Romancing Miss Right (28 page)

“We were actually thinking maybe this is a
good thing,” Linus put in.

“Oh this should be good. Please enlighten me
how not getting footage of one of the most pivotal moments of the
show is a good thing.”

“We couldn’t show it anyway. We wouldn’t want
to. Not when she chooses Daniel.”

“It would make her look bad in the eyes of
the audience to be sexing it up with one guy immediately before
getting engaged to another,” Amelia picked up where Linus left
off.

“
If
she becomes engaged.”

Linus and Amelia’s matching expressions of
shock would have been comical if there were anything funny about
the situation. It was hard to laugh when Miranda could lose her job
as well, thanks to their fuck-up.

“Why wouldn’t she?” Linus blurted.

“I know she seemed ambivalent at first, but
lately all the confessional footage has been pointing toward
Daniel,” Amelia insisted.

Miranda felt old suddenly. Ancient and weary.
“Don’t put too much stock in the confessional footage.”

Amelia’s face melted into horror. “You think
she might actually pick
Craig
?”

“I know he’s cute and all,” Linus protested,
“but he would have to have a magical penis to change her mind.
Marcy is practical and Daniel ticks all the boxes. He’s perfect.
Besides, you had Pendleton film the job ultimatum with Craig
already—he’s going to dump her at the Final Choice altar. If we had
footage of them getting it on just two nights before, he’d be the
most hated man in America.”

“And he would deserve to be.”

It was too late to worry about footage they
didn’t have now. As much as she wanted to keep venting her
frustration on the pair that had likely just cost her her job,
Miranda reached for her tablet instead. “You both have jobs to do.
I suggest you do them to
perfection
for the next forty-eight
hours. Get us through the Final Choice ceremony flawlessly and you
might still have a prayer of ever working in reality television
again.”

Her two minions, suitably cowed, retreated,
taking Emily—who had been watching the whole conversation with
wide-eyes—away with them.

“Amelia,” she called after them, before they
could completely escape the cafe that the crew had commandeered.
“Don’t tell anyone else what you saw this morning. As far as we
know, nothing happened. Understand?”

Amelia nodded frantically and Miranda turned
her attention back to her tablet, though she didn’t see the screen,
her brain working frantically.

She could make this work. If Marcy’s choice
went the way she thought it would, the dramatic door slamming would
play just as well as a late night booty call. America never needed
to know that anything had happened—or if they needed to find out,
it would make a juicy tidbit at the reunion show.

Craig had been given his choice. Marcy had
been given hers. Now it was a game of wait-and-see.

Kind of like Miranda waiting to see if she
could hang onto her job. Her first chance at the helm of the show
and she had to get curveball after curveball. It still remained to
be seen if she could hit them out of the park.

The chance was slight, but there was still
hope for a happy ending for all of them. Miranda, heartless reality
show producer, stared sightlessly at her tablet and prayed that
just this once love could conquer all.

Because if Marcy could get her happy ending,
maybe there was hope for the rest of them.

Chapter Thirty-Three

“So, Marcy, tell us, how
does it feel, now that the big day is finally here?”

The cameras whirred, the lights hummed, and
Marcy scrambled to think of the usual platitudes as Amelia waited
expectantly. “I can’t believe eight weeks have gone by so fast.”
What else was she supposed to say? “I didn’t know what to expect
when I began this process, I wasn’t sure I would find love, but
now…”

Craig’s smoky black eyes rose up in her
mind’s eye, gleaming with wicked invitation as they had that night.
She hadn’t seen him since he slipped away in the morning when
Amelia walked in on them still in bed—thankfully without cameras
accompanying her. He hadn’t pled his case again, hadn’t said
anything about how he felt. He’d simply grinned at her—all wicked
and playful—and ducked out the door with a laughing, “See you at
the altar.”

The Final Choice altar. In two hours she’d be
standing there. Faced with one man and then the other. Presenting
them with her choice.

A choice she still hadn’t made.

All day yesterday as they’d driven from
Verona to the villa at Lake Bracciano where Tom Cruise had married
the most recent of his wives, Marcy had stared out the window at
the Italian countryside and waited for a sense of certainty that
never came.

She knew she should pick Daniel. Anyone with
half a brain would pick Daniel. But what about her heart?

She was in love with Craig. She knew that now
with absolute conviction—what she didn’t know was whether he would
ever be capable of loving her back. What sort of fool risked her
heart on a man who had admitted he would only break it—even if he’d
also implied that she
might
be capable of breaking his right
back? Was she really such a masochist?

And what would America think of her if she
picked him? She wished she was the kind of person who didn’t give a
damn what anyone thought about her, but she’d never been that girl.
The idea that America might scorn her—or worse, boycott her
books—was like an ax hanging over her head.

She wished she could speak to her sisters and
her parents, ask their advice, but they were thousands of miles
away and it was still early morning in the States.

If she did pick Craig, would her father
worry? Would it throw him right back into another heart attack?

No, she couldn’t. She couldn’t risk doing
that to him.

But with Daniel…

“Marcy?”

She blinked, coming back to the present—the
whirring cameras, the expectant producer. “I’m sorry, what was I
saying?”

“You weren’t sure you would find love when we
started. Are you in love now?”

Yes
. She couldn’t pick Daniel. It
wouldn’t be fair to him. Or to her.

It just wasn’t there. She liked him. She
respected him and valued him, but love? Her stupid heart was
engaged elsewhere.

She almost laughed, remembering what Jack had
said when he broke it off with her.
I’m sorry, Marcy… my heart
is engaged elsewhere.
She really ought to give Jack and Lou a
call. See how they were doing. They’d survived a reality television
show. Maybe they could help her save her sanity when she got
home.

“Marcy?”

“I need to talk to Miranda.”

Amelia frowned, taken aback. “Miranda will be
here shortly to hear your choice so we can arrange the arrival
order of your two remaining Suitors, but while we’re waiting for
her, let’s get a little more on how you’re feeling today, shall
we?”

“Yes, I’m in love,” she snapped impatiently.
“I’m also about to reject a man who doesn’t deserve it and make one
of the most difficult decisions of my life, so forgive me if I
can’t remember the appropriate platitudes about the culmination of
the journey or my life with Mister Right finally beginning.”

Amelia’s lips pursed. “I’ll get Miranda.”

Five minutes later, the executive producer
walked into the room and waved the cameramen out. “I hear you’re
being difficult.”

Marcy stood. She needed to be standing for
this—like the words were too big to get out of her mouth any other
way. “I’ve made my choice.”

Miranda nodded, satisfied. She couldn’t
suspect what was coming. “Good. We do the rejected party first, so
how do you want me to schedule them?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ve decided to pick
neither.”

Miranda didn’t even blink. “Neither.”

“It just isn’t there with Daniel and I… I
just can’t with Craig.”

Miranda nodded, still displaying none of the
shock Marcy had anticipated. “Daniel’s hotel is closer. We’ll have
him in the ten o’clock slot. Craig will arrive just after one.
We’ll get your reactions afterwards and you’ll be done by
four.”

She made it sound so simple. So easy.

Marcy tried to swallow, her mouth suddenly
dry. “Have you had anyone refuse to pick in the past?”

“It’s not unprecedented,” Miranda said
calmly. “You should prepare yourself for some negative push-back
from the audience. They are ravenous for a happy ending and can
react unpredictably when denied one—but we’ll do our best through
editing to show that you made the only choice you felt you could.
Which would be easier if you would sit down with Amelia for some
more confessional footage.”

Marcy nodded, dazed by how straightforward
she made it sound. How final. Decision made. Done deal. She
couldn’t seem to process it though.

“I’ll just send Amelia and the crew back in.
Take your time getting your thoughts out. Wardrobe will be here to
change you into your Choice gown in a little over an hour.”

“Miranda,” she called when the producer would
have left. “I’m sorry I couldn’t…”

She paused with a hand on the door. “You
don’t have to apologize to me, hon. But be really sure this is what
you want, okay? For yourself. You never struck me as the kind of
girl who was afraid of leaping off a bridge.”

Leaping off a bridge.
The memory of
bungee jumping with Craig came back with a vengeance.

Had Miranda said that on purpose? Was she
trying to say something? Trying to tell Marcy to pick Craig?

Marcy dropped her head into her hands. She
was going to drive herself crazy with all these doubts, but it
would be over soon. And she’d be alone again. Easier that way.
Safer.

#

Craig stared in the mirror, adjusting his tie
for the hundredth time. This was it. The big day. The big choice.
Marcy would make hers and he would make his. Pendleton had been
clear. He couldn’t let her get the word out one way or the other.
Whether Marcy would choose him or not, he had to interrupt her and
pick the job over her
before
she made her choice or the
offer vanished.

Love or money.

The producers weren’t subtle.

He’d known as soon as he woke up beside her
yesterday what his choice would be. Waiting twenty-four hours for
all the pomp and circumstance had been a serious pain in the ass,
but the producers demanded their pound of flesh.

He didn’t wake up beside women. He wasn’t
that guy. It was too much the mark of a relationship, spending the
night. Too intimate. He always crept out in the night, leaving a
note to make her smile and think of him fondly when he was gone,
but always waking up by himself in his own bed.

He wasn’t the relationship guy. It wasn’t how
he was wired.

But with Marcy, maybe he could be.

It was strange to want that. Strange to want
anything beyond his career. Strange and scary.

When you wanted things, you made yourself
vulnerable, exposed yourself so people could use them against
you—the same way the producers were trying to use his unabashed
fixation on his career against him. It was safer not to want
anything—but safe wasn’t life.

He wanted his success and he wanted Marcy.
And waking up beside her, with the curve of her arm flung over her
face and her hair a tangled mess on the pillow, he had known with
shattering certainty that there would be other jobs, other
opportunities, but there would never be another Marcy.

Craig rubbed at his chest with his fist.

So this was love. Jumping off a fucking
bridge. Opening yourself up to getting kicked in the teeth. It kind
of sucked. But for all the terror, it was exhilarating. Like
walking across a high wire after handing someone at the end a giant
pair of scissors.

The door to his dressing room opened. Linus
poked his head in. “Fifteen minutes and we’ll get you in the car.
You good?”

“As good as I’ll ever be,” he said, clinging
to the confidence that had gotten him this far. Fuck it, if he was
going to go for it, he’d better go all the way. “Linus,” he called
when the producer started to shut the door. “I need to make a phone
call.”

“Now?”

“Now.”

“I’ll have to clear it with Miranda.”

Craig snorted. “Trust me. She’ll let me make
this call.”

Fifteen minutes later, Craig had a cell phone
in his hand. The first one he’d held for weeks. A gruff voice
answered on the third ring.

“Mr.
Henrickson
? It’s Craig Corrow.
I’m sorry to call so early, sir, but there’s something I need to
ask you.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Daniel had cried. She
hadn’t anticipated that.

Marcy stood at the Final Choice altar, her
arms wrapped tight around her middle, feeling unaccountably cold
even with the midday sun warming her shoulders. The strapless gown
was a lavender so pale it flirted with bridal white—which just
seemed cruel since she wasn’t going to be marrying anyone anytime
soon.

Shit. What had she done?

She didn’t love Daniel, but should she have
picked him anyway on the belief that she could grow to love him?
Once Craig was out of the picture, would her stupid heart have
fallen in line?

The scene the producers had set was almost
nauseatingly romantic. The symbolic altar—part of every
Miss
Right
and
Mister Perfect
finale—had been set up at the
end of a rose arbor overlooking the crystal blue perfection of the
famous Italian lake. Flowers that weren’t perfect enough had been
removed and replaced until each bloom was as flawless as the
last.

Nearby bushes rustled and Amelia stepped out
of them where she’d been hiding from the cameras’ views. “The car
is coming up the drive now,” she informed Marcy. “Pendleton will
meet him and escort him as far as the top of the path and then it’s
up to you. I know the instinct is to get it over with quickly, but
don’t be afraid to let the drama build. In the end, it will be good
for both of you if you don’t leave anything unsaid today.” She
smiled, as if Marcy weren’t about to dump the man she loved on
national television. “All set?”