Page 58 of The Final Rose

Today isn’t much different. We have a group date to fill the gap between eliminations and it’s excruciating. I play around in my head about eliminating someone else just to fuck with Anya, but I can’t hear Mackenzie’s voice anymore.

By the end of the night, she’s gone, and it’s one last thing to worry about. I barely remember the elimination.

Well, besides when she pushed me and told me I was going to regret it.

I kept a straight face and said, “Maybe.” Because what else can one say to that? She didn’t like my agreeable nature and trotted off in a tantrum.

Vera, Grace, Maya, and Abby remain. The host smiles and talks to the camera. The girls hug each other like it’s some sort of celebration and I feel my mouth dry.

I want out.

I desperately want out. My eyes scan the sitting room where we are having the elimination ceremony. Maverick’s scenes were delayed another day, as Anya can’t stop reminding me.

Callie is chatting with the assistant director, but I know she can feel the weight of my gaze. Her posture changes, her hands come to the back of her neck like it’s right there that I’m kissing.

I've been holding myself since she left the pantry when no one was watching and ran to the backdoor, just to stroll in after and say good morning to everyone like nothing had happened.

I wasn’t that theatrical. I just went over and got myself a cup of tea, like strolling around with no shirt among the crew was something I did every day.

Sometime in the afternoon, Callie was able to take a shower and thank God for that. I couldn’t hold myself back when I knew she must smell like me.

It’s a hunger, a desperation that threatens to take over, but in the back of my mind, I pray to be rational.

I need to take Callie and me out of this mess.

In a less dramatic sense than faking my death or other helpful suggestions from Maverick. When we are wrapping up and I know I have the rest of the night free, after such a long day, I make a beeline for Anya.

I don’t know how to fix anything, but I know Anya is the key to everything. She seems to run the show more than the showrunner himself, and her patience is thin.

Before I’m even in front of her, she calls, “Do you need anything, Mr. Riggs?” without looking at me.

“I certainly do.” I feel she’ll appreciate my directness.

Like I imagined, her head goes up, and she faces me, even if wary. I step closer, looking to my right and left, not missing Callie’s alarmed face when she sees me talking to her boss.

“Who’s next?”

“Excuse me?” She crosses her arm in front of her chest.

“Soon I will eliminate another one. Only three girls go to the finale. I’m asking who.”

“I don’t know, Mr. Riggs. Why don’t you ask your heart?”

I chuckle, because I can’t stop myself. The woman can’t be bullshitted, and while not dilly-dallying over a subject goes against my very English upbringing, I do it for Callie.

“Tell me your impressions. Your outsider view.”

“Mr. Riggs, why would you think I would ever offer guidance of any type?”

“So, should I eliminate Vera?”

Her teeth grit. “If you’re in love with someone else.”

Yes, I am, but you won’t like the answer.

Instead of antagonizing her even more, I breathe deeply, pinching the bridge of my nose as I lower my voice once more.

“I’m thinking Grace. I get along better with the other three.”

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