Contractual

It’s getting harder to pretend.

A sweat droplet drips down between my shoulder blades, tickling my back as it descends along my spine. It’s a game I’ve begun playing. How far can I track the droplets? Can they travel all the way from my neck to my ankles? 

He pointed it out once, when we were lounging by the pool in between filming challenges.

“I swear that sweat started out near your collar bone,” He’d said, a teasing lilt to his voice.

“Are you staring at me again?” I’d quipped back. 

We’d been beyond being embarrassed by it at that point. Everyone was suffering the same humidity-heat combination curse of the location. I’d been sweat on by more people in the past four weeks than my entire life before. I could probably pick himout by the smell of his sweat alone. 

Except, now, I’m not sweating from the heat—it’s the stress.

He smiles at me from across the table, like the oblivious jerk he is. “And that’s why my mom started calling me Eli the Science Guy. What are your parents like?” He asks. Is that what we were talking about? 

I try to ignore the camera just over his left shoulder, and the fact that I’ve already told him so much about my family off-camera that he could probably write a biography. My throat feels dry. “They’re great.” 

The producers want me to say I’m falling in love with Eli on this date, whether in an interview or to his face. I’d opted for his face. Of course, now that he’s right in front of me, it’s not so easy.

So, he sits there, eyes on mine, waiting for me to elaborate. I can’t seem to get the words out.

“And, uh,” he continues after several breaths, glancing over my shoulder at a producer. “What do you think they’ll think of me?”

“They’ll love you, just like—” I gulp. Just like I do.That’s what I’m supposed to say. And yet, I can’t, and I’m afraid now that I might breach my contract. We’d agreed before filming ever began to choose each other, and at the time, I’d been all for the idea. It would be simple enough—pretend to be in love, be in the top two couples, walk away with enough money to pay off our student loans, and break up a few months later so we could continue on separately in various spinoff shows. 

It was that last bit that was throwing me off. The going-our-separate-ways bit.

“Just like what?” Eli’s voice falters, cracking slightly at the end.

“Just like I’ve fallen in love with you.” I try to smile, but it feels wrong. My lips are chapped, and I feel a crack form. It stings as I take a sip of flat champagne. We haven’t talked about thispart at all. It’s been all nostalgia, food-sharing, cuddling, inside-joking, and rejecting the other contestants. 

He gulps, then smiles. “I’m falling in love with you, too.”

Then, he leans across the table, places a gentle hand on my cheek, and kisses the hell out of me. I don’t hold back. There have been other kisses, but this feels different. Maybe it’s that we’re “alone”, none of the other contestants lingering in the background and cheering us on. Maybe it’s that we’re all fancied up in evening wear. Maybe it’s the tender way he’s cradling my face, like I’m some precious museum artifact that must be handled with the utmost care. Maybe it’s just the champagne and my imagination.

A hidden, terrified part of me whispers, Maybe it’s real.

A producer calls out and they come to grab us, pulling Eli behind a potted palm with a camera man to begin an interview. The other leads me to the other side of the courtyard and through a stone archway, where I’ll give my own interview.

They position me carefully with twinkle lights in the background, casting a soft halo of light around my head. There’s a fresh flute of champagne on a tray just below the frame, and I take a sip of it.

It just makes me want to burp.

“What moment did you realize you were falling for Eli?” The producer asks gleefully.

She waits several moments.

I can hardly breathe, let alone speak.

The producer clears her throat. “When did you notice your feelings growing from physical attraction to something more substantial?”

I take a deep breath.

She tries again. “Was there something particular that he said or did that really was a tipping point into something more serious for you?”

I stare at the champagne glass in my hand, thinking.

The first morning we’d been here, I’d woken up with a nasty sunburn, my cheeks and shoulders lobster red and throbbing. The other couples had been commiserating loudly about hangovers and jetlag while I met with the medical specialist, trying not to make any facial movements. When I’d finished, he was waiting in the hallway. I remember his cool, feather-light touch as he spread aloe burn gel across my shoulders. He’d done so twice a day until the burns faded.

Several days later, we took four-wheelers around a muddy track in the middle of some forest 45 minutes away. We raced, and he somehow got stuck in the mud close to the finish line. We laughed and laughed as we tried together to push it free. When we decided I’d give it some gas, while he pushed, mud splattered him from head to toe. We gave up and let the producers figure it out while we sat off to the side. They waited for a tow truck to give it a good pull. When I wiped the mud from his face, he’d gone oddly quiet. He’d leaned in. That had been our first kiss. 

Ratings had increased by 16% that night.

            Two weeks into filming, there was a social media challenge. They showed us social media posts on a big projector screen, and we had to guess who they were about. 

“She probably sprinkles anxiety meds on her cereal in the morning.” 

“Talk about a frigid b*tch!”

“I don’t know how anyone puts up with her, especially Eli!!!”

That had been the worst. The other contestants had defended me, disagreeing loudly and offering consoling pats on my arm. Eli, though, had refused to participate, aside from shaking his head. He’d glued himself to my side, placed an arm over my shoulder, placed his free hand on my elbow, and whispered, “Idiots, all of them,” into my ear. “All of that is wrong.”

He’d held me as I cried that night.

The producer glances at the cameraman and they both sigh. I still haven’t answered. The little red light on his camera turns off.

“I know this is a lot of pressure,” she says. “It’s hard to confront feelings. Let’s start somewhere else. Look back and picture how your feelings might have changed as time went on. Would you like something else to drink?”

“Okay,” I say. “Could I talk to Eli?”

She furrows her brow, but nods her head.

They lead me over to him. 

He’s rubbing his forehead, sweat trickling down his left temple. 

“Can we talk?” I ask, startling him.

He straightens, adjusting his collar. “Yeah, yes, of course. “

I look pointedly at the producers.

“Alone?”

They slither away.

I breathe in through my nose. “It’s getting harder to pretend,” I exhale.

“I know, but there’s only a week left and—”

“No,” I interrupt. “I mean, I don’t want to pretend anymore. At all.”

If this were TV, I’d think it had frozen. He stands still as a statue, except for his chest rising almost imperceptibly with each breath. I think that, perhaps, he’s breathing a little faster than before.

“You’re quitting the show.” He remains stoic, but I think I see the slightest downward tilt to his mouth.

“Maybe. I can’t stay, feeling the way I do, unless—”

“If I crossed any boundaries, please, just tell me and I won’t do it again!” The stoic façade drops away. I haven’t heard this tone from him before. He’s pleading with me. 

“It’s not that,” I assure him. “The thing is that I’m not pretending. When I laugh with you, when I smile at you, when I give you a kiss good night… I’m not pretending. So, I don’t think I can pretend to be in love with you anymore. It’s real for me.”

He sputters, then gathers me roughly in his arms. My nose ends up uncomfortably close to his armpit for half a second, but we quickly adjust.

“It’s real for me, too.”

My heart races with elation, I sweat with joy, and my cheeks ache from smiling so big. I tilt my chin up slightly, expectantly. Everything fades except his lips on mine. It’s the most passionate, joyful kiss I’ve ever experienced.

When I come up for air, my eyes drift to the side.

There’s the camera, red light still blinking.