Page 96 of The True Love Experiment

She laughs but seems completely unsurprised. “Yeah, you two are a trip.”

I don’t immediately know what she means, and a self-conscious flush flashes through me. Because then Idoknow. She means what I feel, too, which is that the real story has been the friendship that has bloomed between me and her boss, Connor Prince. The cameras haven’t captured this most beautiful of all story arcs: how this towering, intentional man and this small, chaotic woman came together first with friction and then with mutual admiration and then with something that felt a lot like love. I had the real story right in front of me this whole time, and blew it.

“He’s been so off,” Liz says, breaking into my thoughts. “Everyone feels it.”

These last words pull me up to the surface again, newly aware. “What do you mean?”

She shrugs, sweeping one last pass of blush to the tops of my cheeks. “Oh, you know.” I can’t press for more without making it weird.

Liz steps back and surveys her work, pulling the protective cloth from my collar. “You’re good,” she says. She lifts her chin, and I turn to see a PA standing behind me.

“Ready?” he asks, and gestures to the trailer outside. Panic ignites in my bloodstream. “Rory wants a confessional first. You can head on out. Connor’s waiting for you.”

forty-twoFIZZY

I’ve been in this trailer a dozen times over the past few weeks, and until today it has been my favorite hunting ground. It’s small but comfortably furnished, with cameras secured in consistent places that make it easy to film these interviews no matter where the set takes us every day. There are two couches: one for Connor, one for whoever he’s interviewing. The shades are pulled, the lighting soft and designed to feel private and intimate. Bottled water (labels facing out!) and a box of tissues are helpfully within arm’s reach. This is where I give my thoughts on how things are going, how I’m feeling, my impressions of the Heroes. It’s also the only time each episode where viewers get to see Connor as he walks us through each of the dates. I don’t follow the show hashtags, because I’m not a masochist (and also, it’s in the honor code that I don’t track how the voting is going), but Jess mentioned again the other day that Juno told her that Stevie said people are loving him. Our little gang is like the Pony Express, but with gossip.

I don’t blame these Internet women. Who could see this man on their TV andnotfall for him? Hopefully it shows Blaine what a valuable asset Connor is, and it puts the ball in Connor’s court for a change.

I’ve settled on the couch when the small trailer door opens and Connor ducks inside. His presence shrink-wraps the space, sucking up all of the oxygen.

Nohiorhello. Just a quiet “Test your mic, please.”

So we aren’t going to be friends today. Noted.

Connor makes his way to his seat and slides a hand down the thigh of his dress pants. It really is taking a Herculean effort to not launch myself facedown into his lap. “One, two. One, two. Down with the patriarchy, up with romance, let women love who and what they love.”

A pause while he waits for confirmation in his earbud. “You’re good.”

It takes him a moment to meet my eyes and arrange his face into a suitably pleasant—though nottoopleasant—expression. “How are you feeling today heading into your last date?”

“Aren’t you going to ask me about last night?”

He pauses, clearing his throat. “Yes. Right. Let’s start over with that. How was last night for you?”

“It was hard,” I say.

He waits uneasily for me to say more, like he knows I’m a live bomb. I should wax on about the date yesterday; that’s my job, to talk. But everything goes blank inside.

Finally: “Hard, why?”

I want to laugh at this.Hello, Connor, last night was hard because you barely looked at me and I want this show to be amazing so that your career takes off and you fall back in love with me.But sadness is an ache I feel I need to continually swallow around, and turns out, sadness also makes it hard to laugh.

I reach for the water off to the side and twist off the cap, taking a sip.Count to ten, one more sip, and do your damn job, Fizzy.

“Last night was hard because I realize it might have been the last date ever with Isaac.”

There. Just there. A tiny tic in his jaw. “Unless he wins, which it seems your parents would like very much.” He’s making his voice warm and amiable, leaning into his accent and that honeyed charm, but I know him. I see the tightness in his expression.

Wedoknow each other, he’d said.Getting to know each other has been oursingular focusformonths.

I try to put on a natural grin. “Yes, my parents loved him.”

He swallows. “We had a long conversation last night about why Isaac would be perfect for you.”

“Is that right?”

Connor reaches for his own water, strangling down some unreadable expression. “They’ve met Evan before, right?” I am genuinely impressed—and annoyed—with how quickly he reined that in. I’m trash for his jealousy. I want to eat it slathered on toast.

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