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“So, you’re sneaking off to work.”
“Yeah. I’m desperate with an impossible deadline.”
Luna studies me, searching for the catch. “And you’re telling me this because?”
Because I’m not sure I care anymore if Hayes picks me. I don’t know how I feel about him right now, and I need some time to process all of this. Away from him. But I say, “Because—you need more than five minutes with Hayes if you want to show him the real Luna, and I need time to make sure my career doesn’t nosedive while I’m here.” I meet her eyes.
For a long moment, she says nothing. Then, unexpectedly, tears spill over. “No one’s ever just... helped me before. Not in a competition.”
Her vulnerability strikes me as genuine—the most I’ve seen from her since this show began.
“It’s help, but it’s also a trade—we both get something. When he asks for me, you go instead. Just... make it count, okay?”
Luna nods, wiping her eyes quickly. “I will. And Brielle? Your secret’s safe with me. No one will know about you sneaking off to work.”
“Thank you. I trust you,” I say, hoping I mean it. But I do because if she leaks mine, I’ll leak hers. “And your secret is safe with me.”
“Good.”
Another ally in this house of strategic friendships feels unexpectedly valuable. I remember Serena’s warning, but from what I’ve seen, Luna seems legit. “We should get back before they eat all the chicken.”
Luna laughs, this time genuinely. “God, seriously. I’m starving, and I seriouslycan’teat another protein bar.”
We return to the kitchen where Serena is demonstrating the perfect cheese-to-sauce ratio while Annabelle and Taylor watch, and I can’t help but think about Hayes and Luna, together. Intimate. About August arriving tomorrow. About this strange web of secrets and strategies we’re all entangled in.
Tonight, I’ll meet Seth in the garden, take his screenplay, and hopefully return without anyone noticing my absence. Luna will get her time with Hayes. And tomorrow, a little boy who misses his father will arrive, bringing with him a dose of something this show desperately needs—genuine emotion.
12
August Comes Early
HAYES
The Lock & Key ceremony a week ago was tough. I had to send home five more contestants, and Brielle seemed particularly sad when Taylor went home. I can imagine they were close as roommates. Taylor’s an exceptional woman, but she’s not creating enough drama to stay on the show and there wasn’t a big connection between her and me. Then, the wedding photography challenge ended up with the women in another power play, and I selected Gabby as the winner because she did a decent job and I just wanted the date with her to be over with.
Now, tonight’s the next Lock & Key ceremony, then I get to spend the weekend with August. I check my watch for the tenth time in as many minutes, pacing the length of the mansion’sback patio. The production van should be here any minute, delivering August—my brilliant, sweet, sensitive son whom I’ve abandoned to chase this bizarre televised fantasy. Not that I’d phrase it that way to him. “Daddy’s working” sounds better than “Daddy’s trying to boost his photography career while dating multiple women on national television three years after your mom died.”
A knot of guilt tightens in my chest as I scan the driveway again. Darren’s approval came so fast, I figured my suggestion must be “ratings gold” as Brielle would say. The cynical part of me knows why: nothing boosts viewership like an adorable child grieving his mother while his father shops for her replacement. The very thought makes me want to hurl into a bush.
But the alternative was worse. August alone with my mother, hurting over Sarah’s death, clutching that jar of seashells.
The sound of tires crunching on gravel snaps me to attention. A black SUV with tinted windows rolls to a stop at the bottom of the steps. My heart hammers against my ribs as the back door swings open.
August jumps out, his small frame dwarfed by the oversizedDoctor Strangebackpack hanging from his shoulders. His blond hair sticks up in the back, exactly the way it always does when he’s been reading in the car. His glasses slip down his nose as he looks up, scanning the unfamiliar environment until his eyes lock on mine. My heart explodes.
“Dad!”
The backpack bounces as he sprints up the steps, and I drop to one knee, holding off tears as I brace for impact. He crashes into me, thin arms locking around my neck with some serious momentum. I close my eyes, breathing in the familiar scent of his shampoo mixed with the faint, reassuring smell of those weird cheese crackers he’s obsessed with.
“Hey buddy,” I manage, my voice embarrassingly thick. “I missed you so much.”
“I missed you too,” he says into my shoulder. “Grandma let me bring all my books. And Sehlat. And my chess computer. And I brought the shell jar too because—” He stops abruptly, pulling back to look at me, suddenly serious. “You remember what I said, right?”
The question hits me like a blow. “Of course I remember, August. That’s why you’re here. So we can be together.”
He nods, seeming satisfied, though his eyes—Sarah’s eyes, the exact same shade of amber—hold a wariness that no nine-year-old should know.
My mother appears from the SUV, exchanging a few words with the driver before heading our way, wheeling August’s small suitcase. She looks exhausted, the kind of bone-deep tired that comes from shouldering a burden that should be mine.