I heard a couple of sobs behind me, and then everyone was hugging the girls who weren’t chosen. It seemed really unfair that women who wanted to be here would be sent home, and he had put me in a position where I had to stay. I held the pin so tightly in my hand that I worried I might draw blood.
If we could just get these women to leave without someone begging Dante to reconsider, this would be over faster and I could let him have it. Fortunately, there were no beggars. Some of the cameras followed the rejected competitors out the door while an assistant handed out champagne flutes to those who remained.
I passed on the drink and saw that he took one. “To finding true love,” he said, holding his glass aloft. The other girls all clinked their glasses against his before taking a drink, but Dante set his flute down on the bar behind him.
“Cut!” someone shouted, and a collective sigh of relief went up from both cast and crew. Things had gone flawlessly, and I hoped Taylor appreciated the sacrifice I had made.
Stalking over to Dante, I said, “Come with me. Now.”
We went into the kitchen, the reflective surfaces of the stainless steel and quartz countertops making it feel even brighter. It was a direct contrast to my murderous mood.
“What is wrong with you?” I asked as I tossed my pin onto the counter. He watched as it bounced and jumped before settling in one corner.
“Limone, let me explain . . .”
I actually stomped my foot. Like a three-year-old. “Don’t you ‘Limone’ me. You made me a promise. You said you would send me home.”
“I never promised to send you home. You asked if I would, and I didn’t say anything back.”
“You . . .” That made me stop short, as I recalled the conference room. Taylor had agreed to my plan, but Dante had just smiled at me and said nothing. He had tricked me. I should have made him put it in writing. Signed in blood.
“I would never make you a promise that I wouldn’t keep.” That made me a little less mad, until he reached for my hand. I smacked him away. He was not going to use his charm and magic touch against me.
“I need your help,” he tried again. “Please.”
He sounded so serious, and he looked exhausted. He sat down at the counter, picking up my pin.
More of this serious Dante. I didn’t know what to do with real emotion from him. It kind of freaked me out.
“I’ve watched enough of this show to know that half of the women who sign up are here to become famous and they lie to the suitor about their true intentions. You could help me by being my inside woman. My spy. Like that movie you loved as a child.”
He was talking about Harriet the Spy. I had wanted to be her when I was little. Except nicer. Only I didn’t think the nicer part had worked out. “I never should have told you about that.”
“Limone, I would very much like to make your fantasy come true.”
Which sounded sordid and steamy and made me a little woozy.
“It’s a childhood dream, not a fantasy.”
There was that grin. “Sorry, sometimes I get words in English confused.”
Words in English confused, my butt.
Dante always seemed to know where my weak spots were. The idea of being a spy did appeal to me. Sneaking around, taking notes, and keeping a spy journal. I had spent so many hours doing just that when I was younger, and to think that I could do it now for real, and for an actual purpose, was way too appealing.
But I was too old to be making decisions based on a little girl’s wishes.
“You’re already engaged. You’ve found the person who makes you happy, and you want to spend the rest of your life with him. I respect that. But you’re my friend, and the only person here that I trust to have my best interests at heart. Stay and help me choose my wife.”
My heart beat furiously, anger bubbling through my veins. Then my throat suddenly felt thick, like I might start crying. And I felt stabby from the jealousy.
Mad, sad, and jealous. None of which made sense.
Because I didn’t have any right to those feelings. I looked down at the counter, picking at a raised fleck. I didn’t want to look at him.
I couldn’t believe that he was taking this show so seriously. “Don’t you think you’re a little young to be getting married?” It was an argument we’d had multiple times before. Dante was two years younger than me, which was another reason I could never be with him. I wasn’t into cradle robbing.