Page 53 of Fan Favorite

E die’s back.”

Peter looked up from the press release he was writing about his permanent departure from The Key —a fantastic eight years, millions of viewers, honored to have been part of moments that shaped not only reality TV, but television history—to Jessa standing in the conference room door waiting for him to respond.

Edie was back? Peter glanced at the clock.

The mountaintop engagement was scheduled to begin in thirty-five minutes.

He sat back and waited. Whatever this was, it wasn’t good.

“Carole didn’t want me to tell you until the last minute.”

“Who knows she’s here?” he asked, holding on to hope that if no one knew, he could still stop it.

“A lot of people know, Peter.”

Peter sighed and pushed his laptop aside.

After the marching band debacle, he’d grabbed the first PA he saw and told them to fast-track Edie’s phone and computer from the LA offices back to her apartment so Peter—now en route to Los Angeles—could contact her before his flight to Switzerland.

He’d emailed her, texted her, checked his phone constantly, but she never responded.

So five hours before he boarded the plane for the finale, a Hail Mary: Peter went to the E!

studios and did the Seacrest interview, hoping she’d see it, hoping she’d understand just how much he regretted all the ways he’d hurt her.

Still nothing. More days passed and now they were minutes away from the final key ceremony. And Edie was back.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t stupid enough to think she was back for him.

“What’s she doing here, Jessa?” he asked, understanding now that they’d gotten her back together with Bennett behind his back. “Are you going to fill me in on the plan? Last I heard I was still the showrunner.”

Jessa sat down across from him. “She’s here to get engaged to Bennett.”

Peter’s heart sank. “She can’t be.”

“She is.”

Peter leaned across the table and stared Jessa down. “She told you that directly? That’s what she said? That’s what she wants?”

“Peter,” Jessa said, softly now, like a best friend delivering hard news. “She’s already in the dress.”

Peter sat back, took his glasses off, and set them on the table. She couldn’t possibly want to get engaged to Bennett. He exhaled a rush of air before crushing his face with both hands, mashing his cheeks together, and rubbing his eyes until little white specks floated across his vision.

He’d tried so hard to throw himself back into work, to box up all his emotions and focus on getting the job done.

For two days he’d locked himself in this conference room and focused on organizing his files for his successor.

Still, sometimes without warning, he’d been scared he was about to lose it.

A clip of her smiling that big smile. Or on the plane, when the in-flight movie options included Cast Away , Forrest Gump , and Catch Me If You Can .

His sister kept texting him, Peter, come home.

You can stay with us for a while, it will be good for you.

And when he was alone in his room at night with nothing but time to think.

She was actually going to go through with it. “So that’s why you want me on the helicopter,” he said finally, putting his glasses back on. “You’re neutering me? On my own fucking show?”

“Peter, I’m sorry,” Jessa said, looking tortured, but not really tortured enough, in Peter’s opinion.

“We both know this is your last season. I can’t piss Carole off.

I’ve got my own career to think about.” She took her hair down and then twisted it back up again.

“And somebody’s got to think about The Key . ”

Peter laughed. He’d spent almost his entire professional life thinking about The Key . “So, what, you’re a double agent? My protégé turned mastermind?”

“Peter, c’mon. It’s not like that.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s it like?”

“You lost your shit over this girl, Peter. I’m sorry, but that’s facts.”

“Oh, fuck off,” he said, more venom than he knew he had rising to the surface. “You’ve been waiting for the right moment to push me out. Congratulations.”

“You’re an asshole, you know that?”

“Yeah, I fucking do!”

They stared at each other.

Peter ran his hands through his hair and yanked at the ends before dropping his hands uselessly in his lap. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That was fucked-up. Obviously, you’re not wrong.”

“Obviously,” Jessa said. “Don’t put your shit on me, Peter. We’ve been friends a long time, and I don’t deserve it.”

“You’re right,” he said, chastened. “You don’t.”

“And while you’ve been making a mess, I’ve been cleaning it up.”

He nodded. Jessa was doing what she had to do. She was taking control of production. Jessa was getting it done.

“So, look, this is what’s going to happen,” she continued. “You’re gonna leave it alone. You’re gonna get on the helicopter, you’re gonna direct the sky shots, and then, when it’s a wrap, you’re gonna get on the first flight outta here, go home, and pull yourself together.”

Peter hated this plan. He glanced at the clock.

Twenty-seven minutes to the finale. He’d already given up so much to ensure this season got over the finish line.

Maybe it was time to accept it—Edie didn’t want him.

From the very beginning she’d come here to get engaged to Bennett Charles, and didn’t Peter promise her that?

Maybe, after all he’d put her through, the only thing to do now was get out of the way.

Jessa reached across the table and took his hand.

“I’m sorry. I know you liked her.”

Peter stared at the useless printer sitting at the end of the table. Despite two days of visits from the Alpina Gstaad’s IT department, the printer continued to flash error messages in German and had never, not once, spit out a single call sheet.

“Does everyone know?”

“I don’t think so. No one important, at least.”

And then she squeezed his hand before getting up and walking out.

Edie was about to get engaged and Peter was going to have to watch the whole thing play out from a helicopter in the sky. He stood up, grabbed the printer off the table and shook it, hard. Suddenly the printer roared to life, ground its gears, and delivered two days’ worth of pages onto the floor.

Edie had been trying to get to Peter for two days now.

But from the moment she stepped off the plane, she’d been a hostage.

Three random producers and two security guys had met her at the airport and refused to answer any of her questions during the two-hour drive to the Alpina Gstaad, the luxurious Swiss resort where she’d be imprisoned.

They escorted her straight to her room, where both the TV and phone had been removed.

When her luggage showed up, the iPad she’d stowed in a sweater was gone.

Still, Edie didn’t really start to worry about her plan until she opened her door at two a.m. and there was a security guard popping his gum on the other side.

What was her plan exactly? Fly to Switzerland, find Peter.

That was it. Unfortunately, she hadn’t accounted for the whole prisoner thing.

Or that Peter wouldn’t be around during her interviews, dress fittings, and B-roll shoots featuring Edie strolling the snowy grounds, draped in a scarf so long it wrapped around her neck three times and still dangled past her knees.

Every time she was out of her room, Edie frantically scanned the lobby, the restaurant, the ballroom, for Peter.

Once she pretended to be confused by the bathroom signage and found herself hissing, “Peter? Peter?” by some fancy urinals.

“Where’s Peter?” Edie asked Jessa casually. “Shouldn’t he be here?”

“Peter’s doing press in LA.”

But Edie knew Peter wasn’t in LA. He was here, at the Alpina Gstaad.

She could feel him in the efficiency of the production schedule, in the way everyone waited for the lighting to be just right before taking the shot, and in the carafe of mushroom coffee she’d spotted on the craft services table that no one in their right mind would drink but him.

When she woke up on the morning of the finale and still hadn’t found him, Edie really started to get nervous.

Everyone kept hugging her and congratulating her, as if it were a given that she would get engaged to Bennett Charles today.

Typically, the finale was built upon the suitor making a tortured choice between two contestants.

But when Edie asked what had happened to Lily, Max, and Bailey, no one would tell her anything about the lock-ins or if any of her friends were here now.

None of this was working out like she’d hoped, and when she approached Jessa about calling the whole thing off, Jessa said, “Oh, hell no, you’re not Julia Roberts.

You don’t get to pull the Runaway Bride thing more than once,” and then she’d dragged Edie off to get her makeup done.

For six hours she was plucked, painted, glued, brushed, curled, and cinched.

And when they brought her to a full-length mirror for the big reveal, she had to admit she looked gorgeous.

The gown, a seven-thousand-dollar white Marchesa with a sequined bodice and feathered skirt, was the most luxe dress Edie had ever seen, much less worn.

Her extension-laden hair flowed down her back in gorgeous waves.

Diamond earrings dangled from her ears. Delicate Jimmy Choo strappy sandals adorned her feet. The overall effect was stunning.

And completely bridal.

Jessa approached with a lush white fur coat. She draped it over Edie’s shoulders like she was some glorious snow princess from Narnia.

“Jessa, seriously, I can’t do this.”

“Of course you can.” Jessa bared her teeth and pointed for Edie to do the same. She checked for errant lipstick. “All your dreams are about to come true.”

“You have to listen to me,” Edie insisted. “I don’t want to marry Bennett.”