25. Heidi
HEIDI
The week blurs past.
One minute it’s Monday night and the episodes are dropping. The next, it’s Saturday, and I’m back at the mansion preparing for the finale. I’m in surprisingly good spirits for someone whose fiancé is scheduled to propose to another woman in a couple of hours.
I feel untouchable, actually.
For starters, the show worked. The numbers are historic. My phone hasn’t stopped buzzing with messages from people in the industry—people who dropped me like a sack of rotten potatoes after my last documentary. But apparently success is a powerful memory refresher.
That’s fine. I’m not bitter.
And besides, I’ve had the best week with Max. Being with him is just…easy. Easy and fun and light. It’s almost embarrassing how much time I spent during filming convincing myself that we could never work. We absolutely do.
In a few hours this whole circus will be over.
Max and I have rehearsed the plan a dozen times.
We went over exactly what he’ll say, the quiet disappointment in his voice, the sad look he’ll give Grace when she turns him down.
I obviously can’t say anything to the crew, but I’ll make sure the cameras are perfectly positioned to catch her storming out.
The network will get their shocking finale and we get to walk away clean.
Across the yard, the crew is putting the final touches on the altar. It’s set up on the lawn. It’s nothing too elaborate, but it will do. White arches, thousands of lilies, and enough soft lighting to make the whole thing glow.
It’s beautiful.
Which is ironic, considering my own proposal involved opening a cardboard box alone in a driveway. I grin at the memory. Max and I weren’t exactly a fairy tale but we’re real. And I can’t wait to start our life together.
I head to the driveway just as Colette’s van pulls up. She jumps out before the engine is even off. The only way to describe the energy coming off her is vibrating. She’s paler than usual, her fingers twisting the hem of her silk wrap as soon as she spots me.
“Heidi, hi,” she says, pulling me into a hug that’s a little too tight.
Her heart is racing.
“Are you alright?” I ask, pulling back to look at her.
“No,” she says immediately, her eyes shining with tears. “I have no idea what people think. If I’m the villain of the season…”
The words start spilling out faster and faster.
“To be a villain, you actually have to do or say bad things,” I remind her.
“I know how things can be twisted,” she says. “It’s all I’ve been able to think about.”
She’s been locked in a hotel room for over a week with nothing but her imagination and a production assistant checking on her every few hours. Anyone would spiral.
I shouldn’t be doing this. But she’s going to find out soon enough anyway, and right now she looks about five seconds away from a full-blown panic attack.
“Colette, look at me,” I say.
I pull my phone from my pocket, glancing around the driveway to make sure no one is hovering nearby. Then I scroll through a few screens and turn the phone toward her.
“Read the comments.”
She leans closer, her breath catching as her eyes move across the screen.
“‘Colette is the only real person on this show,’” she reads softly. “‘I would literally die for a reading with her.’”
She blinks at me.
“Oh my god.”
I take the phone back, tap into her socials, and hold it up again.
Her eyes widen.
“Oh.”
Her follower count has jumped by seven hundred thousand in a week.
“They don’t just like you,” I tell her. “They love you. You’ve had the most growth and the most positive feedback of anyone on the cast.”
Her eyes fill again.
“No crying,” I say quickly, fanning her face with my hand. “You’re about to go on camera.”
She nods frantically, taking a steadying breath. Then she glances down at the driveway before looking back at me.
“Thank you, Heidi,” she says. “You’ve been a great friend. It’s still Grace though, isn’t it?”
I can’t bring myself to encourage her. I give a nod so slight I’m afraid she’ll miss it, but she doesn’t. She grins and heads toward the house while guilt settles in my chest.
I haven’t been a good friend.
I push the thought away and wait for Grace’s car.
She’s late.
At first I tell myself it’s nothing. Traffic. A last-minute wardrobe adjustment. But the minutes stretch, and my stomach starts to tighten. What if she’s changed her mind? What if she refuses to come?
What if—
The gates finally swing open, a black sedan glides up the drive and I exhale.
Grace takes her time getting out.
And when she does, the entire yard seems to pause.
She looks beautiful. There’s no other word for it.
Her gown is ivory silk that catches every light strung across the garden.
Her hair is swept up, exposing the elegant line of her throat, and her makeup is flawless.
Soft, glowing, perfectly bridal. She could probably get married right here on the spot.
“You look…incredible,” I say.
“Obviously,” she replies, barely glancing at me.
Then her eyes narrow slightly.
“I wish you’d listen to me about your hair,” she says. “If you wear it that tight all the time, you’ll thin at the temples.”
Before I can react, she steps closer and loosens my ponytail with a quick tug.
“It happened to me,” she murmurs, adjusting a strand. “When I was dancing as a teenager.”
Her fingers pause for a second.
“You really are quite pretty,” she says. “If you stopped actively sabotaging yourself with those ponytails and awful outfits, you could probably give me a run for my money.”
I blink at her, caught completely off guard.
“Where am I supposed to be?” she asks impatiently.
“Ah,” I start but I stop when I notice her hands shaking. Grace follows my gaze and immediately drops her hands to her sides.
“I’m fine,” she says quickly.
A faint flush creeps into her cheeks as she brushes past me and heads toward the house. I watch her go, the dress catching the light with every step. I can see it now. The tightness in her shoulders, the quick pace of her breathing.
She’s nervous.
The realization settles heavily in my stomach. For a moment guilt presses in on me. Grace might be spoiled, demanding, and completely wrong for Max, but she’s still walking straight toward something that’s going to humiliate her in front of millions of people.
No one deserves that.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Miles: Vivian’s looking for you.
I slip the phone back into my pocket and take a breath. The noise of production hums in the background as crew members hurry across the lawn, headsets crackling, someone calling for lighting adjustments.
I head for the control room.
Time to get this over with.