Chapter 49
Sitting in the audience at the San Juan villa for FTW’s final live show, I fidget and wring my hands. Next to me, Yolanda reaches over and squeezes them, then goes back to speaking in rapid-fire Spanish with her cousin.
Around us, people make their way to their seats and Latin music plays through the speakers.
Because of all that’s happened—sabotage, kidnapping, and near-death experiences—it’s been a month since the last show aired. The one where Yolanda “lost.”
Still pisses me off.
Man, it feels surreal to be here again as the music plays through the speakers, the voices rise from the crowd, and the crew sets up to go live. That surreal feeling, however, isn’t what has me second-guessing this night. It’s Yolanda’s reaction to what will happen in a few minutes. Live. In front of the world.
I’m going to vomit.
“Chill,” Stone says from his place on my left. “She’ll love it.”
For some reason, his reassurance makes me want to punch him. Instead, I ignore him.
“And, if she doesn’t,” Stone whispers, waving his hands with a flash of rings, “HTL will be waiting.”
I’m tempted to give him the finger, but cameras are filming the arriving crowd, so I content myself with, “This is not an HTL event. This is life or death.”
He chuckles, evilly.
I turn away from him. I have to take my mind off my pounding heart and tense nerves. I look down at Yolanda on my right. She’s so beautiful in that rose-pink dress her cousin designed. My black tux, chosen for the occasion, has a vest and bowtie that matches her. Still, I feel underdressed.
That plunging neckline is perfection. And I have an excellent view. Ah, there we are. Nerves abating.
Yolanda glances at me, smiling. My eyes drop to her lips. Which reminds me of… There’s definitely something wrong with me when thinking about that mouth wrapped around my cock helps ease my anxiety.
“Stop staring at my lips,” she whispers.
“I wasn’t,” I say, joy bubbling in my chest because even her reprimands make me happy.
She rolls her eyes.
I lean down by her ear. “That thing with your tongue… How did you learn…” I trail off when her eyes open wide.
She flicks her head to the side, cluing me in to the camera operator zeroing in on us.
“This better not be about that,” she whispers between clenched teeth.
I give her a look that says I’m disappointed in her. “I was going to ask how you learned to roll your Rs in Spanish. It’s been a difficult learn for me.”
She releases a laugh that washes over me and tugs my own smile loose.
Before she can reply to my teasing, the arrival music cuts off and the FTW theme music swells through the speakers. In a hunter green tux with a black shirt and tie, Miguel takes the stage.
He greets the audience. “Hola from San Juan, Puerto Rico,” he says with all the enthusiasm and expertise we’ve come to expect. “Welcome to the grand finale of the Fit for the World competition. Unless you’ve been living under a rock, you’re aware that this show, and all its drama, have become a worldwide sensation.”
The audience claps and hoots appreciatively. Nothing like attempted murder to bring the house down. I smile around my grinding teeth.
I’d agreed to this, had wanted it for the other contestants, and for the closure. Parker pulled off an amazing feat by getting this together in only a month’s time, despite the press and media frenzy after the truth about Cecily and Paul came out.
Miguel’s now-famous smile slips from his face. “Yes, sí, it didn’t happen the way we wanted, but if you’re one of our newer viewers who’ve been enticed by a true crime scandal, welcome, bienvenido.”
There’s a round of clapping because there really is a true crime podcast in the works for the show.
Something I definitely don’t want to think about.
Miguel continues, “If you’ve accidentally tuned in tonight and are now wondering what you’ve gotten yourself into, stick around. I’m about to do a recap.” He walks across the stage, the overhead lights gleaming across his stylish black hair. He stops before me and Yolanda. “If you’ve been here from the start, thank you for your loyalty. We hope to make things right for you tonight.”
The screen behind him fills with images from the contestants’ tryouts. He waves one hand at the screen. “Eight people made it onto the stage of FTW’s fitness reality show. Show creator, Parker Lamb, working to fulfill Easton Blake’s ambition of making this show unique, set a high bar for our contestants. And despite what you’ve heard, each person on this stage deserved to be here.”
There are outraged shouts and even some boos when Fonzie and Kay Lee are shown in rapid succession.
I’m tempted to cup hands around my mouth and add to the boos, but I content myself with a tight frown.
“However, having the ability and aptitude to make this stage was only one requirement for participation. We now know that two of our contestants acted against show rules to make it onto this stage.”
There are more loud boos. Someone curses in Spanish and I look to see if it’s Mateo. It’s not. He sits quietly with his aunt and uncle one row back in the perfect spot to catch the upcoming action. He nods when he sees me looking. I take that for the encouragement I know it to be and nod back.
“I’d like to take this moment to apologize on behalf of FTW and Parker Lamb Productions for the missteps that went into allowing them to take that advantage. The mistakes made on this show have humbled us all.”
There’s polite clapping, still some boos, then an upswell of music. The lighting changes dramatically—Sayed’s expert work.
“More than anything,” Miguel continues, “the show promised an honest competition. Let’s look now at the parts of the show that met that requirement.”
The screen flashes with a montage of performances. Thunderous clapping erupts when Yolanda’s ícaro is shown. That fervor grows when the camera cuts to her in that gorgeous pink dress.
She stands and waves to the crowd and the applause grows deafening. On stage, Sil, Colette, and Eli walk from their places off-stage to stand in front of us. They clap, holding out their hands in her direction. She smiles. A tear slips down her face.
When the tumult settles, Miguel points to the three contestants on the stage. “We’re here tonight to watch as these three amazing fitness professionals fulfill the true vision of this show, competing to the best of their abilities.”
There’s another surge of clapping. Someone shouts love for Eli. That man needs his own show.
“In some ways,” Miguel says, “tonight’s competition will be the same. A team of judges from The Gauntlet will fill all of us in on the complexities of each routine.” The big screen fills with the four large judges. And I do mean large. The Gauntlet was designed by ex-Special Forces who wanted to give civilian athletes a way to test their mettle. The fact that those men never tried to get out of their commitment to the show, despite the scandal and it happening a month late, shows a lot of class. “But, as usual, the audience vote tonight will decide our winner.”
The lights and music shift again as the screen fills with the FTW logo. “Other aspects will run a little differently.” There’s an expectant silence. “The biggest difference is that no matter the outcome of tonight’s vote, each of the remaining contestants will be awarded the full FTW prize, including a franchise.”
There’s shouts of surprise and confusion. On stage, Eli, Sil, and Colette wave hands, jump up and down, and Sil does a high kick to show their excitement.
Miguel laughs at the antics. “That’s right,” he says. “Tonight’s competition is all about bragging rights, but let’s not forget some of our former contestants.”
Cameron and Doc, who are seated next to each other in the audience, appear on camera. Miguel speaks over the round of applause. “Each of our former contestants’ charities will receive $500,000.” Yolanda isn’t pictured, but her food bank is getting the donation. “Those donations are to be paid by FTW’s founder, Easton Blake.”
The audience erupts again. I smile politely and wave. Stone makes a noise of objection. He didn’t want me to do that, said it could be misconstrued as an admission of guilt and might incur lawsuits, despite the contract each contestant had signed, stating the show couldn’t be held liable for any of the actions taken by contestants. To me, it seemed like the least I could do.
Miguel says, “Before we get to the competition, all of us on FTW,” he points at Yolanda’s and my joined hands, “would like to extend our congratulations to Easton and Yolanda on their relationship. You literally faced death to be together.”
The audience cheers, stomps, and wolf-whistles.
Miguel clears his throat, settling them down like an old hand. “I believe, Easton, you had something you wished to say.”
He smiles winningly.
Yolanda startles and her mouth drops open.
Sweat drips down my back. Here we go.
I stand and take the mic offered by one of the show’s assistants. I’ve debated this twelve ways to Sunday. In the end, I realized that I’ll never have another opportunity like this, a way to show Yolanda with a grand gesture that she deserves the spotlight she worked so hard to share with others. To me, it seems only right that they share it back with her.
Please say yes. Please say yes.
I face Yolanda, whose beautiful face has flushed with warmth. I swallow doubt and panic. She deserves a clear, steady voice. “Yolanda, not everyone watching this show knows how hard you worked.” Fuck. I feel tears start to sting my eyes. “You kept your day job at La Vida Buena while dodging sabotage meant to force you off the show. And, on a night when you shone on ícaro, a night during a week when you also worked tirelessly to make every single person on this show feel at home at La Vida Buena, you were unfairly removed from the show because of a deliberate act by a desperate person.”
There are boos from the crowd. And several shouts of, “We love you, Yolanda!” in English and Spanish.
“Despite all of that, you repeatedly acted to make sure the show was fair to everyone.” I don’t list the many ways, like when she shared Sherwood’s offer to do her show with Cameron or insisted everyone have a one-on-one with me, or offered ícaro to everyone. There’s polite clapping. “Now, it’s no secret to anyone who has watched this show how I feel about you.”
People wolf-whistle and shout in approval. Someone bow-chicka-wow-wows. I fight back a laugh.
“This, too, you fought hard to resist.” I smirk at her.
She smiles shyly with growing wonder in her eyes.
Or, at least, that’s the way I’m taking the sheen of tears there. “We both fought to resist each other because we both knew it would be perceived as unfair. That our attraction turned out to be not only dangerous but unfair to you, Yolanda, is now no secret.”
There are more shouts of love for Yolanda. Eli, Sil, and Colette applaud her again with an enthusiasm that is obviously genuine.
“I know I speak for everyone when I say I understand and support your reasons for not returning to the show.” Her public statement was very open about focusing on her mental health recovery, her new relationship, and the future of LVB. “But I didn’t want to let this moment pass without me telling you that you were my favorite part of this show.”
There’s a spontaneous eruption of cheers. I have to work to breathe over the rock of emotion bouldering into my throat. Fumbling with the seam on my tux pocket, I manage to reach in and pull out the ring box.
The audience erupts in applause. People jump to their feet.
The camera operator moves out of the way, as I drop to one knee before Yolanda.
Her eyes shine with tears. Her hand covers her mouth.
My stomach knots with panic and hope. “Yolanda Vasquez, you literally saved my life.” In a thousand ways. “For years, I fought the love I have for you because I didn’t think I deserved it. I’m still not sure I do, but I’d rather spend a lifetime striving to be worthy of you than to keep punishing myself for past mistakes.”
She drops her hands to her chest and clasps them there. Te amo, she mouths. Always.
My heart pounds. My palms sweat. I love this woman so much that I’d give up everything for her, even the bad things I used to hold against myself.
I flick open the velvet box. The one carat aquamarine blue diamond with its twenty-carat vanilla gold band glints like fire under the lights.
There is an audible group-intake of air.
Tears trace a path down Yolanda’s smiling cheeks.
“?Quieres casarte conmigo, mi amor?” I say, grateful my strong voice doesn’t betray the quavering I feel inside. “My love, will you marry me?”
The lights shift dramatically, focusing on her. Sayed, the lighting director, sure knows his theater. Too bad that drama is working hell on my nerves. In the row behind Stone, Mateo and his aunt and uncle are all standing. Titi Julia’s eyes shine with moisture.
Absolute silence descends. I can hear my own heart pounding. The tension in the air thickens, as solid as the walls around Old San Juan. I’m risking death right now—that’s how it feels. Still, even if she says no, that she’s not ready yet, I will continue to love her. And I will ask again. Though likely not publicly.
She stands up, reaches for me. “Sí. Yes,” she breathes, and I shoot to me feet, joy flooding my chest, as the audience thunders its approval.
Placing the ring on her shaking finger, I crush her in my arms.
She whispers in my ear, “Looks like we stole the stage again.”
“We shared the stage,” I say. “And we shared this moment, with all of them.”
I kiss her, wild and passionate, and for all the world to see. I’m done trying to hide how I feel about this woman.