miles leans back in his chair and snickers. “She’s not wrong, H. Those two have zero chemistry.”
I haven’t mentioned a word to Miles about what Max told me today. I can’t. Instead, I’ve pulled back, replacing our usual professional warmth with a cold distance. I keep replaying the wrap party in my head, searching for any moment Miles could have misinterpreted, but I find nothing.
On the screen, Marissa uses a soft producer-whisper. “Delaney, look at me. Max is terrified. He’s pushing you away because what you two have is real, and Grace is just…safe. Tell me how it feels to watch him choose safety over the only woman who actually knows him?”
Delaney isn’t falling for it.
“You now what I think? I think this whole thing is rigged,” she snaps. “I think you’re telling him who to choose.”
Marissa sighs. She’s fishing for a soundbite about ‘the one who got away,’ but Delaney isn’t playing along.
“Let’s focus on how you’re feeling, Delaney. How does it feel to watch the man you love choose someone else?”
Delaney shakes her head, unwilling to participate. This is where Marissa shines. She tells Delaney that the audience wants to root for her but they need a reason to.
It works. I watch Delaney calculate in real time. She’s a smart woman. She takes a steady breath, clearly processing the idea of winning the audience’s sympathy. Then she pivots.
“I just don’t understand,” Delaney says, lowering her gaze. “I feel like I was the only one who actually understood him.”
Her voice cracks. The silver sequins of her dress catch the light as her shoulders begin to shake.
“I love him,” she wails. “I actually love him. And he just broke my heart.”
Beside me, Miles whistles low and starts tapping at his keyboard, marking the timecode. “Got it. That’s the money shot.”
I watch the mascara streaking down her face on the monitor and think, join the club, Delaney.
After Delaney’s SUV disappears down the drive, I head into the living room. Colette and Grace are sitting on the sofa, looking less like excited finalists and more like passengers waiting out a delayed flight. The adrenaline from the elimination has clearly worn off, leaving only exhaustion.
“Congratulations, ladies,” I say, which snaps them both back to attention. “You’re the final two. But that also means the schedule is about to get intense.”
I pull out my clipboard.
“Tomorrow we travel. Monday we film the hometown visit with Colette. Tuesday we fly back. Wednesday night we film Grace’s. After each of your hometown segments wraps, you’ll be moved to the Westmere Hotel.”
They exchange a glance.
“You’ll stay there in isolation until the finale,” I continue. “No phones, no internet, no outside contact. The first batch of episodes drops globally next Monday. The live finale airs the following Saturday.”
Colette frowns, her brow creasing. “Why do we have to be locked in a hotel while Delaney gets to go home?”
“Because Delaney isn’t the winner,” I say evenly. “The women who’ve already left are under NDAs, but more importantly, they don’t know how the season ends. They can’t spoil a secret they don’t have.”
I tap my pen against the clipboard.
“During the hometown visits you’ll be mic’d the whole time,” I say.
“Every conversation with your families will be on camera. What we can’t risk is you going home afterward and telling them everything that’s happened here.
One story gets passed along, it hits the press, and the suspense of the finale is gone. ”
Grace rolls her eyes. Colette’s widen.
“I’d like a word,” Grace says, glancing at Colette. Colette takes the hint and slips out of the room.
I sit down opposite Grace.
“This whole thing has been a humiliation ritual,” she says. “But I can’t have my hometown visit go to hell. I want you there. Not Marissa.”
I shake my head. “I’ve briefed Marissa. She knows the setup and the family dynamics—”
“I want you,” Grace repeats. It isn’t a request.
“I need to stay here to oversee the edit,” I say. “The only time I’d go into the field for a hometown is if I think the shoot is going to be a disaster.”
“That’s exactly what I’m worried about.” Her usual bite drops, replaced by something quieter.
“I’m not sure my father is going to play along with your fairytale narrative.
And if someone isn’t there to keep him in check…
” She trails off, then exhales. “And my brother will burn this entire production to the ground just to prove he can. Just to humiliate me.”
It’s hard to reconcile this version of Grace with the woman who usually seems so sure of herself.
She sits stiffly in the chair, like she’s preparing for a confrontation.
I know she’s estranged from her mother, but I didn’t realize how tense things are with the rest of her family.
This isn’t just a lack of support. It’s like she’s expecting a fight.
I feel an unexpected flicker of sympathy. If this is what she grew up with, it explains a lot. The sharp comments. The constant defensiveness. Maybe she learned early that the safest way to deal with people was to strike first.
If what she’s saying is true, she might be right. Marissa could be out of her depth.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll come.”
For a split second, the tension leaves Grace’s face. She looks relieved, almost grateful. But then her eyes sweep over me, turning cold and critical.
“I guess I’ll have to lend you something to wear,” she says, her lip curling. “I can’t have you showing up at my house looking so unrefined. Not that my clothes would even hang right on you. You’re so short.”
She says short like it’s something offensive. I’m not even short. I’m average height.
Grace heads for the staircase before I can respond. When she’s gone, I sink into the couch and stare at the empty room.
After today, I was planning to keep my distance from Max. Let things cool off. Get through filming, make it to the finale, and then figure out what is left of us.
Instead, I’ve just signed up to watch him play the perfect suitor in the middle of Grace’s family minefield.