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I catch Isaac nodding to the camera, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Not to be cynical, but thatdidsound a little like a cheesy line designed for a trailer pull, and Isaac’s reaction confirmed it. Where did the Jordy from the phone go? That’s who I came here to meet. Not the guy who walks shirtless along the lake’s edge while he thinks up canned pickup lines to use on me and the five other girls here.

“I thought you were looking for someone to be by your side for the future, et cetera,” I say. “Now you’re telling me you want someone noncommittal?”

“I want to be with someone who has her own life, so I can live mine without guilt. Is that too much to ask?”

Gwendolyn shakes her head at the camera. Somehow, I don’t think that line is making it into the episode.

His words remind me of the month he moved away. I lived my life, and he lived his new one.

And when I realized he was ignoring my texts, and then promptly matched his silence? When I retreated into myself, and reinforced my walls, until I could barely remember what it was like to feel anything at all, let alone something approaching love? When I reminded myself in a silent litany that I didn’t need him, or anybody, until it felt like truth?

Is that how one becomes a dream girl?

I suppose I’m a natural, then.

“Hey, tell me more about your life,” I say quickly, banishing the voice in my head. “I know all the news headlines, but I assume there’s more to it than that.”

“Right, right. Well, I’m living in Loreux. I’m renting my own place not too far from Mom and Dad. It was important to us to stay near Sam, just in case she needs us for anything.”

Reading between the lines, that means he’s staying somewhere near the palace. Also known as the most high-end area of the city. Jordy’s family is well off, but I didn’t realize they werethatwealthy. I wonder if his parents had a good few years, or if the palace has helped subsidize.

“Are you working?” I ask.

“Yeah, lots. I’ve got a few pretty active Insta sponsorships. I modelled forJaquirisionalthe other month, in this really cool celebrity campaign. I have some pretty high-maintenance stocks I need to keep an eye on. It’s all happening. Exhausting, though, you know? Like, when do you get a second to yourself?”

“Mm, I can relate,” I say. He seems to miss the sarcasm, because he responds by slinging an arm around my shoulders, keeping his abs thoughtfully angled away.

By the time we slowly make our way back to the rest of the girls, golden hour has begun, so Isaac insists on filming some sweeping shots of Jordy and me gazing into each other’s eyes with the lake in the background. It takes longer than itprobably should’ve, because I keep snorting with laughter after a few seconds of prolonged, awkward eye contact, and at one point I get Jordy’s six-pack oil all over my shirt when he pulls me in for a hug.

Back on the grass, the girls are waiting in one group now, Maya and Perrie included. They’ve set up in a circle of folded chairs, clutching drinks and huddled under lap blankets to ward against the rapidly cooling air. Almost as one, they look up at Jordy, some of them brightening in hope. My gut squirms at the realization that I basically hogged him, right before the first elimination. I shouldn’t feel bad, technically; it’s meant to be a competition, right? But I do.

As I give my empty glass to a crew member and receive a full replacement, Jordy holds his hand out to Maya. “Hey,” he says. “Wanna go for a quick walk?”

Kim and Francesca look fit to murder.

Maya blinks up at him, then looks back at Perrie. “Oh. Actually, I was right in the middle of a conversation. Maybe you and I can talk later, if you don’t run out of time?”

We all gape at her, Jordy included. Isaac included. Gwendolyn—well, actually, no, she seems to be enjoying herself.

So. Maya has decided for unknown reasons to dig her own grave and essentially send herself home tonight, then?

Ding dong, the witch is dead.

TWELVEMaya

It’s almost ten thirty at night by the time we’re finally taken back to the mansion, where we’re sent inside one of the rooms. It used to be decked out in classy, antique-style décor. Now, it’s been transformed into what could only be described as “if a Christmas tree became a room.” Lit candles stand on every surface, and red glass decorations fill every spare inch of space. Glittering white fairy lights are strung everywhere and all lit at different intervals so the room itself seems to be moving. Or, to be fair, maybe that’s just because I’ve choked down about four too many wines. I’m not sure if it’s a Europe thing, or a reality TV thing, but everyone here is obsessed with the stuff.

Perrie’s right about it being an acquired taste, by the way. While yesterday, wine tasted like swamp water, today it has the comparatively scrumptious taste of expired apple juice. It’s probably for the best that there are no Jell-O shots available tonight, though, because I discovered around lunchtime that I have a cool new skill. Not to brag, but every time someone mentions Jell-O now, I dry heave. On cue!

Standing in front of a large, unlit fireplace is Grayson, who’s scrolling on his phone, oblivious to the world, even as the camera crew, the producers, and Jordy file in.

Suddenly, I get a stab of fear. It’s time to film my grand exit. I knew this was coming, obviously, but now that it’s here, and we’re about to be filmed, I feel like I might throw up. And it’s got nothing to do with the wine.

I should never have come on this damn show. All I’ve achieved is giving Jordy one last opportunity to knock me down a peg or fifty before he continues on playing out his ultimate dream of screwing around five girls at once with no consequences. He sure has upped his cheating game. Talk about trading in a scratch-off for a winning lottery ticket.

Once everyone’s in the room, we hang around for what seems like a weirdly long time, even for the snail’s pace we’ve been filming at. It isn’t until Gwendolyn clears her throat and says, “So!” in a half yell that Grayson jumps and fumbles with his phone.

“Sorry, sorry!”