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“My mama always said I was the peacekeeper,” Annabelle continues, wringing her hands. “Always tryin’ to make sure everyone got along. Guess that’s why I’m so good at reading people.” She pauses, studying my face. “Like right now, I can tell you’re a hundred miles away.”
I blink, surprised by her perceptiveness. “I’m sorry. It’s not you, I promise.”
“Is it your boy? August, right?” She reaches over, her hand soft on mine. “You must miss him something fierce.”
The simple acknowledgment breaks something loose inside me. “You got it. I really do.”
Annabelle’s eyes fill with understanding, making me wonder if maybe I’ve underestimated her. “Oh, Hayes. I’m so sorry. We can cut this short.”
I smile. “Thank you, but that’s not how it works around here. The show must go on, right?”
“To hell with the show,” she says, surprising me. “That boy needs his daddy.”
For the first time, I feel a genuine connection and attraction to Annabelle—as a human being who sees past the cameras and the contrived romance to what really matters.
“You’re right—I should call him,” I say, making a decision. “I need to end this early. I’m sorry.”
Instead of disappointment, I see acceptance in her eyes. “Damn right you should. Don’t be sorry. Some things are more important than phony picnics and TV shows. My daddy always said, ‘Family first.’”
“Your daddy sounds wise.”
“He has his moments.” She flashes a small smile. “Now go call your son, and don’t worry about me. I’ll just tell everyone you got food poisoning or something.”
Relief washes over me. “Thank you, Annabelle. Truly.”
She shrugs. “Just make sure there’s time for me later.”
“I promise.”
“Go on now.”
I stand, impulsively leaning down to kiss her cheek in gratitude. She blushes, waving me away with a flick of her hand. “Get out of here before I change my mind.”
I don’t need to be told twice. I walk away from the firepit, ignoring Darren’s frantic gestures from behind a nearby hedge. Let him try to salvage his precious footage. Let him threaten me with contract violations. He’s got plenty to air with what Annabelle already said, and some things matter more than reality TV careers.
I tell him, “I’ll do my post date interview when I get back, okay.”
“Fine.” He groans.
The pathway back to my private suite winds around the main mansion, past the women’s quarters, through a garden designed specifically for “chance” romantic encounters. I move quickly, focused on getting back to my room where I can call August without cameras recording every word.
“Hayes?”
I nearly miss her, standing half-hidden by a flowering tree, the evening light catching in her dark hair. Brielle. Dressed in jogging gear and holding a packet of papers.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, surprised.
“Reviewing my screenplay.” She steps closer, her eyes narrowing as she takes in my expression. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Something in her tone—the genuine concern, the absence of reality TV artifice—breaks the last of my restraint.
“My son,” I manage, voice thick. “He called. He’s struggling with his mother’s death, and I’m stuck here playing bachelor instead of being there for him.”
Without hesitation, Brielle takes my arm. “Your room? No cameras there, right?”
I nod, grateful beyond words for her quick understanding. We walk in silence, her presence beside me a strange comfort. When we reach my suite, I check carefully for cameras before letting us both in. The producers aren’t supposed to film in here without my knowledge, but as Skye warned me, I’m not to trust Darren’s promises.
Once inside, Brielle, in leggings and a T-shirt, seems smaller, more vulnerable. But her eyes are steady as she sits beside me on the edge of the bed.