Page 47 of The Baking Games

“Agreed. But couldn’t we fake it enough to get to week six?”

“So you want me to act like I love you for five more weeks?”

“A little over four now. It’s not that long. How long did you pretend to love Connor?”

I giggle. “No comment.”

“And you didn’t even get paid for that.”

“Rhett, this isn’t going to work. What if it backfires? What if people hate us as a couple and send us home?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t think they will. I’ve put a lot of thought into this. It’s our best chance.”

“I need time to think about it.”

“I’ll tell you what. You think, and you give me some kind of signal one way or the other.”

“What kind of signal?”

“I don’t know. Just something I can’t miss.”

“Well, that’s totally helpful,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“Okay, fine. If you want to move forward, say the word ‘hippopotamus.’”

“Are you serious right now?”

“I’m picking this lock in ten seconds,” we hear a producer say from the other side of the door. We both turn our mics back on and walk out.

“Don’t forget the code word,” Rhett whispers before turning our mics back on.

What in the world am I going to do?

RHETT

I just asked Savannah to pretend to love me.

I’ve obviously lost my mind.

It’s an insane plan. It’s not something I would normally do. I don’t know what came over me.

I can’t put the genie back in the bottle now. It’s out there, and she thinks I’ve lost my marbles.

I know it will work. If we can seem believable, the audience of these shows will devour a love story.

But Savannah hates me. She’s right. There’s no way people will believe we care about each other. That we love each other.

“Are you actually going to take a nap?” I ask as she drags me along behind her. For a tiny woman, she sure is strong.

“Yep,” she says as we enter her room. Lainey has already moved to Connor’s room until our chains are removed, so her bed is empty. “Let’s push these closer together.”

I can imagine what viewers are thinking right now. This is TV gold.

I do as she says and move Lainey’s bed closer to hers. She kicks off her white tennis shoes and lays down, pulling the fuzzy blanket she brought up to her waist. I just stand there looking down at her.

“How long do your naps typically last?”

“Just an hour or so.”

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