I was exhausted after another day’s filming, facedown on my hotel bed, when I heard Lorna come into our room. She was humming quietly to herself, and there was the rustling of clothes as she sorted through her suitcase. Part of me wanted to continue to pretend I was asleep, but I knew that Lorna was the best source of set gossip.

But when I sat up, I saw that she wasn’t getting ready for bed at all. Instead, she was looking smoking hot in a black dress, red lips, and a smoky eye. I let out a low wolf whistle.

“Looking good,” I told her.

She spun on her heels and smiled, posing a little. “You like?”

I got up and came over to her. “Love the dress,” I said. “Fits you perfectly.”

“Thanks.” Lorna blushed a little, and took another look at herself in the mirror. “It’s not too . . . too much is it?”

“Depends.” I put my finger on my chin. “Are you hoping to stop traffic wherever you go? Because if that’s what you’re aiming for, you’re right on target.”

“I don’t care about traffic,” Lorna said, looking over her shoulder and checking out her butt. “Just stopping one person would be enough.”

“One person in particular?” I teased, already knowing the answer. “A person named Justin, perhaps?” I would have had to be blind to not notice the intense flirting that had been going on between them. Justin wasn’t my type, but he had his charm, I supposed.

Lorna gave me a gentle shove. “It’s just a showmance,” she informed me.

“A showmance?” I raised an eyebrow. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

Lorna rolled her eyes. “You should give it a shot,” she said. “This job is stressful enough—we all need to blow off steam at the end of the day.”

That was damn true. Unfortunately, the steam I wanted to blow was completely off-limits. And there wasn’t another guy within a city-wide radius that seemed to get me as hot and bothered as Dash did.

“There are some cute sound guys,” Lorna offered. “I could make some introductions. Maybe we could do a double date type thing.”

“And get in the way of your showmance?” I put an offended hand to my chest. “Lorna, I am not the kind of girl that cockblocks her friend.”

“Thank goodness,” she said, releasing a breath. “I really didn’t want to sacrifice my night of passion in the name of sisterhood.”

I laughed. “I would never ask you to sacrifice that.” Not that I thought that Justin was capable of that much passion—as he seemed like a guy who was way too focused on his work—but I kept that opinion to myself.

Lorna gave herself one final once over in the mirror, spritzed herself (and accidentally me as well) with perfume, gave me a goodbye wiggle of her fingers, and was off. I was alone in our hotel room.

Flopping back down on the bed, I thought about getting some sleep, but I was feeling restless and unsatisfied. Basically a permanent state of being since my make-out-interruptus with Dash in Pittsburgh. I punched my pillow with frustration. Why couldn’t I just be interested in one of the cute sound guys? Why couldn’t I go out and have fun and release a little of this tension?

Then I heard the familiar bubbly ring that indicated someone was calling me on Skype. I didn’t have to look to see who it was. I answered and waited for my best friend’s happy face to appear.

“Paige!” Emmy said with a big smile. “I wasn’t sure if I’d catch you.”

“You caught me,” I laughed. “Well done.”

She beamed at me. “You’ve been so busy.”

I sat up against the pillows piled against my headboard. “Well, you know I’m very important to the production.”

“I’m sure you are,” Emmy said loyally, holding a straight face only for a second before we both burst out laughing. “Are you having fun at least?” she asked, when our giggles subsided.

“Um, sure,” I managed.

Fun wouldn’t exactly be the word I would use to describe what this job was like. But I didn’t really want to get into all the conflicting things I was feeling—not just about Dash, but about Ever After in general. The smart, logical part of me had always known that the show was manufactured, that it was TV and it wasn’t real. I just hadn’t expected it to be as fake as it was turning out to be. It didn’t seem like anything that happened was genuine. And the whole thing was making me feel really gross about the process. About the industry. And maybe about myself.

Was this really what I wanted to be doing? Did I want to be working so hard to deceive people? To sell them something that was totally false? Unachievable?

“Uh oh,” Emmy said, pulling me out of my thoughts. “I know that face.”

I tried to play innocent. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

My best friend gave me a look. “There’s a guy, isn’t there?”

I hadn’t told her anything about Dash—not even the Pittsburgh motel hookup. It wasn’t that I was keeping things from her, but we hadn’t been able to talk face-to-face (in a manner of speaking) since I left London, and the whole “I made out with a stranger in a hotel room and then showed up on set to discover he was the newest suitor in a famous reality dating show” story was something that couldn’t really be explained over text.

So I spilled the details now. And watched Emmy’s eyes get wider and wider as the story unfolded. If I hadn’t experienced it myself, I would have considered the whole thing totally ridiculous.

Emmy, being the good friend that she was, didn’t express any judgment or doubt. Instead she just listened until I was finished talking.

“Wow,” she finally said.

“Yeah,” I responded, and both of us were silent for a while.

“So . . .” She drew out the word slowly. “How was he?”

“Emmy!” I burst out laughing. “That’s your first question?”

“What?!” she asked, indignant. “I think it’s a great first question.” She paused. “Was he great?”

“Yes,” I admitted with a groan. “Like really great. And we didn’t even really get to the main attraction.”

Emmy let out a low whistle. “That’s too bad.”

“You’re telling me,” I responded. “I nearly felt like I was going to die from the leftover sexual tension.”

“And since you got to the set, have you guys . . . ?”

“No!” I gave Emmy a disapproving look. “He’s the suitor!”

“Right, you’re right,” she acknowledged, before giving me a wicked smile. “But what happens behind the camera stays behind the camera, right?”

“You’re a terrible influence,” I told her.

She waved her hand. “I’m a great influence,” she countered. “If he’s cute and interested, what’s the problem?”

“The problem is that ten girls are currently vying for his attention. On national television.”

“Good point,” Emmy said.

“And my boss specifically warned me against getting involved with the talent. She said it would be bad for my career.” I took a deep breath. “He’s off-limits.”

“Do you like him?” Emmy wanted to know.

“That doesn’t matter,” I responded.

“Doesn’t it?” she asked. “I’m pretty sure that matters a lot.”

“I barely know him.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Dammit. Emmy was my best friend and she knew how to read me. Too well. Annoyingly well. She could see right through all my objections.

“I need this job,” I told her, and she sobered a little.

“I know, Paige,” she said. “But maybe all of this is happening for a reason.”

“Life is not a fairy tale,” I responded, and she laughed.

“Well, it kind of a can be,” she reminded me.

“For you, maybe.” I shook my head. “But not for the rest of us.”

Emmy’s life was an actual, legitimate fairy tale, complete with a handsome charming prince. They’d fallen in love at Wimbledon, and now they were living in new-couple bliss in London, while Emmy worked her dream design job.

My life, on the other hand, was reality, as boring and unfair as that was.

“I went through a lot of crap to get that fairy tale,” Emmy reminded me.

And she was right. Her face—and parts of her anatomy—had been splashed across the British tabloids, her name dragged through the mud. But in the end, Charlie had proven himself to be just as swoon-worthy as any fictional prince, and rescued her from the terrible press, the two of them falling madly in love both in front of and behind the cameras.

“I just don’t really understand what Dash is doing on the show,” I told Emmy. “It doesn’t add up.”

She nodded. “It does seem to be a weird fit. Especially since he hooked up with you right before arriving and doesn’t really seem to be interested in getting to know the other girls.”

“Everyone thinks he’s just here for the fame,” I said. “And if that’s true, then I definitely don’t want to get involved with him. I can’t risk a job—and a potential career—for a guy I barely know.”

Emmy didn’t have a response. I let out a groan of frustration.

“Why do things have to be so complicated?” I wanted to know. “Why are there so many frogs and so few princes? And why do I keep kissing frogs? And why are the frogs such good kissers?”

Emmy laughed. “Those questions are way out of my pay grade,” she told me. “But you’ll make the right choice. I know you will.”

I was grateful that she had confidence in me, because I certainly didn’t.

We talked a little more about London and Charlie and I tried not to miss her too much, but it was hard, especially being alone in a hotel room while everyone else was probably out having fun. Hanging up, I changed into a tank top and a pair of shorts and crawled under the covers. Just as I was about to shut off the light, I remembered: the first episode of Ever After was airing on TV tonight.

I sat up and grabbed the remote. We only had a tiny TV in the room, but it was all I needed to get a glimpse of the circus on screen. When I tuned in, it was almost the end of the episode: that first elimination ceremony on the beach.

Damn, Dash looked hot. You could never have guessed there were two dozen people crowded around, just out of shot. He seemed totally sincere and into his princesses as he handed out the heart-shaped balloons.

“Savannah, will you accept this balloon?” Dash asked, and the camera zoomed in on her delighted expression. Music swelled, and I swear, they slowed the frame to slow-motion to make it look like Dash’s kiss on her cheek lingered.

“Has our suitor found the one already?” the voice-over asked. “Our journey to happily-ever-after is just getting started. Tune in Monday night to see the sparks fly.”

Then they rolled some preview tape for the next episode, aka, the hot-tub drama. They beeped all the cursing out, and it just made the whole scene seem even more trashy.

omg DRAMA, one of the tweets on the bottom of the screen said.

DASH IS A HOTTIE

best season ever!

Andrea would be pleased with that. But I still felt weird, seeing what the rest of America would be seeing. I knew there was so much more happening behind the scenes, but all they got was glossy romance and candlelight. They didn’t know the truth: that the suitor was too busy pulling a lowly PA in to the closet to focus on his princesses.

My phone buzzed. Thinking it was a text from Emmy, I checked the screen. It wasn’t from my best friend.

Have you dried off yet? Dash wanted to know.

Dry as a desert, I responded.

I’m sure that’s not true, was his flirty response.

Down boy, I told him.

Impossible around you, he quickly shot back.

I couldn’t help but smile. He was funny. Cute. Charming. Kissed like no one’s business. And completely off-limits.

I’m going to bed, I said to him.

Sweet dreams, he told me.

I put down my phone and lay back in bed, staring up at the ceiling. Why did things have to be so complicated?

Why did guys have to be so complicated?

Except they weren’t. From all my experience with guys like Dash, it was all about the chase. They wanted what they couldn’t have, and when they got it they lost interest. If we’d had sex that night in the motel, he probably wouldn’t be giving me the time of day. He wanted me because I was now something unattainable. That’s all.

If only I could make myself believe it.