Romancing Miss Right (30 page)

“So when will I be hearing wedding
bells?”

“Not for quite some time,” Marcy said
smoothly, dropping her hand to lace it with Craig’s again. “We’re
in the process of a big move to New York and Craig’s starting a new
job—it just seemed like it would be too chaotic to plan a wedding
on top of all that.”

“Well, you know the network would love to
host your wedding, help with all the planning.”

“We’re going to go for something a little
more private,” Marcy said.

“So this new place in New York—is it the loft
you dreamed of when you were in Verona?”

“New York is expensive! We couldn’t afford
the loft I dreamed off—even after my last book hit the New York
Times Bestseller list—but we’ll be much cozier in what we can
afford.”

“And Craig,” Pendleton pressed, “this new
job, I understand it will come as a surprise to some of our
viewers…”

“It probably will,” he admitted. “Turns out
the producers of
Romancing Miss Right
were testing me when
they offered me the anchor job. They thought Marcy deserved to know
if I was going to abandon her in favor of my career, so they
dangled the job in front of me to see what I would do—but by
choosing love, I ended up winning both. I’m going to be a recurring
guest host on the weekday wake-up show starting next Monday.”

“Twitter was wild with speculation over
whether you would choose love or money. Quite the clever ruse by
our production team.”

“I’ll admit I didn’t appreciate it much at
the time,” Craig said, grimacing. “But now I’m glad they felt the
need to test me. Now Marcy never has to wonder if I would sacrifice
her for my career. We’ve already cleared that hurdle. She will
always know I love her more than fame.”

“Which is very romantic, coming from Craig,”
she put in with a laugh.

Miranda stood behind the director of the live
reunion show, arms folded, watching her masterpiece play out. No
one had missed the missing footage—the drama had played beautifully
with the fight and the door slam leading straight into Marcy’s
decision to choose no one and Craig’s groveling and protestations
of love at the altar.

The ratings were solid—though not quite as
high as last season, damn it—and audience retention had actually
grown week by week in key demographics as America fell in love with
the prickly pair. The woman once called the Ice Queen had become
America’s Darling and Craig had gone from being hated to adored.
Mostly.

All in all, a victorious season.

Miranda had even scored the next Mister
Perfect she’d been hoping for.

“Well, it sounds like you found the perfect
Mister Right for you,” Pendleton said, before turning to the
cameras to wrap it up. “That’s all for this season of
Romancing
Miss Right
. Join us for another edition of
Marrying Mister
Perfect
this winter, when our very own Daniel Pierzynski meets
the gorgeous Suitorettes vying for his hand.”

Miranda clapped along with everyone else
until a voice called that they were clear and the crew went into
action, clearing the studio audience and turning off the myriad
electronics. She turned her head, catching sight of a familiar
salt-and-pepper head in the shadows. Bennett, chatting with Wallace
and waiting in the wings to whisk her home.

He hadn’t actually said the L word after all,
but he’d made it very clear indeed that he was crazy about her.
Actions spoke volumes, especially in an industry where talk was
cheap.

Marcy and Craig disentangled themselves from
their microphones and rose, slipping out of the bright lights at
the center of the sound stage and finding a shadow together. They
seemed to be one of those lucky couples who had found the balance
between the public life and the private. Miranda had seen a lot of
reality relationships in her time and she had a pretty good eye,
after all these years, for picking the couples that were actually
going to make it.

As Craig pulled Marcy away to steal another
of his two thousand kisses, Miranda had a feeling they were going
to go the distance.

Maybe they all were.

She did love a happy
ending.

THE END

About the Author

Winner of the Romance
Writers of America’s prestigious Golden Heart Award, Lizzie Shane
lives in Alaska where she uses the long winter months to cook up
happily-ever-afters (and indulge her fascination with the world of
reality television). She also writes paranormal romance under the
pen name Vivi Andrews. Find more about Lizzie at
her
website
or follow her on
Facebook
.

Want more Reality Romance? Check out the
first book of the series,
Marrying Mister Perfect.

And sign up now to receive Lizzie’s
New Release
Newsletter
for updates on upcoming releases.

Read on for a sneak peek inside the next book
of the series,
Falling for Mister Wrong.

FALLING FOR MISTER WRONG

Between
I will
and
I
do
, there's room to fall.

Caitlyn Gregg just agreed to marry 'Mister
Perfect' on national television. There's only one problem: as soon
as the cameras stop rolling on their whirlwind reality show
romance, she realizes she doesn't love him.

Returning home to Colorado as the show begins
to air, she has only her doubts for company—until she accidentally
sets her apartment on fire and finds herself in the arms of
oh-so-sexy firefighter Will Hamilton.

Sparks immediately fly—and not just from her
singed apartment—but Caitlyn is engaged to another man and is
contractually forbidden from talking about the engagement, breaking
it off, or seeing other men until the show's finale.

Will doesn't know what to make of Caitlyn's
hot-and-cold routine, until he turns on the TV one night and sees
her being wooed by another man. Thinking she must be gun-shy after
what is about to be a very public break-up, he tells her they can
take it slow... but their insane chemistry has other ideas.

Falling hard for Will is against all the
rules and every week she dreads Tuesday, knowing any episode could
be the one that drives him away. When the truth comes out, will
Caitlyn lose the man of her dreams because she already said yes to
Mister Perfect?

Chapter One

Her hands were shaking. That was normal,
right? After all, it wasn’t every day a girl had a fifty/fifty shot
of getting engaged or getting dumped on her ass on national
television.

Caitlyn curled her flawlessly manicured hands
into fists to still the trembling, wincing a little when the nails
bit into her palms, but grateful for that nip of pain. She’d been
drifting, floating in the surrealness that had become her life,
until that pinch gave her something to focus on. Something
real.

Real was in short supply lately.

She squeezed her fists tighter, wondering how
far she could go before she broke the skin. She wasn’t used to
wearing her nails so long—as a former child-prodigy pianist, her
nails were always neatly trimmed to prevent clacking against the
keys. She was probably already leaving marks—would one of the
production staff notice and stop her?

As if on cue, Miranda—the producer the other
producers feared—appeared over her shoulder, crossing to stand
behind her, both of them facing the mirror.

“Lovely as ever, Caitlyn. How are you
feeling? Excited?”

Caitlyn decided the question was rhetorical
as Miranda pointed out a red lock that had come loose from
Caitlyn’s up-do and a hairstylist rushed forward with a comb to
tuck it away. Miranda’s gaze evaluated every inch of her,
scrutinizing every seam of the designer fabric that hugged her
figure, pausing for a moment on her fisted hands—she didn’t miss
much—and Caitlyn forced her fingers to straighten.

“You’re doing great, hon.” Miranda’s hand
came to rest on Caitlyn’s bare shoulder, giving it a gentle
squeeze. “Not much longer now.”

Caitlyn nodded, unable to make her vocal
chords form words. She almost hoped she was the one Daniel decided
to ditch. At least then she wouldn’t have to croak out a response
to a proposal.

No. That wasn’t what she wanted. She loved
Daniel. Jitters. That was all this was. Stage fright. She’d had it
before and never let it defeat her. She would master this.

Caitlyn vaguely heard the crackle of voices
through Miranda’s headset, then the producer gave her an eager
smile and another shoulder squeeze. “Are you ready?”

No. Please God, don’t make me do
this
.

She wondered what the producers would do if
she made a run for it. Just up and bolted, sprinting out of the
hair and make-up suite and not stopping until she was curled up on
her couch at home, swaddled in her favorite comfy PJs.

They’d probably follow her with cameras,
trying to get the best angle on her freak-out. This was reality
television, after all. And they were good at what they did.

“Caitlyn?”

“I’m ready.” Huh. Her voice sounded so
normal. How did that happen?

She didn’t remember getting to the beach.
Only the vaguest impression of a long stone staircase and circling
cameras penetrated her haze.

The setting was breathtaking. The producers
would have made sure of that. The scent of tropical flowers in full
bloom permeated the air and Caitlyn’s nose twitched as she sniffed
back the urge to sneeze. A wooden walkway had been built over the
sand so she wouldn’t sink and break an ankle in her heels. Every
detail had been seen to—even the weathering of the brand new
walkway so it blended in with the rusticity of the secluded
tropical resort. The walkway stretched the last twenty meters to
the dock that thrust out over the lagoon.

He would be waiting there, surrounded by the
still Tahitian waters. Daniel.

Caitlyn’s stomach clenched painfully and she
stopped at the foot of the steps up to the dock. One of the
production assistants rushed forward to help her lift her skirt and
then faded back to let her navigate the steps herself—lest the PA
be caught in the shot and ruin the magic of the moment.

Her chest felt tight and heat pressed against
the backs of her eyes—she’d promised herself when she came on the
show that she wasn’t going to cry. Unfortunately she’d broken that
promise three weeks ago and once the seal had been broken couldn’t
seem to stop weeping at the drop of a hat. She wasn’t even sad. It
was the pressure. All the stress seemed to push against her tear
ducts with an alarming frequency.

She swallowed thickly, refusing to cry today.
He was either going to pick her or he wasn’t. He was going to
propose or he wasn’t. There was nothing she could do about it now.
The score had already been written—all that remained was for her to
play her part.

She flexed her fingers, moving them in the
opening bars to
Flight of the Bumblebee
. The music playing
in her head calmed her and Caitlyn stiffened her spine, lifted her
chin—and saw him.

Daniel. Movie-star gorgeous Daniel. Waiting
for her at the end of the dock, surrounded by tropical flowers and
a single high pedestal. A pedestal that would hold a ring.

Prince Charming couldn’t have been more
handsome. He smiled, and even though she was too far away to see
it, she knew his blue eyes would be sparkling. His dimples would be
flashing, emphasizing his air of boyish sincerity.

Mister Perfect. Sure, it was the title of the
show—
Marrying Mister Perfect
—but she hadn’t expected him to
actually be perfect. That he would want all the things she wanted,
and say all the right things. Caitlyn really hadn’t thought she
would get this far, but she’d been swept along, caught up in the
fairy tale of dream date after dream date until here they were. The
finale. The moment of truth.

She’d wanted this, dreamt of this. It was the
reason women auditioned for the show—the promise of that elusive
prize, true love. And Caitlyn had more reason than most to crave
it, but this might not be her happily ever after. She might just be
the obstacle to Elena’s dreams coming true.

Her stomach rolled. She forced her feet to
keep moving toward the end of the dock. One heel caught on an
uneven plank and she wobbled for a fraction of a second before
righting herself.
Don’t fall into the ocean. Don’t be that
girl.

In the water to either side, cameras were set
up on strategically placed platforms, so they could capture every
angle without ruining the illusion that it was just the two of
them, alone in a Tahitian lagoon.

Illusion. She felt the weight of the cameras
pressing on her, bearing down on her shoulders until it became a
battle to keep her spine straight. At first she had been one of
many Suitorettes and it had been easy to blend into the crowd, but
these last few weeks it felt like every eye in America was on her.
Homebody Caitlyn Gregg, on display for all the world to see.

She’d had to fight her natural urge to shy
from the cameras. For him.

Caitlyn lifted her gaze, eyes on the prize.
Daniel.

He was worth it. He was. Mister Perfect.

He smiled and the buzzing in her ears
receded. He took a half step forward, reaching out to catch her
hands as soon as she was within range, and her heart rate dropped
back down to non-life-threatening levels.

“
Together
,” he mouthed silently and
Caitlyn remembered how to breathe. He was her eye of the storm. The
still oasis of calm that kept her sane amid all the insanity of the
show.
We’re in this together
, he would say whenever she
confessed how much the constant attention wore on her, how often
she thought about giving it up and going home.