The True Love Experiment

I’m not surprised that I don’t hear from Connor before the live finale begins, but I would be lying if I said the last day and a half wasn’t lonely and stressful. Everyone in my life assumed I’d be busy with something or someone else, but in reality, I was alone in my living room, eating ice cream out of the gallon container, replaying my conversation at Stone with Connor over and over, and watching old episodes of Breaking Bad to feel better about my life. Sure, I confessed my love to a man for the third time without any reciprocation, but at least I don’t have a dead body in the bathtub upstairs.

I dutifully show up at the television studio downtown at noon on Saturday for hair and makeup, and hold out hope that I’ll get a glimpse of Connor at some point—even from across the room, I’m not greedy—let alone some time to speak to him in private. But if he’s in the building with us, I never see him.

I do see Brenna, Liz, Isaac, Evan, and all of the Heroes who’ve been voted off but will return for the reunion portion of the show. We’re ushered around from room to room, being powdered and coiffed and prepped for the interview. Being in the studio feels like we’ve leveled up in importance; gone is our cozy little coffee shop, sweet dates in the park, and the illusion that what we’re doing here is some small indie production. This is big. Somehow, even with the new followers, being stopped in public, bestseller lists, and calls for interviews, I never quite comprehended just how big this has gotten. There are security guards who walk us from trailer to studio. The entire building hums with energy, and a line of people hoping for tickets to the live finale wraps around several city blocks.

I’m given four choices for outfits, but the truth is, I don’t really care what I’m wearing. I feel oddly numb as I step into the dressing room and pull on the red A-line dress I know my mother will love, because I realize that facing my life after this isn’t going to be easier. I did this show for some sort of jump start, inspiration, a change of perspective. I found something new inside me—the feeling of genuine love and passion—but unattended, I already feel it turning into a sharp spur in my thoughts, souring. In all of my visions for the show, never did I come out of it sadder than I was before.

From our prepping, we’re told that the run of show will go a little something like this: The Heroes will be interviewed as a group, with short videos shown for each of them. After this, I’ll be brought out to talk about my experiences with them. Finally, the audience vote will be revealed, followed by the DNADuo scores. The winner will be crowned and he’ll pick me up in a fireman’s carry to take me out of the building and aboard the plane to Fiji.

I might have fictionalized that last part a bit.

Brenna sets me up offstage so I can watch the first portion from the wings as well as on a monitor nearby. From the other side of the set, the men file in to roaring applause, and Lanelle gives a brief introduction to the show, how it started, how it grew in popularity beyond anything we ever imagined.

Inside my chest, my heart feels like a wind-up toy cranked too tight.

Nick, Dax, Colby, Jude, Arjun, and Tex are seated on the long couches on either side of Lanelle’s chair, with Isaac and Evan in the positions closest to her.

“These eight Heroes were invited to join the show and date the much-beloved romance novelist Felicity Chen.” Cheers rise again, and I peek out, trying to find Jess, River, Juno, and my family out in the dark mass of bodies. “The goal was not to pull them out of their day-to-day lives but to see who clicked, who connected… and who didn’t. Every week, you—the audience—voted on which Hero you believed was Fizzy’s soulmate. And tonight, we’ve assembled the entire cast to discuss their experiences, their hopes, and most of all, their thoughts on The True Love Experiment!”

The theme song plays, there’s a vaguely cheesy light show, and they cut to the first commercial. When we return, the segment opens with a montage reel introducing each of the Heroes’ archetypes and showing them in their daily lives, on the show, and talking about meeting me. There are wolf whistles when we see a clip of Colby doing shirtless pull-ups, some laughter as Arjun gets his shoes polished by a street vendor, fangirl screams when Dax launches himself out of an airplane, and the sound pitches higher when the video transitions to a clip of Isaac walking down the hall with a piece of robotic equipment I’m sure they had him hold as a prop so he would appear very Hot Nerdy.

The audience laughs as Dax exits the café after our first meeting and exhales a breathless “Holy [bleep], she’s sexy.”

I clap a hand over my mouth, holding back a cackle.

“Fizzy has this aura, you know?” Nick says in the video. “Confident, strong, grounded. But [long bleep], she’s hot.”

More laughter, and then it doubles when Arjun says: “Yeah, I don’t think we connected.”

The audience cheers when Isaac appears. “Fizzy is the kind of woman a man could wait his whole life for and never meet. You look at her and think, ‘Damn, she’s fine,’ and then you start a conversation and realize she’s got you running in circles and you didn’t even realize it.”

“I knew even when we first dated that she was something special,” Evan says. “A word of advice: don’t get a Bart Simpson tattoo.”

The crowd roars. The video makes me feel this tight tangle of emotions high in my throat. Why couldn’t I fall for one of them?

When the footage ends, Lanelle waits for the applause to die down before she comes in for the salacious part of the show.

She asks the Heroes who were eliminated early vaguely cutting questions with a smile—didn’t Tex think it was a bit sexist to ask me what my father thought of my romance career? Why did Colby think the audience voted him off? Did Arjun watch his episode, and how did he feel he came across?

But then she dials up the charm with Dax and Nick, flirting shamelessly, asking them whether they’d change anything they did or said on the show, whether they think they’d do a show like this again. And then there’s a surprise announcement: both Dax and Nick will be back as the leads in the second season.

“Holy shit,” I murmur to myself. “Holy shit!”

I wonder whether Connor is producing it, or if he’s free now. If he can do exactly what he wants without fear of losing his job and his life in San Diego. I want to ask him, but I have no idea what happens after tonight.

“Hi,” a deep whisper comes from right behind me, and I startle, clapping a hand over my mouth and turning. I’d given up thinking I would see Connor at all tonight, assuming he was watching all of this up in some bird’s-eye-view editorial suite. The instinct to throw my arms around his neck is strong, but even stronger is the desire to drink in the sight of him. His hair is soft and falls across his forehead, but he’s wearing a crisp black suit with a thin black tie. He looks soft and devilish, cuddly and powerful. He is everything in one man, every hero right in front of me, and it takes all my willpower not to uselessly declare my love for a fourth time.

“That’s amazing about Dax and Nick!”

He nods. “I think so, too.”

“Are you EP again?”

“I haven’t decided.” His voice is steady, but there’s something in his eyes, some tightness that I’ve never seen before.

I step a little closer. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” He tugs at his shirtsleeve in his suit jacket, smooths his hands down his chest, then over his hair. Fidgety Connor is a surreal sight. He glances at me and away. “You?”

“I would say I’m comparatively chill. What’s with you?”

“Finale,” he says simply. “Just nervous.”

“Everything is going great,” I tell him. “Haven’t you been watching?”

“Yeah—just—” Connor sucks a deep, jagged breath and then blows it out. “The hard part is coming.”

I turn to face him fully and set my hand on his chest. This, I know: “Everything is going to be amazing,” I promise him. “You don’t have anything to worry about. I will not let you down.”

He nods, and his gaze falls to my mouth, drifting unfocused.

My heart decides to evaporate from my body.

“Whatever happens,” I whisper, forcing the words out, “we did this spectacular, brilliant, once-in-a-lifetime thing together, and I will never regret it. I will never regret you.”

Before the words are fully out of my mouth, he’s already leaning down, lips on mine, warm and urgent, his hands cupping my face. Surprise pulls a cry from my throat, but my instincts send tight, possessive fists to the lapels of his jacket, and I stretch up onto my toes, eager for his mouth, desperate for the addicting balance of domination and tenderness in his touch. I don’t know what this is, but I’m no fool. I’ll take anything this man will give me.

With a quiet groan, Connor tilts his head, deepening the contact into a decadent slide, sending a hungry hand down my body, cupping the curve of my ass, and pulling me tightly against him. The other threads fingers into my hair until he’s holding the back of my head and pouring everything he has into the kiss. It is the perfect balance of soft and hard, wet with teasing licks and sucks. He catches my bottom lip between his teeth, drags slowly away, and I chase the contact, but he stops me, pressing his thumb over my lips.

He stares at his finger, conflicted, before sliding it away for a final, lingering kiss.

“Connor.”

“You’re right,” he says.

“About what?”

But applause breaks out in a blast of sound behind me. We are back from commercial and that’s my light cue illuminating overhead.

Connor turns me bodily, gently pushing me forward, and in a daze, I walk onstage—hair mussed, lipstick gone—to find out who I’m meant to spend the rest of my life with.