Most eligible, p.28
Most Eligible, page 28
“I’m sorry,” I mouth, hoping he can see me despite the bright stage lights.
“This song is about someone really special to me,” he says finally, tearing his eyes away from mine with a small smile. “I don’t know what’s in the cards for us, but I still care about her. It’s called ‘One Night Only.’”
I laugh as the double entendre hits me. Rhett Auburn: One Night Only. Exactly what I thought we’d be when we met last year.
As he begins to strum his guitar, tapping his foot with the beat, the woman next to me shrieks to her friend that he was looking right at her! and that this song must be about her. I sneak a glance at her. She can’t be more than twenty.
Baby, I thought we’d be one night only
But now you’re the rest of my nights
From breaking up and breaking down, messing up all around
But ain’t that the thing about life.
My breath hitches in my chest and I let out a quiet sob. It’s about me. It has to be. You were the only one. You are the only one. That’s what he said. And now, here he is, asking me, yet again, to believe him.
The woman next to me throws her arms around me and strokes my hair. Without really thinking, I hug her back and we stand, both crying for very different reasons, watching Rhett sing the rest of the song.
Some of the lyrics pop out in neon, the hot water gospel; flying up the coast; tattoos under fingertips, never going back. Then the lines start getting slower, his fingers heavier, and I know it’s almost over. This perfect bubble is about to pop, and I’m powerless to stop it.
Baby, be the rest of my life.
As he finishes singing, the crowd’s cheers are deafening. I seem to be the only one not screaming because I’m still stuck on this last line. Did he essentially just ask me to spend the rest of my life with him, while I’m disguised and we’re both trapped in an endless reality TV hamster wheel?
I catch his eye, and he winks at me. He leans into the microphone, says, “Or something like that,” and the crowd screams, dazzled by his humility.
Something like that. I smile.
That I can live with.
* * *
I’m waiting outside like a groupie when Rhett exits through the stage door of the club. A few others have lined up to see him, and I hover in the back of the crowd, waiting for him to disentangle himself from his fans.
Over the heads of a few teenagers, he catches my eye and gives me a small smile. Swinging his guitar behind his back, he excuses himself from the crowd and comes over to me.
He gives my baseball cap a playful tug and opens his mouth to speak.
“Don’t,” I whisper, putting my finger to his lips. “Me first?”
He nods as the crowd disperses around us. Once they’re gone, I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Rhett. I’m so sorry.” I start shaking and wind my arms around myself, trying to catch my breath. “I got in so deep and I was so desperate and I didn’t think I could trust you and … and I screwed this up so badly. I thought it was over, and I was going to let it be, because you made it clear that you didn’t want this. But then I talked to Serena, and she said…” I search his eyes, hoping he’ll silently confirm what I’m about to say. “She said you asked her to keep me out of the story. I know I don’t deserve it, but I want this so badly. And I need another chance to make it up to you.”
His eyes crinkle as he looks at me. “The stuff about Cassidy isn’t a big deal.” He sucks in a breath, shifting his weight. “Last year I hoped I could keep everyone in the dark, but I know now that I can’t. I told her to go ahead and publish it, and honestly … it’s freeing.” He rubs his jaw, eyebrows stitched in the middle of his forehead.
“I wanted to protect you,” I whisper. “Serena said that if I got her more about Roland, she’d leave you alone, so I had to stay, but then it all went to shit, and there wasn’t anything I could do. But I’m done with her now—the job, everything. It’s over.”
He nods slowly. “I wish we’d been able to talk about it.”
I press my lips together. Of course this wasn’t going to be easy. Of course, I couldn’t just apologize and kiss him and make everything better.
“I wish we had, too,” I say, taking a step back.
His mouth pulls up in a half smile and he catches my arm, drawing me back to him. “Georgia, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m wild about you. And I chose this—I could’ve lied to her, tried to get her not to publish it, but I want it out in the open. I want a clean slate.”
“I love you,” I whisper. It takes me by surprise, but the second I say it, I know it’s right. Saying it is as easy as breathing, nothing like the hack job confession I gave Roland last week. I wind my fingers in the hem of Rhett’s T-shirt and hope he’ll say it back to me.
He presses his lips to mine, pulling me in so close I’m on tiptoe as he whispers, “I love you,” against my lips. “Is that—is that possible? In six weeks?”
“A year and six weeks,” I remind him. “And if it isn’t possible, I think Lainey might be out of a job. But she might be anyway … I’m going to publish the article without Serena. As myself. I have to finish what I started.”
The smile on his face warms my chest. “I’m proud of you,” he says. “Can I give you an exclusive scoop?”
I grin at him. “Of course. But I’d like some things to stay off the record.” I stand on tiptoe to kiss him again, before pulling back.
“There’s one more thing.” I bite my lip. “I’m staying for the proposals. Not for Roland, or Lainey, or Serena … For Monica. I don’t—she shouldn’t have to feel like a last resort—the only one left, you know?”
His eyebrows scrunch together but he nods. “Of course,” he says. He points between us. “I trust this. I trust you.”
I beam at him. “Are you sure?”
He nods, staring into my eyes like I’m the whole world. “There’s nothing stopping us. We can run around LA like a couple of kids, I can take you back to Tennessee sometime, meet my mom, I’ll come meet your folks, we can get a kitten and watch it live forever, we—”
I throw my arms around his neck and hold on tight. “Thank you,” I choke out. “Thank you.”
“I want you, Georgia.” He tightens his arms around my back. “No expiration date.”
It’s so sweet that my chest caves in a little and my lips find his and I kiss him so long that I have to catch my breath.
“So.” The corners of Rhett’s kiss-swollen lips twitch up. “Did you like my song?”
“It was very cheeky of you, Rhett Auburn,” I say. “If I didn’t know any better…” If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were proposing to me. “Well, at any rate,” I say, and grin, “I’d like something like that.”
I thread my arm through his, and we head back to the street to catch a cab back to the mansion.
“There’s something I have to ask you first,” he says. We stop on the street corner, and he looks seriously into my eyes. My heart skips a beat. He bends down and for a second I think he’s about to drop to one knee and pull out a ring, but he sets down his guitar case and takes my right hand in both of his.
Taking a deep breath, he grins. “Can I get your number?”
The finale: the moment when you find out if you’ve wasted six weeks of your life or found your forever partner. Whatever happens, we hope this book has been helpful to you. And don’t forget: Burn after reading.
—Shacking Up: The Definitive, Unauthorized Guide to Winning Love Shack
Chapter Thirty-Six
Monica looks as green-in-the-face as I feel as we walk down the shell-strewn path to the beach. Though our dresses are similar styles—long flowing skirts with intricate bodices—I feel like the girl about to get stood up at prom next to her classy red-carpet vibes. It doesn’t help that my dress was a last-minute decision. They’d been saving it for whoever made it to the proposals, and Lainey decided the dark maroon color would go better with the setting than what they’d originally picked out for me. The result is a few empty inches between my boobs and the dress that had to be safety-pinned into submission. But since this is my last day of putting up with Lainey, I barely flinched when one of the pins nicked my skin.
The producers arrange us on a little rocky cliff jutting out over the beach. On TV, it’ll look perfect: the ground beneath us falling away into pristine ocean. But the reality is a sloping five-foot drop-off behind us and some trash caught in the rocks.
Lainey fusses over the hem of Monica’s dress for a solid minute before Monica finally swats her away. Lainey is beside herself with nerves. Her usually coiffed hair is sticking up in odd places, and one of her white go-go boots appears to have lost a heel. She hobbles over to me next, but before she can attack my outfit, a black SUV pulls up at the other end of the path.
Impulsively, I grab Monica’s hand and squeeze. She hangs on tight like I’m her lifeline.
A pair of men’s shoes descends from the vehicle, and Roland steps out. Immediately, the cameras whip into action, capturing his sleek entrance. He’s wearing a handsome pewter-colored suit that highlights the gray of his eyes. He looks at Monica and me and smiles tightly, then walks down the shell path toward us.
I glance back at the SUV, expecting Rhett to hop out next, but the driver closes the rear door and pulls away.
“Where’s Rhett?” Monica whispers.
“I’m not sure,” I murmur.
My stomach squirms as Roland reaches us and takes his place on the outdoor carpet. Monica drops my hand and smooths the front of her dress, but she already looks perfect. She has nothing to worry about.
Another car approaches the path, but instead of stopping, it keeps going down the hill toward the beach. Rhett must be doing a grand entrance after Roland gets set up.
With no indication that she’s concerned by her host’s absence, Lainey beckons for Roland to begin.
“Monica, Georgia,” Roland says, looking at each of us in turn. “The past six weeks with you have been truly life-changing. I’ve learned so much about both of you and I’ve also learned a lot about myself. You might not be aware, but yesterday an article was published about me, and every word of it was true. Ever since my injury last year, I’ve been using performance-enhancing drugs in competitions. It was wrong and I’m owning that. I’m taking time off from playing—it’s not going to be easy, but I know I’m on the right path now. I would understand if this changes things for you.” He glances between us, but when neither Monica or I say anything, he continues. “You’re both amazing women and I have a lot of love for both of you. But today”—he pulls a small box from his pocket and takes out a glittering diamond ring—“I have only one ring.”
The air tenses around us and Monica stands up even straighter. Roland clears his throat, but before he can speak a shout echoes around us.
“ROLIE!”
Roland falters, his eyes going wide. He looks around, searching for the source of the voice.
“ROLIE, IT’S ME!”
For a wild second I think it’s Rhett, arriving late and having completely lost his senses. But it’s a woman’s voice. And it seems to be coming from below us—from over the little cliff. Roland rushes over and bends down, the shock on his face turning to pure glee. He reaches down and drags Olie up the hill. She’s wearing ripped overalls and a dirty white tank top. Her hair is tangled and her lip is bloody, but she only has eyes for Roland—Rolie, that is.
“Baby,” she says, her voice shaking. “I’m so sorry. I just couldn’t leave you—I missed you so goddamn much, I wanted—”
“What the hell is happening?” Monica steps forward and places herself between Roland and Olie. “What are you doing here?”
Olie steps back, her lip quivering. “I—I came back for Roland.”
“You can’t do that,” Monica says firmly, her demeanor collected like she’s disputing a serve to an umpire. The cameras creep up behind us to get a better view of the action. “Georgia, back me up here,” Monica says, looking at me, but I’m speechless.
“Look, Rolie,” Olie interrupts. “I know I’m not as polished as some of these other ladies, I’m not a tennis pro or…”—she looks from Monica to me, as though trying to figure out how best to describe me—“hot and tall. But I love you so goddamn much.” Her voice drops to a whisper, and she takes both of his hands in hers. “That night in Italy was magic, and I know you felt it too.”
“What are you talking about?” Monica cuts in. “You were in Italy?”
Olie goes pink and nods. Monica crosses her arms and turns to Roland. “I think it’s time for you to tell us what’s going on.”
“Monica, I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so sorry. I never—”
“BACK UP!”
I jump at Lainey’s voice. The cameras scurry backward, and Lainey pushes me into the fray, making me step on Monica’s foot. Lainey pumps her arms in wild circles and the cameras swirl around us. The illusion will be broken, I’m sure of it—there will be cameras in the background of some of the shots—but right now she doesn’t seem to care.
“I never meant for any of this to happen,” Roland continues. “Olie showed up in Italy and we … Addison left right after our dinner and Olie and I spent the night together.”
Olie drops to one ripped-overalled knee and pulls something out of her pocket.
“Oh my god,” I breathe. The cameras are buzzing like bees, trying to catch all of the action as it unfolds in real time.
Olie opens a small cardboard box and takes out a huge, old-fashioned-looking ring. “Best I could do,” she says apologetically, shrugging. “But I had the gem replaced, see?”
I lean closer and see a tiny tennis ball where a gemstone should be. It’s so kitschy that it almost comes back around to being cute.
“Roland Whatever-Your-Middle-Name-Is Marchetti,” Olie says. “Will you marry me?”
Before Roland can speak, Monica launches herself at Olie, who stumbles back and topples over the cliff and down the sandy hill, out of sight. I catch Monica’s arm to keep her from following.
“YES!” Roland shouts. He looks around for one wild second, then flings himself over the drop-off and onto the sandy beach a few feet below. We hurry forward to see him and Olie embracing in the sand, Roland pulling off his suit jacket and tie, and Olie kissing every inch of him she can reach. He pulls away and shouts “YES!” again as Monica stands numbly beside me. Now Roland is only wearing pants and—are they about to have sex on the beach? Surrounded by cameras? He pulls out the million-dollar Love Shack ring and throws it back up to us. Monica and I both look at it, then at each other, and she gives a little shrug. We let it stay on the ground.
“REMAIN CALM!” Norbert comes barreling out of nowhere and launches himself after Roland and Olie. Next goes Lainey, scrambling down the rocks.
Roland and Olie extricate themselves from the producers and begin to run, barefoot, down the beach. It’s quite a sight—both of them partially naked, Olie’s red hair streaking behind her. Camera operators and PAs jog behind them with cameras held aloft.
In all the chaos, Monica and I seem to have been forgotten. Not a single camera is on us, not a single producer is paying us any attention. It’s my first glimpse of freedom in a long time.
And then I see it—a white vintage car streaking down the road, pulling up at the end of the shell path. A man with red-brown hair behind the wheel, tattoos snaking up his arms.
My face splits into a grin. Unnoticed by any of the Love Shack crew, I give Monica a last hug, then rip off my body mic, kick off my heels, and hike up my dress, sprinting toward the car like a runaway bride, shells crunching painfully under my feet as I get closer and closer to Rhett.
He grins at me from behind sunglasses, his smile almost as dazzling as the sun.
“Get in,” he says.
I jump in the car, and he kisses me deeply before speeding away from the crowd of gawking crew members who’ve realized I’m gone, past the beach where Roland and Olie are still trying to outrun the producers, and into the gathering sunset.
“You know,” he says, “I think this is going to be the most dramatic season of Love Shack yet.”
“Doesn’t someone say that every year?” I reach over and take his hand, laughing.
But this year, I think it will finally be true.
Six Months Later
Three Love Stories, One Vicious Season: How Love Shack’s Chaotic Season 20 Ended with Three Happy Couples (excerpt) [From the Love Shack series]
By Georgia Rose
Unlike most contestants, I didn’t go on Love Shack looking for love or fame. I entered the infamous Malibu mansion with one purpose: to investigate producer misconduct, starting with former executive producer Lainey Williams. I ended up finding far more than I expected—for more details, see my feature exposé, “Booze, Breakups, and Blackmail: The Secrets Behind Lainey Williams’s Love Shack Tenure.”
I’ll be the first to admit that when I applied to be on Love Shack, I was a staunch reality-TV skeptic. How could I not be when the show has produced fewer successful marriages than Survivor? But against all odds, season 20 of Love Shack produced not one, not two, but three happy couples—all of whom are still going strong.
First, we’ve got Chloe Bradbury and Philippa Burns, also known as #Phloe to particularly attentive Love Shack viewers. You might remember their heartfelt exit after the week three paintball extravaganza. Since leaving the show, Philippa has been vocal about the conditions on set, talking at length about the lack of food, the pressure to drink alcohol, and the emotional manipulation of the producers. But despite the harsh conditions, Philippa tells me, “Being in such an intense environment pushed [me and Chloe] closer together. ‘Bonds forged in fire,’ and all that. After a bad interview or filming for twelve hours straight, I could always go to her, and my day would get a million times brighter.”
