Page 44 of The Final Rose

The woman is nowhere to be found since the morning shooting. I went to Warner Bros Studios with Maya, the Harry Potter fan, then I brought Grace to a traditional afternoon tea. And now I’m following Jack the Ripper’s steps around London, but Callie vanished into thin air.

I have to concentrate extra hard to make the basics of conversations; I want to feel bad, but my brain is mush.

The only thing I can think of is Callie’s taste in my mouth and the little whimper she let go when I kissed her.

I only have one more date tomorrow morning, a walk in the park with Mackenzie. At first, I wanted Hyde Park, but they did not clear it for production, so we changed to Victoria Park. It’s all good for me. Talking to Mackenzie is the challenge, not our location. I already know I’m going to eliminate her next, but then again…

I know I’m going to eliminate all of them.

I take a deep breath of the cold London air. Isla smiles at me, buried in her beanie with the cutest red nose from the cold.

I will eliminate Isla and her sweet contradictions.

And Maya, with the nerdiness, Grace, and her southern charm. Abby, the foodie, and Vera, who is -without any doubt- the perfect woman.

Yet, I’ll eliminate them all because I can’t think about anyone but the producer ofThe Final Rose.I want to say last night was asurprise, but I can’t fool myself like that. That kiss was bound to happen ever since I laid my eyes on her.

She’s mine.

I can’t pinpoint when I realized it, but here we are. I scan the crowd once more. People gather around us, trying to figure out what is being filmed while the crew holds them off.

Callie is nowhere.

I tune back to Isla, engaging with what she’s saying. The night is full of stars and Isla is holding on to my arm like a lifeline.

“Do you ever walk around here and be like,oh, people were murdered right here?”

“I’m sorry, my dear, but I think we can say that about most streets.”

Isla giggles too loudly. I widen my eyes, and she claps her hand over her mouth. Next, she’s whispering, conscious of the tour guide still talking at the front. “I know, but these are famous murders.”

“You’re right, these are posh murders.”

“… The kidney was delivered to the police as a taunt from the killer…” the guide is saying.

“Maybe regular murders are better after all,” Isla concludes, making me chuckle.

She was an easy one to talk to. Great sense of humor just on the edge of weirdness. If I took anything fromThe Final Roseis that they are real and genuine people.

I don’t know if I fully understood before, even when I signed up for the show, but as I laugh about something else that Isla is saying, it hits me.

Isla is here to fall in love.

And a month ago I’d be giving everything in me to engage and make this the best date ever. But now?

I feel almost sad about the way she looks at me.

By the end of the date, I know Isla is one of my favorite people I have gotten to meet. We are bent over the waist, laughing at something inappropriate, when she sobers up, turning to me; “You’re the real deal, right?”

My mouth dries up, and I face her. She’s small in my arms, looking up at me with big, trusting eyes. And I want to say I am the real deal because I entered with all good intentions. But I'm not that man anymore.

“I believe in love,” I reply instead.

She takes her arm from mine, facing me completely. She looks too deep and I’m nervous for a second.

“Me too,” Isla says. “But I also think love takes you by surprise and sweeps you off your feet. So, I’m going to propose something here, Sebastian.”

I lick my lips, my eyes flying to the cameras too close to us. I can’t let myself forget about them.

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