Chapter 16
I n the past seventy-two hours, I managed to embarrass myself during the first challenge, trip over a bunch of camera wires, get my microphone tangled around a staff member’s arm, and spill wine on Shaan’s lap.
After breakfast the other day, the boys got a message from production, telling them to pick their dates.
And when three messages came my way, a member from the crew told me I had to pick Shaan.
Apparently, they were asked to pick the girls’ bucket list item, but Shaan decided he didn’t like whatever option came out of my hat and forced production to do one from his list.
Right, yeah. So, this is going well.
We came to Sammlung Rosengart , when I found out this was one of the items on Shaan’s bucket list. A lot of art, very cool.
And after passing an old picture of Picasso, I asked the question, “Do you think Jane Austen would hit that if they ever met?” I was met with a blank stare to which I then decided it’s better to keep impulsive questions to myself.
But if you did want me to answer that specific question then I say no, my girl Austen had high standards and well… young Picasso looks like him and Ted Bundy are related.
After the museum, we ended up at a bougie dinner place. Nice tables. Nicer interior. Too many assortments of silverware I don’t understand.
They brought out a wine bottle and while Shaan’s focused with typing on his phone, I decide to be nice and pour the drink.
Only for it to completely back fire.
Now a camera is all up in my face and Shaan looks incredibly pissed.
“This was Armani,” he grits while patting the white shirt with a napkin. When the camera pans to him, his face completely deforms itself into another person. His gritted teeth turn into a soft smile. “It’s okay, don’t stress about it.”
I don’t remember saying sorry.
“Right,” I clear my throat. I’ve barely known the guy for a day. He’s been nice the entire time. If someone spilled wine on my collection of books, I’d feel the same. Maybe this is his equivalent of books, who knows?
I was excited.
Now, I’m quickly realizing the most exciting part so far has been talking to Dean. After our terrible conversation that morning, he left me a sticky note on my door with two simple, yet warm words of I’m sorry .
Despite having a rough exterior, Dean is a soft guy and if I spend enough time with him, he’ll tell me why he’s here and maybe we can be friends.
Shaan sneezes without covering his mouth.
Consider me icked the heck out.
We get back to the house near one in the morning. All lights are off. Shaan excuses himself without bearing another glance, our phones ping with the reminder of the cameras turning off in forty minutes.
Right after, a message dings.
Who made your heart flutter today? Send a message that you’d like them to know, your message will remain anonymous.
I don’t think a single thought before pressing send.
There’s no feelings other than gratitude.
Really hoping tomorrow I get the chance to go on a date with Rhys.
If he wins a challenge and picks me, not only will his bucket list have more riveting items than museum exhibition, narcissistic conversation about how everyone he’s met says his face calms them down, and an overpriced fancy dinner, but he’s a good enough companion.
There’s conversation happening upstairs. Two or three people. Cans pop open. A plastic bag shuffles. I should go. Be with them, hold a proper conversation without showing too much of my teeth, but I don’t think I want to.
I head out through the back, following the cobblestone pathway into the forest.
Soft lanterns flatter the short cobblestone pathway through the forest. It’s one of the places where they don’t have any cameras.
A blind spot , Irene talked about how sometimes people wanted a second to capture their breath while filming and this was one of the places we could go if we needed it.
Humming under my breath, the soles of my feet gliding against the surprisingly smooth stone, a shiver trickling over my arm. I turn my head when I reach the halfway point of the pathway to a poorly lit opening .
My heart skips.
Right there, hanging down from a tree is a tire swing.
I haven’t sat in one of these since… forever .
Giddy. Happy. Carefully perching myself onto it without sinking in through the open hole.
The view can’t be put into words.
Dark, shadowy mountains colour into the background of the twilight sky. Warm lights flicker over the houses upon them. The barn is dark from here, but Gabriel’s house is bright. Smoke fumes fling out of his chimney.
This is the other side of Lucerne.
The homey one. The family life. The normal .
Maybe if I lived here, I wouldn’t have the problems I have now.
My phone buzzes.
Thanks for the eggs, tomorrow it’s on me!
Rhys, always the gentleman.
Another message comes through as I finish processing the first one.
What I make is only for you, lovebird.
It shouldn’t. It really shouldn’t.
But it does.
Dean’s message makes me blush.
“You shouldn’t be out here on your own.”
I scream with a hand pressed to my chest like a Victorian woman appalled by the sight of skin. Phone drops to the ground. Pulse pounds in my throat. “You scared me. I thought you were a serial killer!”
Grass shuffles around me.
And then Dean is crouching down on his knees in front of me. “A serial killer wouldn’t think twice before killing you.”
My breaths quicken for a whole different reason. The strong set of his trimmed jaw matched with the softness in those emerald eyes… havoc, I tell you. Raising complete chaos.
Shaan’s clean shaven, I can probably butt cigarettes on his deep chin. It’d be cool if I was into that, but I’m not.
I like this .
Dean’s type of beard, that is.
“What are you doing here?” I look away. Clearly shaken from… him .
“Same as you,” he grumbles.
“So, to masturbate?”
Leaves shuffle in the back.
Crickets stop chirping.
Idiot, idiot, idi ?—
“Maybe.”
Curling my lips inwards. Squeezing my eyes. “I don’t know why I said that, I wasn’t going to—” Cold air shifts through us. “I’d never do something like that. Out here. Or ever, actually. Not that it…” His eyes darken, matching with the night sky. “Never mind. Ignore me, please.”
“Would ignoring it make you forget?” He asks. I’m painfully aware of how the presence of his hand brushes against my knees with each small movement. Seems to be inevitable considering the swing is moving on its own.
“No,” I shake my head. “But at least I’d think you forgot it.”
He looks at me. Deeply. Waiting. Until eventually: “There is nothing I can forget about you, Nova. Even if I tried.”
Then suddenly I’m transfixed into a dark emerald sky. I’ll burn, I know it. I’ll fall. And it’ll be painful, heartbreaking, death-inviting.
As easily as I’m swooped in, I’m flushed out because what the heck? Dean hates me. More than hates me. He doesn’t want me anywhere near him, backtalks about me, and then acts like this?
With embarrassing effort I don’t have time to think about, I move the swing back and get off of it. Not caring if it whacks him in the face after. “What’s your deal, Mr. Vuk? Did you follow me?”
“How many times did I tell you to call me Dean?”
“Once,” My back digs into a tree far from him.
It’s only like three feet away, but it’s better than being close enough to see the outlines of his tattoos trickling through the sleeves of his shirt.
They twine over each knuckle and instead of being trapped by the vines, the vines are trapped by him. “Answer the question, Mr. Vuk.”
His perusing scowl licks over my skin like burning flames. “No.”
“No?” I scoff. No, he didn’t follow me or no, he doesn’t want to answer?
He lifts himself off the ground, my phone in his hand when it buzzes. The bright light illuminates his face.
He’s an undeserved gift from God .
Wordlessly, almost begrudgingly, he rounds the swing to return my phone.
Please let us know the name of the person you’d like to go on a date with. If the person you choose also picks you, then you will be matched. If they don’t, you will sit this date out. This date will be an item from the boys’ bucket lists.
I’ve barely finished reading it when Dean says, “Pick me.”
“What?” I pull my phone away from my face. There’s a line of desperation coating across his face. “Give me one good reason to.” Other than you being my boss.
With a perpetually furrowed brow, “I’ll tell you why I’m here.”
That’s very convincing. And look, under other circumstances I’d stand my ground. But I’ve been asking him. “We’ll see,” is what I reply while typing four letters.
There’s that awkward tension again.
Dean perches his shoulders abnormally high, his eyelids must get a headache from the fidgeting.
Oddly, it’s cute.
“You’re not very good at this,” I say. “The whole approaching girls, going on dates thing, are you?”
“I approached you.”
Hence, the observation, Ogre.
“Ogre?” He grunts in response.
Did I say that out loud?
“You did,” a pause. “ Lovebird .”
His dark chuckle slithers its way to me, curling into my skin, and forces me to squeeze my thighs together.
“Now see,” I look beyond him, rubbing the soles of my fingers against the tree. The night seems lighter somehow. “Ogre makes sense, but lovebird is kind of random.”
He shakes his head, “It isn’t.”
Raised brows. “Care to explain?”
His are furrowed. Arms crossed over each other now. Ah, the ogre's default pose. “Pick me and find out for yourself.”
I can’t help it. I laugh.
Stomach clenching, raw and uninhibited laugh. A snort here, a spit flying there, totally unladylike, but I can’t help it. “No wonder you don’t have any game with women.”
It legit sounds like he watches too many romance films and decided to experiment a line pit for himself.
Surprise (not really), what works in movies rarely works in real life.
“Is this the reason you came?” I wipe a tear from beneath my eye. “Dating shows are your way of learning how to get the girlies?”
All humour disappears. “I’m not here to learn how to approach women, Nova. ”
Then what are you here for?
Seems like our conversation is done.
Just when I think he’ll walk past me, Dean stops in front of me. He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it. His minty breath warms my face. With one last glance brushing over every exposed slither of skin, “Don’t stay out too late.”
And I’m left more confused than before.
I run a hand through my hair, letting my fingers pull against tangled strands.
Let me see, he comes here, knows me, doesn’t answer questions, doesn’t want me calling him Mr. Vuk even though we have a professional relationship, reads romance novels, doesn’t talk to any of the other girls, and stares at me like I’m going to snarl.
He is an escape room I didn’t sign up for and a part of me is… enjoying it.
Snap.
I screech, pulling the blanket closer around me. My heart is hollering and not the good kind. “ Dean ? Is that you?”
No response.
There’s no way I’m about to die on a reality show. I do not want to become a true crime podcast topic.
Whipping my head to look, leaves sway in trees, and bushes move with the wind,
Standing up, I walk through the arched opening and look down to a tree branch snapped in half. My nose scrunches at the stench of chemicalized fragrance left behind. I thought we learned not to use AXE sprays after middle school gym class.
Cameras should be turned off.
The staff members left. Or at least that’s what we’ve been told.
Unless…
Someone was watching us.