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vivianna
Now that we’re within the final four, our challenge has shifted.
According to the Amadors, at this point, each couple’s fate rests in the hands of our viewers. Now, more than ever, we’re at the mercy of the audience. Not just for positive attention, but to stay in the game.
We have to do mundane things for the next few days while viewers are watching it all live, knowing damn well that by the third day, another couple will be out. It’s supposed to be the most accelerated point of the game. The rankings are shaky, at best.
And competitors are getting antsy. None more than Everleigh, who misses Wisconsin more with each passing day. Wyatt’s too kind to drag her out of bed, so he ends up heading to the bar or diner solo when joining the rest of us. This goes on for two days straight.
“It’s not a good look,” Esme whispers to me one of those nights. “The next round of ratings are finalized tomorrow. If Everleigh doesn’t get her ass out of the Villa, she and Wyatt are out.” She shows me her phone. “Look at their ratings.”
Sure enough, Everleigh and Wyatt’s numbers are plummeting. Fans want to see couples happy and together. There’s no room for homesickness or any other “unpresentable” feelings. I let out a sigh as Esme puts her phone away. Whatever the rankings end up being tomorrow— people aren’t going to like it.
***
The afternoon of the following day, everyone’s hanging out at the beach, ignoring the fact that results will be out in only a couple of hours, and ignoring the fact that Everleigh and Wyatt haven’t shown up yet.
We distract ourselves by games of beach volleyball or swimming or laying down under the sun. As of now, Brody and Esme are closing down on Everleigh and Wyatt in rankings. But they haven’t passed yet. Anything could happen in two hours. It’s relieving to be in first place, to not be in those last two positions where you’re a breath away from elimination.
And finally, half an hour until results are out, Wyatt emerges. I hold my breath. Maybe, maybe Everleigh will be in tow. When Wyatt arrives, however, no one is behind him, and he shakes his head slowly.
“Should I go up to get her?” Esme sits up, perching her sunglasses in her hair.
“No need,” Wyatt replies. “Ev just wants to go back home. She’s tired.”
Everleigh’s every bit the bubbly sorority girl you’d imagine her to be, but constantly being upbeat is exhausting even when you’re not on a show where all your actions are scrutinized, and where people like Everleigh may be written off as “fake” or “annoying” because of that personality. I’ve seen a few similar comments about her online, but I’d been more concerned with my own occasional criticisms about being “cold” or “distant”, especially at the beginning of filming, because nerves were killing me and I wasn’t smiling every minute. But I hadn’t considered Everleigh getting tired of it all too. So tired, in fact, that she’s willing to jeopardize her and Wyatt’s chances of winning.
“We’re ahead,” Esme interrupts my thoughts from where she’s sat on her pink beach towel, looking up at everyone. Brody whoops, then apologizes to Wyatt, who waves a dismissive hand.
“I mean, it was bound to happen anyway.” He says, just as the Amadors arrive, making their way up to our conglomerate to announce the final results. We settle down in a circle, me leaning against Griffin’s shoulder as we all monitor the live results after greeting our hosts. Brody and Esme are only going up, while Wyatt and Everleigh are losing votes.
And by the time the clock hits six, Wyatt and Everleigh are narrowly—but clearly—in last place.
The Amadors repeat their familiar condolences as Wyatt nods and takes it relatively well, despite clear disappointment. He gives us each hugs or nods or halfhearted smiles before heading off to the Villa to tell Everleigh that they’re out.
With that, this season of Lovebound has made it to the final three.
***
It’s increasingly difficult to get along with everyone without the Everleigh and Wyatt buffer during group hangouts. Competitors are essentially expected to hang out with each other— after all, we’re in this show together, and can only really discuss it with each other.
Problem is, when exes are present. Imogen and Griffin don’t interact at all. Save for a “can you pass the salt?” at a group dinner, they all but ignore each other. It’s not super pronounced, because both are civil, and on top of that, there are many people who don’t really interact as closely. Brody and I haven’t really exchanged more than a few words, and aside from teaming up during group games, we don’t interact as often either. As for Zander and I, he hasn’t made a move to try and talk to me since the beginning of the competition, and even if he did try again, I doubt I’d respond.
At this point, Esme’s my one ally in this competition outside of Griffin, and I’m not taking it for granted. Brody and Esme are still trailing behind Imogen and Zander. After all, Imogen and Zander know how to play it up and act. Esme might be able to get along with Brody given his publicized disloyalty two seconds in the relationship, but she’s not about to kiss him or hug him or do anything except hold his hand for the audience.
But now that there are so few people left, we’re each scrutinized more than ever before. Interactions that would’ve gotten missed in a large group are now zeroed in on and making it to final cuts.
Brody and Esme still know how to charm audiences, because they do look good together, side by side. But the chasm is still there, small as it is. They’ve got the dynamic akin to two former best friends who start talking again a few months after a huge fight. Careful, skeptical, but determined to make it work.
Both have figured out what I’d first thought coming in here, which was that achieving the prize money was the next best thing if love was out of the question. Now, whether or not they’ll make it to the finals is a completely different question.
However, a couple of days before the next set of results, those chances are officially thrown out of the window.
Because when everyone walks out onto the beach that night for dinner, there’s a goddamn candlelit table right in front of the villa with vibrant rose petals, expensive-looking cutlery and a white tablecloth.
“Who did all that?” Brody asks, eyebrows raised. Griff, Esme and I roll to a stop behind him.
And as if on cue, Zander appears right out of nowhere, a surely scripted scream appearing from behind our little group. We part for Imogen who walks right through us to Zander who’s standing with a shiny grin and arms outstretched.
I’m frozen. Frozen because this scene is so familiar to me, as if taken out of a dream. It stings deep inside my chest as Zander offers me the briefest of glances before taking Imogen’s hand in his.
Zander gets down to one knee and Esme swears out loud. “Is he proposing?”
He slides a ring up Imogen’s finger.
It’s a plain ring, nothing crazy. “It’s a promise ring,” Zander says, still looking up at Imogen, clearing up any confusion.
“What were all the theatrics for then?” Brody asks, and Griffin elbows him in the gut.
As if the answer isn’t obvious. They’re here to win this thing after all. What’s more convincing to audiences than a grand gesture of performative love?
But you used to want that, some part of my mind whispers.
Of course I did.
My mind is blurring with memories that refuse to just die. I push them back, lock them up.
Imogen goes off to have dinner with Zander at their stupid little set-up while producers fawn over them like this gesture wasn’t so clearly engineered to woo audiences.
“Vivianna.”
When I look over at Griffin, I can tell just by the crease in his eyebrows that this isn’t his first time calling out my name. His eyes soften, his head tilted in slight question.
“Well, are we going or not?” Esme is turned back to us, her arms folded.
I open my mouth to respond, but it just hangs open like a guppy.
“I think Vivi and I are going to take a rain check.” Griffin saves me.
“Oh.” Esme does not want to be left alone with Brody any longer than she has to, especially in public. I’ll text her an apology later. Right now, I want to be back in our room.
“Sorry,” I say, giving her a rueful smile.
Esme catches my eye. She shoots me a smile of her own. “You’re good. We’ll see you guys.” She says, then leads the way with Brody far behind her. Griffin slides his arm over my shoulder. “Let’s get you back inside.”
***
In our room, I perch at the edge of my bed, arms crossed over my chest.
“What happened back there?”
Griffin settles down on the bed next to me, gingerly, so as not to dip the mattress and scare me off or something.
There’s a long silence. Griff and I haven’t talked much about either of our exes in weeks. And when it came to talking about Zander, I told Griff about how he broke up with me and the little things he did as our relationship declined, but nothing in depth— and certainly not about any of the good.
Like how, during our second date, Zander had orchestrated a candlelit dinner for me on a pier. It was exactly the same as the one he made for Imogen today. Everything he did from the white tablecloth to the candle to the false promise— all of it was the same, down to the last minute detail. As though he did this just to throw me off kilter. Sure it was for the viewers, who’ll eat this up, but I can’t shake the feeling that he wanted a reaction out of me, wanted me to be brought back down from whatever high I’ve been on these past few weeks with Griffin.
But here’s Griffin, looking over at me, attention unwavering. And I tell him. “Zander did the exact same candlelit dinner for me too. With the promise ring and everything. On our second date.” When I vocalize it, Zander’s reasoning becomes clearer than ever. That whole scene—while working in him and Imogen’s favor as well— was ultimately a grand “screw you” to our relationship, one last jab as though he couldn’t possibly help himself.
“He’s a dick.”
“He never did anything like that for me again.” Because as soon as he had me, big romantic gestures became excessive and unnecessary. “And I know it’s stupid. Because we’re broken up, and I don’t even love him anymore. So, why would it still hurt?”
“It’s not stupid.” Griffin’s gaze is so intense, it’s difficult to return it.
“Then why do I feel so small?” The question comes out before I can hold it back. Nothing is said for what feels like forever.
Then, gentle and steady: “Vivianna.”
And it’s embarrassing to be in this position, to have my feelings just served on a platter, and to be so obviously affected by my stupid ex and his stupid actions. But when Griffin says my name, my eyes gravitate toward him.
I’m frustrated, pissed, because Zander can still psych me out like this. Griff pulls me close. We’re laying back down on the bed, and I press my face into his shirt. Half of my murmurs disappear into the fabric, but Griffin doesn’t pull away. I can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, reminding me that there is so much more than Zander, that his dig is a last-ditch desperate effort and shouldn’t matter, that I have a grounding force— I just need to latch onto it.
I fit into Griffin’s arms like a missing piece, and for a while, we just stay like that. And the silence is a welcome relief.