We were going to come clean: no more lying and sneaking and feeling nauseous at the threat of discovery. I was so relieved; I practically floated through the rest of the day. But unfortunately Dash’s plan to tell Patrick was complicated by the fact that Patrick wasn’t anywhere to be found. It wasn’t until the afternoon that Dash texted me to say that Patrick had joined the network execs in the city, and that Dash was expected to join them for dinner once they finished shooting.

It was our last day in the Hamptons. Dash was going to going on individual romantic dates with the remaining contestants that evening. Afterwards, he’d pick his final two in front of a big bonfire on the beach, and then we’d be done for a couple of weeks—shooting the hometown visits before the finale.

I watched as Dash shot the intros for the final episodes, doing silly little bits with each of the girls. It was pretty clear who the final two were going to be: Savannah and Kimmie, the angel and the villain. While I felt bad for Jasmine, I had a feeling she had a plan to make the best of the publicity she’d be getting from the show. I watched Kimmie try to flirt with Dash, but he wasn’t nearly as receptive as he had been previously. Not that it seemed to deter her.

The scene was the two of them playing beach volleyball. Or, rather, Dash teaching Kimmie how to play beach volleyball. I had a pretty good feeling that Kimmie knew the sport, but was doing all she could to shove her bikini-clad butt all up in Dash’s crotch.

I clenched my fists as she leaned back against him, doing my best to repress the impulse to go over there and yank her away by her hair. Then, she reached back and “accidentally” undid the top of her bikini, flashing Dash, and the entire crew.

Dash backed away like her boobs were on fire, and I mentally cheered when Kimmie pouted and staked off the set, the cameras following her.

“Cut!” Andrea yelled, rolling her eyes before going after Kimmie.

“Well, that was interesting,” I said, walking over to him.

He looked as if he had been through an ordeal. “These women are intense,” he told me.

“I think it’s mostly just Kimmie,” I corrected him. “It’s best not to take it personally. She’d probably drink your blood if she thought it would get her more screen time.”

“Surprisingly that doesn’t make me feel better,” Dash told me, looking around before leaning in closer. “Want to get out of here?” he asked. “I don’t have to be on set for a few hours.”

I nodded, and the two of us casually strolled back to the hotel. When we were finally alone, I expected for Dash to reach for me, for the two of us to tumble into bed as we had always done when we were finally alone.

Instead, he kissed my cheek and headed over to the bar, where he had a bottle of wine chilling. He opened it and poured us each a glass.

“You should come with me to New York,” he said, passing me the wine.

“New York?” I repeated, thinking of the fun we’d had exploring the city.

“Yeah.” He sat down on the couch, pulling me with him. “You could stay with me until we have to film the hometown visits. We could explore the city, spend time together like a normal couple.”

A couple. Even though Dash had said he was crazy about me, and that he was going to tell Patrick, we still hadn’t really discussed the status of our relationship. Apparently we were doing that now.

My heart beat faster.

“So we’re a couple then?” I tried to make it sound playful instead of desperate.

“I fucking hope so.” Dash tweaked my nose.

I relaxed into his arms, feeling better than I had in a long time.

“We could go to the Met,” I suggested, thinking of all the things in New York that I had always wanted to do. “And maybe visit the High Line as well.”

“That sounds nice.” Dash twirled one of my curls around his finger. “I’ve also heard there’s a place called Broadway where you can see shows, or something like that.”

“You want to see a Broadway show?” I asked, surprised.

He looked adorably sheepish. “My mom wants to see a Broadway show,” he amended. “They’re going to come out for the weekend, and I told her I’d take her. You could join us.”

Wow. This was all moving quickly. First we were a couple, and now we were discussing meeting his parents. This day had gone from terrible to pretty great in a matter of hours.

“When are you going to talk to Patrick?” I asked, taking a sip of wine.

Dash sighed. “I’m supposed to see him tonight after filming.” Dash’s hand curled around my hip. “I’ll wait until he’s good and liquored up before I tell him. Always give people bad news when they’re in a good mood.”

It was decent advice, but I was barely paying attention to what Dash was saying anymore. His fingers had been drawing slow, lazy circles on my skin, where my shirt had risen up slightly. I leaned back against him, giving him full access. I felt his smile against my neck as he nudged my hair aside and kissed me there. His hand slid upwards, slipping underneath my shirt, finding my breast.

I let out a moan, my head dropping back onto his shoulder, savoring the sensation as his fingers teased my nipples before he dragged his hand back down, across my stomach and then into my jeans. And into my panties.

“I love how wet you are,” Dash growled, sliding a finger across my clit.

I didn’t have a response, I just closed my eyes and let the sensations wash over me. Pleasure began to build up inside of me, and I was close when the sound of a door opening stopped us both cold. Someone was in the suite.

“Didn’t you lock the door?” Jumping up, I shoved my shirt down, while Dash stood there, looking down at the obvious bulge in his jeans. Closing his eyes, I heard him start muttering the periodic table.

“Dash, my man!” a familiar voice boomed out. “Where the fuck are you?”

Dash’s eyes flew open.

“Jean-Luc?” he asked, just as the man in question turned the corner and joined us in the bedroom section of the suite.

“Oh shit.” Jean-Luc stopped in his tracks, hands up. “I didn’t know you had company.” He peered at me, and I saw recognition come over him. “Paige, right?”

“You two have met?” Dash arched an eyebrow at both of us.

Jean-Luc looped his arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. “We’re old friends, isn’t that right?”

I rolled my eyes and disentangled myself from Jean-Luc’s hug.

“I was his ride from the airport,” I told Dash.

“Good to see you again,” Jean-Luc said, his smile friendly.

“Which begs the question.” Dash turned to his friend. “What are you doing back here?”

Jean-Luc put his hand to his chest as if he was insulted. “And here I thought I was your wingman.” He mimicked brushing away a fake tear. “Has it all been a lie?”

Dash socked him in the air. “The production called you?”

“That they did.” Jean-Luc ambled over to the bar and poured some wine for himself. “Apparently, you weren’t giving them the drama they needed.” He eyed me. “At least, not on camera.”

“About that—” Dash started, but Jean-Luc held up a hand.

“Please don’t ruin the magic for me,” he said. “Some of us still believe you’ll find love on Ever After.” He winked at me, showing that he was teasing.

Suddenly, the hotel phone rang. Dash answered it, but I already knew our private time together was up. He was needed back on set.

“You go,” Jean-Luc told him. “I can walk Paige out.”

Dash gave his best friend a look, but Jean-Luc only smiled. I knew what was going on. I had played the bad cop best friend with enough guys to know that Jean-Luc was about to give me a hard time for what was going on with me and Dash.

So I didn’t even wait for him to say it. The minute the door closed behind Dash, I turned to Jean-Luc.

“I like Dash a lot,” I said bluntly.

“Of course you do,” Jean-Luc said, still smiling, though I could tell some of the playfulness had dropped away. “He’s a likeable guy. Lots of girls like him. But they don’t usually put his career in jeopardy.”

Ouch. Clearly Jean-Luc and Dash had been speaking about me.

“I never wanted it to happen like this,” I told him.

Jean-Luc nodded. “He’s my best friend.” He crossed the room. “And he doesn’t care about fame, or money.”

“Neither do I,” I responded. “I like Dash for Dash.”

I could see Jean-Luc relax a little.

“Good,” he said. “Because you won’t find anyone better.”

* * *

I left the hotel room, not sure if I had convinced Jean-Luc that I was good enough for his best friend. But he seemed to accept that I wasn’t just messing around with Dash for fame or money.

My room was empty, so I texted Lorna to see where she was. Dash was going to be shooting all night, and for the first time in a long while, I had an evening to myself. And I didn’t know what to do with it.

“We’re watching the new episode in Justin’s room,” Lorna told me, so even though watching Dash’s fake romance was the last thing I wanted, curiosity won. I went to join the rest of the production team that was gathered in a cramped hotel room, drinking beer and watching television magic.

I sat on the edge of the bed next to Lorna, feeling strangely out of place. I worked with all of these people on a regular basis, but my attention had been so focused on Dash that I realized I hadn’t gotten to know many of them very well. Instead, I focused on the show, trying to get into the spirit of things while everyone around me heckled and laughed at the screen.

It was Justin who provided most of the running commentary, like a really cheesy stand-up comedian. I thought he seemed kind of like a douche, but Lorna kept gazing up at him like he was brilliant, so I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Twenty bucks that Kimmie gets in the suitor’s pants,” one of the lighting guys was saying.

“No way,” Lorna said, and the look she exchanged with me was brief, but meaningful. “He’s not interested in Kimmie. She’s too aggressive.”

“She’s a barracuda,” Justin agreed, sitting down next to Lorna. “And it’s going to be Savannah, if anyone.”

“Doubt it!” someone else shouted. “She couldn’t close the deal after the gala, what makes you think she can do it on the date tonight?”

“Just you wait,” Justin said, taking a sip of beer. “I think it’s going to be pretty clear who America will be choosing for Dash. And no one can resist that kind of attention and scrutiny.” For a moment, it seemed like he was looking right at me when he said it.

I did not like Justin.

Luckily, he didn’t catch me glaring at him, gesturing for the crowd to be quiet as the show returned from commercial. There was something in his gaze that made me uneasy. It was too intense. Too anticipatory.

It didn’t take long for me to figure out why.

The show returned with our illustrious host, Cal, speaking directly to the camera.

“There has been talk about how closed off our suitor is this season. Well, it only took one night with a beautiful girl to learn why.”

Then they cut to a shot of Savannah on the beach at night. I couldn’t remember them shooting this scene.

“You can talk to me, Dash,” she said quietly, looking down at the sand. “You can trust me.”

Then the camera cut to Dash. The footage looked different, more blurry, like it had been shot from a distance. Something looked familiar, though I couldn’t tell why. Then Dash spoke.

“One of my first friends in racing was a guy named Liam Lancaster,” he said. “He was one of the best. He knew cars. Knew how they worked, knew how to drive them. He had an instinct for the sport. But he also liked to take risks. He’d do anything to win.”

My heart dropped. I knew this conversation.

I knew it because Dash had had it with me. Off-camera. Or so I had thought. I could only watch in horror as Dash spilled his guts on national television.

“Liam was obsessed with winning. And I egged him on. Pushed him. And I pushed him too hard. He’d been in a few crashes—we all have, but he never seemed to be phased by them. If anything, they seemed to make him more reckless. More dangerous on the track. And then one day, he went too far. I had won my heat and he wanted to show me up. Tried to cut off another driver, tried to get to the front. It was a stupid, risky move. It never would have worked and he should have realized that, but he wanted to win. He was going to do anything to win. His car flipped. Crashed and burned. Dead on impact.”

The camera kept cutting to Savannah, her eyes filling up with tears as if she had actually been there on the beach with him. As if he had been telling her these things, instead of me.

I felt sick.

They’d taken a private moment, Dash’s personal confession, and turned it into just another moment for the viewers to lap up.

Looking up, I saw that Justin had been watching me. He knew. He knew that this wasn’t how it had happened.

He caught my eye, and raised one eyebrow as if to say, “What are you going to do about it?”

All I could do was get up and walk out of the room before I said—or did—anything I was going to regret.

Like smack him right in the smug face.