“Bring in the girls.”
Elise watched as the two finalists, Jamie and Tori, emerged from opposite paths. Jamie was dressed in a sleek black suit with a pair of Chelsea boots. Tori wore a plum-purple chiffon dress that moved like water over her hips. The cameras tracked them smoothly on sliders, with the operators moving like ghosts along the edge of the garden. They were both smiling. Megan was too. Though it was clear that she only had eyes for Jamie. Elise would’ve tried to correct it if she hadn’t been so damn happy. But she let it go because everything was going exactly as she had dreamed.
Her dream popped suddenly, like someone had taken a toothpick to a balloon.
At the far end of the garden, half-hidden next to the long arm of a camera jib, was Harper. She crouched low in the shadows where the lights thinned out and had her lens trained on the aisle.
Tonight, Harper was supposed to get on a plane and disappear to London forever. Elise’s throat constricted at the thought. But it was nothing compared to the full-body jolt she’d felt the other day when Harper had shouted over the roar of the wind that she was leaving for London.
At first, Elise hadn’t believed her ears. There had been enough wind, so maybe she had misheard. Harper had said that she’d gotten her job back, and she was taking the offer. Funny. Ha Ha. But even if it were true, it was fine. Harper loved her job. Elise was happy for her. Besides, she could work from anywhere, couldn’t she? Wasn’t a big part of being aNational Geographicphotographer working remotely? But then Harper had said she was moving back to London, and Elise had felt a kick in her gut so hard she’d thought the harness had detached from the pulley system. But it hadn’t. The only thing that had detached was Elise’s heart from her chest.
Monica stepped in beside Megan. She looked as radiant as ever in a sunset-orange silk mini dress that skimmed her thighs. “Megan, tonight you stand at the end of an incredible journey,” she said, her voice light as a feather but somehow carrying easily through the garden.
The cameras tightened. Elise could just glimpse Megan’s breathing and the slight tremble in her hands on one of the small monitor screens. She was nervous, as expected. It didn’t matter that she’d already made her decision. Love made people nervous. It was a fact.
“You came here open to love, willing to take risks, and to be vulnerable and to follow your heart even when it scared you,” Monica went on.
Jamie swallowed. Tori lifted her chin, graceful to the very end.
“Both of the women standing before you have shared something real with you,” Monica said. “They’ve given you honesty, courage, and their trust. But tonight, there is only one rose left.” She paused, just long enough for the moment to stretch, to breathe, to ache. “When you’re ready,” she tilted her head toward the rose. “Please choose the woman you want to continue your life with.”
Megan picked up the rose so gently that it looked like she was scared it might shatter in her hand. “When I came here,” she said, looking at it. “I thought love was supposed to be loud. Messy. I thought love was supposed to knock the air out of a person’s lungs.” She let out a breath. The glitter on her chest caught the light so perfectly that Elise made a mental note to thank the stylist for the detail. “But what I found was something softer, something that fit perfectly.”
Elise didn’t hear the rest. Her eyes darted to a specific someone, even though she was trying really hard not to. But it was as if they had a life of their own. One second Megan was calling out the name of the winner—Jamie, thank goodness, Elise couldn’t take any more surprises—and the next, Elise found herself staring at Harper, still crouched in the same spot.
Harper looked up at her.
Elise’s skin broke out in a million gazillion goosebumps. She felt an incessant heat crawl along her neck despite the cool sea breeze. If only she could tear her eyes away, all these feelings would just evaporate. But that was the problem. She couldn’t.
Then Harper’s jaw softened, like she wanted to say something. Or at least mouth something, considering the distance between them. She lowered her camera, stepped back a step, and Elise had a sickening but thrilling feeling that Harper wanted to find her.
Which Elise absolutely was not going to allow. In fact, she didn’t want Harper anywhere near her. The last few days, ever since the zipline date, she’d ignored Harper like she was a plague that had come to infect her. And it had worked well. Harper had kept her distance. The only time they’d spoken was over a series of photographs from the fantasy suite date.
Elise didn’t think she could control herself if she did. She might ask Harper to stay. She might even go on her knees and plead for her to move to Los Angeles, to move in with her.They could live happily ever after. They could wake up every morning together, naked with the sheets wrapped around them. They could take a slow walk to Clarke’s and order two avocado toasts with poached eggs and finish off one of the half-done crosswords. They could drive the forty minutes to Santa Monica beach, and Elise could finally learn how to surf.
But Elise wasn’t an idiot. There would be a honeymoon period where she’d see everything through rose-tinted glasses. But then the tint would wear off and that compatibility test—that fucking compatibility test—would be right. Harper would leave her toothpaste cap on the sink, and Elise would spend twenty seconds fighting the irrational urge to toss it across the room. Harper would conveniently forget to load the dishwasher, and Elise would be muttering under her breath as she hunted for a clean teaspoon to drizzle honey into her tea. Harper would insist on renovating the spare room into a photography darkroom, and Elise would silently mourn the loss of her yoga studio. Little things would mount like dominoes until she remembered why they were incompatible. They never even should’ve tried.
She was not going to let Harper say goodbye to her.
Elise tore her eyes away and slipped back into the villa. She headed down the stairs toward the kitchen and grabbed one of the bottles of Dom Perignon Ursula had deposited on the farmhouse-style island for the after–rose ceremony celebrations. Then she snagged one of the smaller platters of prosciutto-wrapped figs, smoked salmon blinis, and little cheese tarts that were still warm to the touch. She snuck through the main doors, slipped past the set-up, cut through the gate to Villa Luminosa, and headed down toward her crew house. Once inside, she locked the door. It was imperative that she locked her door, given Harper’s propensity to invite herself in.
And thankfully, she did.
Elise had barely popped the champagne cork and poured herself a glass before the door handle twisted. “Elise,” Harper called. “Open up, please.”
Elise’s stomach lurched unpleasantly forward. Her hand tightened on the stem of the champagne flute, and liquid sloshed over the rim onto her fingers.
“I know you’re in there,” Harper said. “I saw you walk in through the door just a minute ago. Which means you’re probably standing in your kitchen ignoring me. But I’m not going to leave here without seeing you.”
Elise pressed her lips shut.
“Come on,” Harper said, softer this time. “Please, just open up.”
She sounded so terribly sad, so damn forlorn, that Elise nearly did just that.
Nearly.
Instead, she placed her glass down on the marble and pressed her palms flat across the cool surface. She needed an anchor. Handcuffs would have been better, but she used what she had.