I plop into the chair, McKayla and Brad staring at me open-mouthed. Brad looks like he’s about to cry while McKayla just looks pissed off. “What the actual fuck just happened? I thought you said you were going to do the right thing.”

Brad puts a hand on McKayla’s arm, obviously trying to slow her roll. “I think what McKayla means is . . .” he says, his voice squeaky until he clears his throat, and when he speaks again, there’s no hint of the lisp or the silly effeminate makeup artist, but a pissed off guy who’s genuinely hurt. “Nope, can’t do it. Emily, what the fuck, bitch?”

I look back and forth at them and lose it, tears gushing down my face as I break down. Blubbering, I try to explain that I found out Hayden was playing me, didn’t love me, and was gonna make me look like a fool so production had me pick Lee to make the show a better ending. McKayla listens for a minute, then sighs. I don’t know if she’s disgusted, angry, or pitying me. I just know it makes me cry all the harder until she puts her hands on my shoulders, pulling me in and letting me calm down slightly. “Chickadee, I don’t know what you saw or what you heard, but I’ve seen players and I’ve seen men in love. Hayden would look at you when your back was turned, and his eyes weren’t looking like a player. He would talk with the other guys off camera, and every word he said was respectful and full of meaning for you. To top it off, he was begging us for help to have alone time with you off camera. I think you may have been played, just not by Hayden.”

I gulp, swallowing back my tears as Brad brings me a cup of coffee, the hot drink helping me calm some. “But what if it was just part of his devious plan to win the show? Get some recognition? It fucking worked, did you hear? The asshole is the lead for next season, so joke’s on me.” I disintegrate into tears again, Brad being quick to scoop my cup up before I burn myself.

Nate pops his head in the door. “Uh, excuse me, ladies, can I come in?” He steps in, closing the door behind him without waiting for a reply. “Meredith sent me to suggest you pack pink tones for the show in the morning. Quote, ‘to make her look flushed and happy’ for the interviews. Oh, and sparkly for the chopper shot, wardrobe has a jewel-encrusted pantsuit for her to wear.”

Brad turns, a hint of his lisp coming back as he talks to the production assistant. “Thanks. We’ll keep that in mind, but kinda busy with a crisis here, Nate. And tell wardrobe to stop dressing Emily like a stripper.”

Nate looks at me, obviously uncomfortable. “You okay?”

There’s something about his question that pisses me off, which at least clears my tears for a moment. I turn to him, huffing. “No, I’m not okay. And you damn well know it, too. You were there in that meeting and know Hayden played me the whole damn time. I fell for him for real and now my heart is broken.”

Nate looks shocked at my outburst and tries to speak, but I’m on a roll now and I need to let the pain out of my soul. “Now I get to go on TV and fake being in love with another man so I don’t hurt a bunch of other people. Oh, yeah . . . y’all just keep pulling the puppet strings. I’ll go with Lee and do the interviews. I’ll do my best to work a smile. But really? I wish I’d never done this show.”

McKayla and Brad hug me into them, whispering ‘it’s okay’ and patting my back, shooing Nate out. We get through the prep for the chopper shot, and by keeping the camera behind me most of the time, Meredith’s able to get a shot of me and Lee climbing into the chopper together. Inside, Lee’s muttered words come back to me, but I’ve had enough pain for one day. When we get back to LA, we head straight to the hotel. Before my room door even closes, I crawl into bed and pull the covers over my head.

* * *

I spent the whole night alternating between pacing and ranting and curling up and crying. By morning, I look like hell, and I feel even worse. McKayla and Brad do their best to perk me up, both with makeup that feels inches thick to cover my red eyes and light jokes to lighten the somberness surrounding me. Whatever drama there might have been last night, and regardless of how exhausted the two of them have to be after driving back to LA, they do their best to cheer me up.

In the green room, Meredith addresses Lee and me. “Okay, guys, the hosts have a set list of approved questions. You just need to answer like lovebirds looking forward to the rest of your lives together without giving away too much. If anything seems too deep, promote the reunion show to find out. Remember, while this is going to be taped, that doesn’t mean we want it to be super edited or anything.”

“How long until the finale is shown?” Lee asks, and I nod. Maybe we’ve got different reasons for this, but I have to know how long I have to keep up the happy face charade before I can let it show that I’m broken up inside.

“The delay isn’t as bad as some of the shows, only a few weeks,” she says. “The reunion show will be filmed the night of the finale, and we’ll get you the details on that soon.”

A few minutes later, we walk out to hugs from the show hosts, who are acting like it’s the middle of the morning instead of one in the afternoon. I guess it’s just more of the magic of television. Settling into a couch, I do my best to keep my ‘game face’ on as the hosts check their question sheets. “Congrats, you two! Sounds like a Match was made for the Matchmaker! Tell me how you’re doing.”

Lee slips an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close, and I try to look comfortable even as I’m cringing inside. Lee’s dressed perhaps more casually than I’ve seen him except for the physical challenges of the show, in a polo shirt and khakis that make him look . . . kind of suburban. “Well, we had so many great dates and I think I just swept her off her feet. She had to pick me as her Match.”

I smile politely, not able to say a word as the hosts give me a lead that I fail to pick up. Finally, the host plows on. “Emily, it seemed like you had several great dates and connections with several suitors. In fact, there’d been lots of chatter, even betting pools, about whom you’d pick. I’ll admit that my bet was for Hayden. What happened there?”

I feel Lee tense a little but figure he doesn’t want to talk about Hayden when it’s supposed to be our promo time. “Yeah, the guys were all really great, some more my type than others. The final two were definitely my frontrunners from the very beginning. It was a hard decision.” I take a steadying breath, refusing to cry on fucking TV about Hayden, and I can feel the anticipation in the air as the host waits for more.

The seconds drag out, and Lee takes the opportunity to pull me to him. “She just couldn’t deny our chemistry . . .” before he covers my mouth in a kiss, using a finger to tip my chin up to meet his lips. The host makes an oohing sound, and I’m a little relieved at the break from the Hayden subject. After a few more easy questions, we’re done.

I am glad to get offstage. I’m so sick of this fakeness that I can’t put up with it for one minute longer. I already heard Meredith talking with the producer of the morning show program. They’re going to use a ‘canned audience’ sound for the kiss. This is a huge joke.

Whatever, I know there’s a few more interviews to take care of still before Lee and I have to work out the details of how we’re going to maintain a relationship with our real lives still going on. It’ll be hard. We live on opposite coasts, but I’ll be willing to give Lee a fair chance. I mean, I was so head over heels for Hayden that I didn’t really give Lee the attention he deserved, and maybe I should.

Back in the green room, though, Lee is visibly frustrated, not quite yelling but definitely a bit loud. “Em, you’ve got to answer the questions about the suitors better. I can’t save you every time. Both of us have a lot riding on these appearances. Get it together and don’t fuck this up.” I’m shocked and put off, but before I can react, he walks off, shaking his head.