Page 35 of The Final Rose

We are both chuckling when the plane takes off. I see her clutching the armrest, but I don’t say anything, I just watch her expression in silence. Eventually, we stabilize, and they turn off the lights, forcing us to have a good sleep and magically wake up on a different continent. Callie lowers her voice, her head turned to me.

“They hate that you’re here.”

Theyare my parents. It’s not a question either. Isn’t very hard to see that my parents- being who they are- hate the fact I’m part of a reality TV show.

“The thing about people like my parents is that they map the lives of their offspring before we are even born. At first, you push yourself to be the best, to keep in line. To maketheirdreams come true. But soon you’re not a child anymore and their expectations never waver. It’s the college they want, the company you keep. The clothes, the events. The job.”

Callie frowns and sighs, apparently exhausted on my behalf.“Contenta, alimentada, y honesta.”

I blink at her. “What’s that?”

“The only three things my parents ever wished for me.”

Happy, fed, and honest. For the first time in weeks, I want to be in Los Angeles. I want to ask to meet her parents. I want to see her brothers and try to make them like me. I want to help buy her parents a home.

Desperate under my collar, I realize I’m going the wrong way.

It’s bluntly cruel how London is the memory of my failures. All the times I wasn’t even close to what is expected of a Riggs. All the times I wrongly tried. Good segment or not, bringing prospects to London is a mistake because London’s Sebastian Riggs isn’t someone I want to be anymore.

He isn’t someone who would be the Eligible forThe Final Rose.

The production wanted to know a little bit about my life. Since my parents refused to be part of it, I arranged for a stay in my country house. Bring the girls around London and get Maverick to join us and give him the screen time he so badly wants.

But as I imagine myself going back to that house, riding one of my horses, and showing them around, I keep thinking about what Callie will think. Is she going to see the beauty of the house for itself or only as a representation of my family’s wealth?

Will she be comfortable? Will she think less of me when I show her London’s Sebastian?

She wriggles her hands on her lap, uncomfortable by my prolonged silence.

“Do you have siblings?” she asks when it’s clear I’m not saying anything else.

I nod dumbly. “Beatrice.”

“Younger or older?”

“Younger.” I smile. “I want to meet with her while we are there. Off-camera. She’s at Uni, technically an adult, but I don’t want my mother finding reasons to be cross at her. Right now I'm enemy number one.”

Callie blinks with a furrow on her forehead. She breathes out and nods. “Yeah, sure. I get it.”

“You’ll still get to meet her.” I guarantee.

“Me?”

I scoff. “Of course. I’ll ring her and we can go for a pint.”

Her throat works. “No cameras?”

“No cameras.”

And for some reason, I hold my breath. My eyes lock on hers and I don’t dare to move.

Finally, Callie nods.

“That’ll be great.”

10.

Callie

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