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We were in a portable trailer on the Hansen ranch where the dating show was happening. A hairdresser had just finished with a flatiron and was now curling my hair. The combination didn’t make any sense, but I’d kept my mouth shut about it all since I showed up. Including the outfit I was wearing.
It was a pretty sundress, pale blue with cap sleeves and buttons down the front. It was accompanied with a pair of brown cowgirl boots and chunky turquoise jewelry. With my hair and makeup done, they definitely had me looking like a small-town girl primped to prairie perfection for three possible cowboy suitors.
“Think you can do me a favor?” Mallory asked her.
Sierra nodded.
“I don’t think Theo knows where I am. If he’s out there by himself, I’m afraid the producers will make him one of the bachelors. Can you bring him here so I can protect him?”
Sierra rolled her eyes. “On it. But you need to marry that man. Like I wanted Mom to marry Luke ‘cause he was cool.”
She stormed out of the trailer, and I sighed. Mallory laughed.
“She’s right. You need to marry Theo,” I told her.
“Yeah, I do.” Her eyes dropped to her cell, and we were quiet for a minute. I was doing my nose breathing to stay calm, but it wasn’t working very well.
I was going on live TV. I had to flirt and be excited about the possibility of love with one of the three cowboy bachelors. Then go to Hawaii with him… and Sierra.
Mallory looked up. “I’ve been thinking about what you said.”
I frowned. “About what?”
The hairdresser spritzed me with hairspray.
“Luke and everything being fake,” she added.
I’d tried hard… really, really hard, not to be sad or mad or both about him. I shouldn’t have been surprised by what he did. Not after all the times I’d been used and tossed aside. I was a little mad at myself. Okay, a lot.
And sad. And mad.
“Oh?”
“Have you seen Luke’s social media posts?”
I shook my head, but the stylist was using the curling iron again and it was clamped down around a section of my hair.
“Here.” She handed me her phone. “Swipe through.”
I looked down at the screen, at the grid of images on the social media app. The page was called Derek Dashwood Official, and it had over five million followers. I picked on the first image to enlarge it.
It was me in the green dress. I was walking away from Luke and the flowy skirt split showing the long line of my left leg. My face was turned away, but my hand looked as if I was reaching back for Luke to follow. I hadn’t even known he took the photo. The text Luke wrote with it said, Where she goes, I follow.
The date and time stamp showed it was posted before the party. Before everything fell apart.
I scrolled.
The next image was of me in Luke’s bed in California. Asleep. My face wasn’t showing, only my blonde hair strewn over my bare shoulder. I recognized the little mole on my deltoid and the gray sheets. Luke wrote: Perfection. Mine.
I didn’t remember him taking it, obviously again without me knowing. How long had Luke been awake looking at me?
I scrolled again.
This photo was of me in full jeté. My arms were flung wide, my back arched, legs in a full split in the air as I leapt across his back deck. That had been right before I met Sam, but I hadn’t known Luke had been watching.
Luke’s photo comment: Can you believe she’s with me?
Another swipe.
