“Yea—wait, what?”
Sloane laughs lightly. “Come on, Nik. Sweet, sandy hair, kind of scruffy vibes…”
“Nate is nothing like Aaron,” I say, confused, and more than a little offended on Nate’s behalf.
“Not Aaron,” Sloane says dismissively, “Remember how you were obsessed with that guy Ben G. during week two? You wanted to give him your first date, but I talked you out of it because he didn’t ‘pop’ enough on-screen.”
I remember. Ben with the crooked smile and the degree in wildlife biology. Ben, who’d been cut early on because I got it into my head that he was “a little too quirky.”
Sloane sighs, softer now. “I always felt bad about that, you know. I mean that’s my job—we build stories. But I never want to steer anyone away from something that could be good for them, just because it doesn’t make for good television.”
I pick at a loose thread on my comforter, the words landing heavier than I expect. “I get it,” I say. “You were just doing your job. Which you’re amazing at.”
“Nikki…” Sloane says quietly. Then, after a beat, “Look, I know it can mess with your head. The show, the way it blurs what’s real and what’s not. You’re not the first girl who’s struggled to trust her own instincts afterward. But I do really think you grew a lot on the show.”
It’s not exactly an apology, but still, the honesty is a little disarming. For a moment, I let myself remember the good parts of myLovedByexperience—traveling to cities I’d never been to before, learning how to command a room (and give a semi-decent toast), the late-night filming breaks when the crew would sneak me fries from a nearby McDonald’s, the sense that we were in it together. And maybe that was true, in its own warped way. The show wasn’t all good or bad. Neither is Sloane.
“I appreciate that,” I tell her. “So…” I brace myself again, waiting for her to tell me the real reason she called. They’re taking back the offer.
“So,” she repeats, sounding hesitant. “I was mostly calling because…”
Here it comes…
“I wanted to make sure you’re still on board for returning. After all this, I can imagine it feels like a lot, but I can assure you that if you do return forA Shore Thing, we’ll do everything we can to protect your image and give you that second chance at love that America wants for you.”
“You… you still want me to come back?”
“Of course! Girl, you’re still our top-rated season. Also, I miss you, and we’d havesomuch fun at the beach together, mygod. Can you even?”
Despite myself, I smile, remembering how much fun Sloane and Ididhave, especially in the early weeks of shooting, before my feelings had gone so swiftly down the Aaron path. And even then, when I was high off those feelings of true love, Sloane would come to my room before takes and we’d catch up about my day and end up cracking up over mishaps that would never make it onto the bloopers they were so bad.
“Wewouldhave a great time, I’m sure, but…” As the truth settles in around me, that she fully expects me to go on the show again like I said I would, I realize that what I’m feeling isn’t relief at all. It’s disappointment. Sadness, even. But also: clarity.
“You know what, Sloane? I am so grateful for everything, but… I do need to drop out. I think I need to take some time to focus on myself without the limelight.”
And there it is, the rush of something like truth.
I guess my friends—and Nate—weren’t wrong. Idoknow what I want. And what I want is to let myself be a bit of a mess for a while. Off camera, without always needing to put on a perfect smile. Because even though I’ve been keeping up the “talent portion” of my life, I haven’t really taken a beat to let myself heal. To let myself just…be.
Sloane sighs. “I got you. I get it. It sucks, but believe me, I really get it. We’ll always be here if you want to come back. Maybe a spin-off where you come on as a guest judge for a contestant pageant?”
I laugh. There’s the Sloane I know. Always on to the next idea for a “moment.”
“We’ll see.” As I think about it, I can actually envision, someday, when I’ve sorted out my own heart, going back to theLovedByuniverse and serving as some kind of mentor—helping people navigate it all, being a sounding board for their romantic troubles. Lord knows I’ve had plenty of practice.
“Please do stay in touch, Nik. I mean it,” she adds. “If you ever need to talk—or if you want to get ahead of this story—I can help shape the narrative. You deserve to tell your own love story for once.”
My throat tightens. “Thanks,” I say. “But honestly, there’s nothing there to tell.”
No matter how much I wish the opposite were true.
AFTERIHANG UPwith Sloane, I go splash some water on my face and look in the mirror. I can’t believe the wedding is tomorrow. If it’s even still happening. My eyes look tired. My hair is limp. I’m certainly not bridesmaid-ready. But the thing I am most worried about isn’t holding a bouquet or even fake-smiling for the camera.
It’s having to be around Nate for one-and-a-half more days, holding the broken pieces of my heart together until he’s gone.
When I make it back down the stairs, I nearly collide with him coming through the back door, his T-shirt clinging to his chest, rain dripping from his hair.
We both freeze.
