Page 39 of The Final Rose

In a way, I’m not lying. Idofeel sick. My head is a mess, and I know I made a mistake.

Weeks ago, Anya asked me to keep my head in the game. I knew I was getting too close to Sebastian, so I stepped back.

But it made it worse.Wayworse.

Sebastian became this candy bar I wasn’t allowed to have. The prize after my run, the glass of wine after a stressful day. I wanted to speak with him, listen to him. Be with him.

I lay my head on the pillow every night, thinking about how much I ached to talk to him just to reprimand myself a second later.

It was torture and even after all that; I was back to my old habits the second he sat beside me on that flight. No time has passed, no walls have been built.

Feeling like a failure, I sit on the bed looking at nothing.

I can’t move.

I can’t call and cancel, but I can’t go either. In my head, I know it’s not a big deal. I became friends with other contestants before. I offered my shoulder for girls to cry on. I go for drinks with the season seven cast at least once a year.

I inhale deeply and tell myself that. I’m allowed to have friends. Sebastian is just a really hot friend. People have those. I have a bunch of those.

As I survey the clothes I brought with me, I remember that never in the history of my employment has Anya called me out like that. She never needed to ask me to keep my head in the game.

Annnd I’m back to overreacting.

I groan, feeling pathetic. I grab aMetallicatee and dark jeans. There. That’s me. Tee, jeans and boots. I refuse to dress up to meet his sister.

But Beatrice is a fancy name.

I bet my arm Sebastian’s sister is the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on.

I really want her to like me. She’s escaping her mother’s clutches just to meet little me.

So, I have no choice, really. I need to change. For Beatrice, of course. I grab the one dress I packed, black, but tight on my body and it looks good paired with my boots, too.

I throw everything on and fix my hair to the best of my abilities, and before I start to rethink the whole ordeal, I go to the elevator without looking back.

It’s just a drink.

One.

Just a quick hello and nice to meet you, so sorry you won’t be on the show. Oh sure, it’s a pleasure to see the girls throwing themselves at your brother.

Me? I’m peachy. I love this damn weather. It’s doing wonders for my hair and complexion.

I close my eyes and step in the elevator, pressing the button for the atrium. My fingers drum over my legs with anxious energy and I let go a long breath right when the doors click open and I get the full vision of the man waiting for me

My body freezes as I take him in.

I falter.Oh God!

Sebastian awaits in a blue shirt that, for some magic, is the exact shade of his eyes. The first button is open over his neck, and the sleeves are folded three-quarters of the way. God, why are forearms so damn sexy? His are veiny and thick with golden hair all over. And does it do it for me? Shit, yes, it does it big time.

The elevator door starts to close on me again and he chooses that moment to look up from his phone. Our eyes lock and I spring back to life, using my hand to stop the doors from closing.

This is a bad idea.

Because Sebastian looks likethat. I do not know how the girls can walk toward him in heels every episode. I’m wearing my Doc Martens and I’m walking likeBambion ice.

I gulp. I can’t look into his eyes. They are too damn beautiful. I can’t look at his smile because his white teeth are blinding. I can’t look at his forearms because they make me want to fall just to see if he’d catch me.

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