Page 53 of The Final Rose

“I had to go back to London to conduct the interview about why you would kiss a girl and eliminate her the next day.”

I wince. The look she throws at me is fire. It almost burns. “I couldn’t refuse her, Callie.”

“I don’t understand why you eliminated her,” she says back and tries again circle me.

“Callie, that’s not wh–”

“Don’t say another word, Sebastian!” She points a finger at me. “You were never even close to Isla and then you kiss her and eliminate right after? Did you ever consider what that looks like?”

The hollow laugh coming off my lips is impossible to hold off. “What would it look like? I thought you wanted to find me a wife! I thought this was genuine.”

“It is!” she whisper-shouts, frustrated. “It doesn’t mean it’s not a televised show.”

“Fuck TV, Callie.”

“Shut up and go to sleep.” This time, she pushes me away. I almost let her go, but at the last minute, my hand finds her wrist.

“Is that why you’re angry? Because I eliminated Isla?”

“Yes,” she spits over her gritted teeth.

“And what you wanted was for me to choose her, is that it? Kiss her longer? Give you a true Hollywood ending?”

“Go fuck yourself, Sebastian.”

“I want to hear it from your lips!” I insist. “I want to hear how much you want me to be with one of them. Tell me I'm just a job for you.”

She tries to wiggle her wrist away. “Let me go!”

I keep hold of her, my thoughts scattered. It’s a fucking mess, but it’s our mess and I want her in the eye of the hurricane with me.

“Tell me, Callie. Who is your favorite?”

Her gaze goes from our joint hands, to our wrists, then to my face. Her mouth closes in a thin line and there’s a storm behind her eyes.

“I fucking hated that you kissed her!” she roars in a volume that is significantly higher than our dared whispers.

I let her wrist go, and she advances on me. “You kissed me one day just to kiss her right after? Is that what you want to hear? How much I hated to watch that video over and over again? Does that make you happy?”

“It doesn’t make me bloody happy, Callie!”

She pushes my chest with both her hands. “Do you want to hear how impossible it is to watch you dating all these women? To interview them about how goddamn dreamy you fucking are? What’s the point? Why do you want to hear it from me?”

My chest is on fire beneath her palms, and I lose all reasoning. I forget why I wanted her to confess, and I forget why we shouldn’t. I stalk her and this time she doesn’t step back. In a flash, my hands are on her, bringing her up to face me. Shemeets me in the middle, my hands behind her thighs, and with a jump her legs—her fucking legs—circle my waist.

She’s breathless from fighting, and her eyes are hazy. Fast, like someone who was raised in these rooms, I turn around, finding the pantry’s entrance.

Callie gasps when the darkness engulfs us, and I rest her back on the single wall without shelves. I’m acting on pure memory of the place. It’s pitch dark and if Callie wasn’t in my hands, I wouldn’t be able to find her.

But she is here. Her ass in my palms, her hot breath on my neck. I hate the amount of clothes she has on. I never hated a leather jacket this much. Once I have her pinned between me and the wall, I let one hand free, taking her beanie off to feel the soft strands between my fingers.

I trace her jaw in the dark. I feel her whimper even though I haven't done anything yet. She has a delicate neck, and my hand closes around it.

“You know what I really want, Calliope?” I say to her ear. My grip on her is not strong enough to hurt, but I can feel her pulse beating faster.

“W–what?” she whimpers out.

“I want you to stop spinning lies.”

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