Page 22 of The Final Rose

Sebastian:Need a dirty chippy kebab after getting sozzled.

Callie:I don’t think those are words.

Callie:Aren’t you supposed to be royalty, anyway? None of this sounds like something a Prince would say.

Sebastian:Maybe you don't know them well enough. No matter. Riggs aren’t royalty, but Americans are easily fooled by an accent.

Callie:Don’t tell casting that.

Sebastian:Rightly so, Riggs are bastards enough to be almost royalty.

Callie:I thought being a bastard was a secure way not to get a title.

Sebastian:Semantics.

Callie:I just googled sozzled! Sebastian, are you drunk?

Sebastian:…

Callie:How can you type, nay, think the word semantics when you’re drunk??

After that, he ended up finding a good enough kebab and tucked in for the night. I couldn’t even blame him for getting drunk on expensive mini-bar drinks. Being a contestant in a reality show is boring. While the girls are constantly watched and called to interact all the time, Sebastian is kept away.

It works for the formula. Let the girls fight over the prize, who isn’t even in the same house, and at the same time, it keeps thedates pure and exciting. But the Eligible gets day after day doing a bunch of nothing in a hotel room.

Tracing my steps to the back of the mansion, I get in the middle of the mess of what’s going on out there.

Cameras, assistants, and sound mixers swarm the place. Six girls were chosen for this group date: Vera, Mackenzie, Vivian, Maya, Abby, and Emily. I tried to get Kirsten included on the date since she was the production’s number two option, but Anya thought it was good for her to feel excluded.

I needed to shake myself after that comment.

Something is changing. And it’s not my boss or the structure of the show. It’s me, and the thought alone is terrifying.

We need drama to keep the lights on. I say it again and again to myself, but this season, the justification won’t stick in my brain.

The meddling makes my skin crawl. A conscience isn’t something I can have if I’m going to survive in this industry.

The truth is, I can’t stop TV from being TV.

But I can find someone for Sebastian. And I want to do it. I want to be there for him because he has become a friend. A weird, sometimes too British one, but a friend, nevertheless.

I march toward him with his ridiculous flower bouquet in hand. I breathe in the morning air and tell myself I will find this man a wife and clear my conscience in the process.

“Oh, Callie, you shouldn’t have, love,” he says as I approach.

“I don’t even know the names of these flowers, Riggs,” I tell him, thrusting the bouquet in his hands. “How can he order so easily from a different continent?”

“Oh, Maverick is resourceful. He’d pride himself on knowing the best flower shop in L.A. I’m sure he’ll manage to throw it in conversation.”

“Name dropping, flower edition.” I bit my cheek not to open a smile.

“Precisely.”

“We don’t do flowers here!” Anya’s voice cut through our conversation from the other side of the backyard.

She doesn’t approach, so I have to yell back: “I know!”

“He has flowers. Why does he have flowers?”

---