Page 93 of The True Love Experiment

I scan around, trying to orient myself. “What am I looking at?”

“It’s Twitter.” A finger comes down, pointing at a cluster of letters. “What does that hashtag say?”

“It says…” It takes me a minute to read because the words are all smushed together, no spaces. “?‘Daddy Prince The True Love Experiment’?” I look up at him. “Who’s Daddy Prince?”

“You are. That’s what theTrue Lovefandom calls you.”

“The—fandom—?” I break off, confusion deepening. “Daddy Prince?”

“Twitter blows up when confessionals start.”

“I’m not even on-screen that much. There are more successful,better-looking, and frankly more agreeable men for them to get excited about.”

“Can’t argue with that,” he says with a grin. “But they’re writing you in anyway. Apparently,Daddy Prince, they love your deep voice and your sexy accent, and the way you and Fizzy banter.” He glances up at the sound of my stifled mortification. “Oh, come on, stop looking so horrified. ‘Daddy Prince’ is pretty tame compared to some of the other stuff here.” As he continues to scroll, his grin turns into a frown and he muses, “I didn’t realize ‘choke me’ was such a common phrase.”

I ignore this. “What does that mean, ‘write in’? Can’t they only vote for the contestants?”

“You wouldn’t know this because you’re a social media troglodyte, but no. The way your team has set it up, if the show is tagged, a tracking program considers it a vote and keeps a tally. It could be ‘#GiantAnacondaCock_TheTrueLoveExperiment’ and Giant Anaconda Cock gets a vote.”

I stare at Ash. “What?”

“Don’t worry. Most people use it the way you intended. They hashtag Colby or Isaac or whoever. It’s quite smart, really; lots of the big music award shows do it. I think the Oscars even started doing it for fan favorite and favorite movie moment. It’s a great way to get engagement because the tags are visible to everyone, you can tweet—akavote—as many times as you want, which means tweeting and retweeting puts it in everyone’s feed. You can’t buy exposure like that. It’s all there on your pocket computer if you care to look.”

This entire conversation has thrown me off-kilter now that it’ssinking in what Ash is telling me. Viewers are voting for me? Blaine doesn’t know as much as he’d like everyone to believe, and I have to assume that if he did know something about this—or, worse, about me and Fizzy—he would have mentioned it, right? Either way, I’ll need to be very, very careful over the next few weeks.

“Of course, there are people writing in all kinds of names,” Ash says. “Lots ofYour Momand other random things. I think Captain America had a pretty decent number one week.”

“Great,” I say dryly. “A flawless system.”

“There will always be idiots,” Ash says, dismissing this as he pushes his plate aside and leans in. “So far, Isaac has the most votes every week. But you’re definitely gaining.”

I lean back with a soft gusting exhale, feeling Ash’s attention on me while I process this. “For sure Brenna sees this. Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“Maybe they’re trying to ignore it.” He picks up his water glass and takes a sip. “I mean, it’s not like you can win this thing.”

These words bounce around in my head.

It’s not like you can win this thing.

He’s right, of course. I’m not even a contestant. Still, there’s a faint echo of pity party, too. Ican’twin.

I’m stuck in that tight mental squeeze where I have too many things on my mind and not enough time to devote to them. I could spend an entire week thinking about how it felt to have Fizzy on my arm at her brother’s wedding, let alone everything that happenedlater that night. But add Fizzy’s confession, Blaine’s visit to my office, and everything that Ash told me about the votes… my mind is a blur.

All of that gets pushed aside, however, because there’s a job to do. And somehow, Fizzy and I both manage to treat it like one. After the weekend votes have been tallied, we’re down to four Heroes: Isaac, Nick, Dax, and Evan. I’m not sure if it’s a reprieve or torture that the crew is rolling smoothly and I’m not necessary at Fizzy’s cozy dinners with the Heroes, following them on their long walks on the beach, their dates bowling and apple picking and taking surfing lessons, but I take advantage of the space anyway, because we probably both need it. The only time I see her all week is for an awkward and forced confessional. Otherwise, I hole up in the editing room and piece together a narrative for each possible couple, blasting music through headphones in every moment of downtime I have so I can’t hear the echo of her telling me she’s in love with me. I create the most compelling episode yet, earning the top ratings for the network that week. But it is a truly hollow victory.

After a much-needed weekend with Stevie, I’m back on set the following week. I’d hoped it would be easier to see Fizzy, but it isn’t. Monday brings the elimination of Dax and Nick, and the appearance of a Fizzy who spent her own weekend doing God knows what with God knows who. I don’t imagine she’s running around sleeping with blokes left and right—primarily because I know that her feelings for me are sincere, and also because she’s contractually forbidden—butthe rational part of my brain doesn’t speak up when I see her walk into the restaurant for filming on Monday afternoon. I’m hotly possessive at the sight of her in tiny denim shorts and a thin white tank top. I want to put my hands on her body and my mouth on her skin and press her into a wall, coaxing a confession of love out of her again.

But I keep the mask firmly in place. These final two dates are the ones viewers will use to choose a winner, and tonight, Isaac is having dinner on camera with Fizzy and her parents. I was beside her with them only a week ago, pride heating my blood. Now I’m behind a camera, watching Liz dust powder on Mrs. Chen’s forehead, watching Mr. Chen joke with Rory about his good angles, knowing Fizzy’s parents are going to meet the handsome, accomplished, and deserving man who will likely win. If I know Fizzy—and I feel like I truly do—she will accept my rejection at face value and do everything she can to move on. She will embark on the trip with Isaac and do her very best to enjoy both of them to the fullest. When they’re together in Fiji, will she forget what it felt like to be in my arms? Will she sleep with him simply because he’s there? Or will their connection deepen, grow stronger than what she and I had?

I hate both scenarios, but honestly can’t imagine whatstronger than what we hadlooks like. I see Fizzy with these men and must continually repress the possessive instinct to claim her in small and large ways. And that instinct is back now, shaped differently but undeniable, as I watch the two people I realize I want to bemyin-laws prepare to meet another man.

“You good?” Rory asks, walking back to the cameras.

Thenois already forming on my lips when I pull myself back into awareness, blinking hard. “Yes. I’m great.”

I stand from the table just as Fizzy steps from the makeshift dressing room in the back and into the dining area. Her hair is in two buns, tendrils escaping and framing her face. Eyes slashed with dark liner, a shredded T-shirt and ripped jeans capped with shit-stomping boots. Tonight, Fizzy has come prepared for battle. For a split second, a feverish pulse, I have never wanted anything the way I want her. And the feeling doesn’t dissolve, not even when I step outside for a long, deep breath of fresh air.

forty-oneFIZZY

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