The True Love Experiment

Evan arrives in a suit and looks objectively hot. I’m so conflicted. On the one hand, I could choose him for the trip. It’s not going to happen with us—I think we both know that—and maybe a relaxing ex-to-friend trip together to Fiji is just what I need. But on the other hand, with the show’s popularity, I don’t want to do the public “breakup,” don’t want to have to pretend to have been in love and fallen out of it.

But if I choose Isaac, I’d be doing us both a disservice. Isaac is exactly who I would have expected to fall for, but in this reality, I now only feel very platonic things for him. Are his feelings genuinely romantic? Would a trip with him be the most excruciating, awkward ten days? Could I maybe learn to like him?

I groan, and Liz gives my chin a gentle pinch, reminding me to hold still while she applies eyeliner.

“What’s with you?” she asks, her breath sweet and minty near my cheek. “You seem stressed.”

“I am.”

“Are you worried the audience won’t choose the one you want?”

Liz has never asked me anything about the show. I always assumed it was a don’t-ask-don’t-tell kind of thing, but maybe it’s as simple as everyone not being a nosy asshole such as myself. A smart woman would say yes. A dumb one—me—says, “I don’t think I want either of them.”

She straightens, and her voice comes out in a whisper. “Which one do you want most?”

I go for broke: “The one who’s seven feet tall with the god-tier bone structure.”

She laughs but seems completely unsurprised. “Yeah, you two are a trip.”

I don’t immediately know what she means, and a self-conscious flush flashes through me. Because then I do know. She means what I feel, too, which is that the real story has been the friendship that has bloomed between me and her boss, Connor Prince. The cameras haven’t captured this most beautiful of all story arcs: how this towering, intentional man and this small, chaotic woman came together first with friction and then with mutual admiration and then with something that felt a lot like love. I had the real story right in front of me this whole time, and blew it.

“He’s been so off,” Liz says, breaking into my thoughts. “Everyone feels it.”

These last words pull me up to the surface again, newly aware. “What do you mean?”

She shrugs, sweeping one last pass of blush to the tops of my cheeks. “Oh, you know.” I can’t press for more without making it weird.

Liz steps back and surveys her work, pulling the protective cloth from my collar. “You’re good,” she says. She lifts her chin, and I turn to see a PA standing behind me.

“Ready?” he asks, and gestures to the trailer outside. Panic ignites in my bloodstream. “Rory wants a confessional first. You can head on out. Connor’s waiting for you.”





forty-two FIZZY




I’ve been in this trailer a dozen times over the past few weeks, and until today it has been my favorite hunting ground. It’s small but comfortably furnished, with cameras secured in consistent places that make it easy to film these interviews no matter where the set takes us every day. There are two couches: one for Connor, one for whoever he’s interviewing. The shades are pulled, the lighting soft and designed to feel private and intimate. Bottled water (labels facing out!) and a box of tissues are helpfully within arm’s reach. This is where I give my thoughts on how things are going, how I’m feeling, my impressions of the Heroes. It’s also the only time each episode where viewers get to see Connor as he walks us through each of the dates. I don’t follow the show hashtags, because I’m not a masochist (and also, it’s in the honor code that I don’t track how the voting is going), but Jess mentioned again the other day that Juno told her that Stevie said people are loving him. Our little gang is like the Pony Express, but with gossip.

I don’t blame these Internet women. Who could see this man on their TV and not fall for him? Hopefully it shows Blaine what a valuable asset Connor is, and it puts the ball in Connor’s court for a change.

I’ve settled on the couch when the small trailer door opens and Connor ducks inside. His presence shrink-wraps the space, sucking up all of the oxygen.

No hi or hello. Just a quiet “Test your mic, please.”

So we aren’t going to be friends today. Noted.

Connor makes his way to his seat and slides a hand down the thigh of his dress pants. It really is taking a Herculean effort to not launch myself facedown into his lap. “One, two. One, two. Down with the patriarchy, up with romance, let women love who and what they love.”

A pause while he waits for confirmation in his earbud. “You’re good.”

It takes him a moment to meet my eyes and arrange his face into a suitably pleasant—though not too pleasant—expression. “How are you feeling today heading into your last date?”

“Aren’t you going to ask me about last night?”

He pauses, clearing his throat. “Yes. Right. Let’s start over with that. How was last night for you?”

“It was hard,” I say.

He waits uneasily for me to say more, like he knows I’m a live bomb. I should wax on about the date yesterday; that’s my job, to talk. But everything goes blank inside.

Finally: “Hard, why?”

I want to laugh at this. Hello, Connor, last night was hard because you barely looked at me and I want this show to be amazing so that your career takes off and you fall back in love with me. But sadness is an ache I feel I need to continually swallow around, and turns out, sadness also makes it hard to laugh.

I reach for the water off to the side and twist off the cap, taking a sip. Count to ten, one more sip, and do your damn job, Fizzy.

“Last night was hard because I realize it might have been the last date ever with Isaac.”

There. Just there. A tiny tic in his jaw. “Unless he wins, which it seems your parents would like very much.” He’s making his voice warm and amiable, leaning into his accent and that honeyed charm, but I know him. I see the tightness in his expression.

We do know each other, he’d said. Getting to know each other has been our singular focus for months.

I try to put on a natural grin. “Yes, my parents loved him.”

He swallows. “We had a long conversation last night about why Isaac would be perfect for you.”

“Is that right?”

Connor reaches for his own water, strangling down some unreadable expression. “They’ve met Evan before, right?” I am genuinely impressed—and annoyed—with how quickly he reined that in. I’m trash for his jealousy. I want to eat it slathered on toast.

“Yes,” I say. “He’s my brother’s friend.”

“And what did they think?”

“I don’t think he made much of an impression at the time. But he is objectively amazing. And hot.”

“Well, as producer and part of the team who cast him, I’ll take that compliment,” Connor says smoothly, the little gleam in his eye telling me he sees exactly what I’m doing. “As our One That Got Away, he’ll be having dinner with your best friend, Jessica, and her husband, River Pe?a, who also happens to be the inventor of the DNADuo technology.”

“That’s right. Make sure to mention that a lot. River loves attention.”

Connor laughs, shoulders relaxing. “You’re going to be in top form tonight, I see.”

“It’s my last date night. How disappointed would everyone be if I was tame and well behaved?”

“We would all be devastated.” The heat of his smile warms me to my marrow. How can he not see how good we are together? “How are you feeling entering this final date?”

“Relieved.”

“Relieved why?”

“Because it means soon I can stop pretending I want someone other than you.”

Connor goes silent, looking jerkily around at the cameras aimed at each of us. “Fizzy, you—you can’t say that.”

“Edit it out, then.”

He reaches forward and gently switches one camera off, then the other. We both reach up, turning off our mics. Connor removes his earpiece and lets out a long exhale. “Shit.”

“I miss you,” I say once I know we’re really alone. “I wish I could tell you how sorry I am for what I did. I know I said you aren’t the man I thought you were, but I was just scared.”

“I know.”

“You’re exactly who I need you to be.”