The Charm Offensive, page 26
“I suppose.”
Dallas was also awful because of Dev—because Dev is slipping away again, not all at once like before, but incrementally. There are moments when his voice hollows out, moments his gaze goes somewhere Charlie can’t follow. Then he’ll snap back, laughing at something Charlie said, or lip-syncing to the Proclaimers in their Dallas hotel room, kissing Charlie until they both forget everything else.
When Daphne finishes her thirty minutes on the elliptical, she comes to sit beside him on the bench. “It’s weird, isn’t it? That you’re going to meet my parents today?”
“Do you feel guilty about lying to them?”
Daphne gathers her ponytail and begins to weave it into a braid. “Honestly? No. Does that make me a bad person?”
Before he can reassure her, Daphne plows on. “I’m sort of relieved. My mom and dad constantly pester me about getting a boyfriend. Even though it’s fake, my parents will be so happy to see us together. And I want to—”
“Please them?” Charlie tries. Daphne bites her lip, and Charlie thinks about Josh Han. He thinks about trying to please other people and trying to please himself. “Will it make you happy, though? When we’re lying to people about our engagement?”
She doesn’t say anything, but he already knows the answer. Daphne wants fairy-tale love, but she also simply wants other people to see her with it, to have them approve of her normalcy. They really are so fucking similar.
“Will it make you happy?” she finally asks. “To be able to work in tech again?”
He stares up at a television screen mounted to the wall playing the news on mute. Daphne reaches over for his hand. “You still want that, right? To propose to me at the end? To make people think we’re in love?”
The glass door to the gym opens before he can answer—before he can figure out what his answer even is—and Dev is standing there in his ratty basketball shorts and Charlie’s Stanford T-shirt. He’s silent for a second, staring at Daphne and Charlie close together on the bench, their fingers intertwined.
“Oh,” Dev fumbles, and Charlie quickly drops Daphne’s hand. “Sorry, I just, uh, you weren’t in your hotel room, and we need to go over the schedule for today,” he says.
He means, I woke up in our bed and you weren’t there.
Charlie stands up and tries to match Dev’s professionalism. “Yes, of course. We should do that.”
He takes a step toward Dev, but Daphne rises from the bench and grabs Charlie’s elbow. “Hey,” she says in a low voice, pulling him close, unaware of how their closeness will affect the man standing by the door. “It’s almost over. Soon you’ll have everything you want.”
She stands on her tiptoes and kisses his cheek.
“I’m sorry,” Charlie says as soon as he’s alone in the elevator with Dev.
“Don’t be. It’s fine.”
“Dev.” Charlie reaches out for him. “We were just talking about—”
“It’s totally fine.”
But it’s not totally fine.
Dev
“Are you ready to meet your future in-laws?”
Charlie tries to grin, but grimaces instead.
“Take it again,” Maureen orders from behind the cameras, “and this time, try to sound excited.”
Charlie and Daphne trudge back to the beginning of the path leading up to the Reynoldses’ house. “Are you excited to meet your future in-laws?” Daphne asks with more gusto, her arm threaded through Charlie’s.
Charlie stares down at her lovingly. “I’m so ready,” he says before he leans down and kisses her once, reassuringly, on her pretty mouth.
And Dev needs a drink. Or a package of Oreos. Or a lobotomy. Something to ease the pain of watching Charlie kiss Daphne.
Last night, when they landed in Macon, Charlie dragged Dev back to their hotel room. He undressed Dev chaotically, stared at his naked body in the glow of a single bedside lamp, and held him tight against his chest. He fucked him slow and deep, like he was saying goodbye, and when Dev woke up this morning, Charlie wasn’t there. His absence in their bed ripped a hole through Dev’s chest, sent him stumbling through the hotel half-dressed in search of Charlie, only to find him holding hands with Daphne.
He has to accept that soon, there will only be mornings without Charlie.
Charlie raises a fist to knock on the front door, but Daphne’s dad flings it open before he can. “NeeNee! And Charlie! Welcome! Come in, come in!”
Charlie and Daphne step inside the house. Dev can’t follow.
He sits in an equipment van and watches a relay of the footage on a portable monitor, and when no one is looking, he pulls out his phone and stares at the selfie they took back in Cape Town, Charlie tucked under his chin.
“Let’s hope Reverend Reynolds brings some drama,” Maureen says. “We need some creepily possessive old-fashioned dad confrontation to spice up this snooze-fest.”
Reverend Reynolds disappoints in the best kind of way. “An atheist app designer?” Richard Reynolds chuckles. “Not exactly what we expected, is it, Anita? But honestly, we’re just so happy our NeeNee finally brought a man home.”
“Dad!” Daphne blushes down at her plate of apple pie.
“Well, sweetheart, it’s just, you’ve never brought a boy home to meet the family. We were starting to worry.”
Charlie reaches over and takes Daphne’s hand. “I feel honored to be the first,” he says, like a perfect prince. Daphne’s blush deepens.
Dev slides out of the van. “I’m going to take a walk,” he tells Jules.
Her voice hitches with worry. “Should I come?”
“I’m fine.” He flashes her a breezy Fun Dev smile of reassurance before he disappears into the night. Daphne’s childhood home is on a sprawling acre outside of Macon, woods fringing the boundaries. He heads past the golden glow of the floodlights on the back of the house, toward the tall, dark trees and the silence. Out here, his feelings have more room to breathe.
“Dev,” a familiar voice calls behind him. “Wait up!”
He pauses against a beech tree as Ryan’s shadow advances in the dark.
“What’s up?” Ryan asks. “Why’d you bail?”
He lifts his shoulders in a half-assed shrug Ryan probably can’t see. “You know how it is. You’ve seen one Home Kingdom date, you’ve seen them all.”
Dev tilts his head back against the bark and looks up at the sky through the fragmented branches. He can’t remember the last time he could see this many stars.
Ryan clears his throat. “I imagine this is all a lot harder now that you’re fucking the star.”
Dev jerks his head. He must have misheard. Misunderstood. “W-what?”
“It must be harder,” Ryan says, his tone as indifferent as ever. It gives nothing away, even as Dev feels his insides slide down to his feet in panic. “You’re watching the guy you’re sleeping with meet his future in-laws.”
Ryan knows. Dev’s brain seizes painfully around this realization and its fallout. He’d thought they had more time. He’d parceled out the remaining days with Charlie like chocolate in an Advent calendar, and he’d thought they had more time. He thought the clock would end with Charlie proposing to Daphne; he didn’t think it would end with people finding out.
Dev can’t decide what to do or what to say or how to move his arms. Should he deny it? Own it? Beg? Barter? Please. Please don’t tell. Please let us have just a little more time.
“How…?” he tries. “What… why?”
“Come on, Dev.” There’s nothing gloating or vindictive in Ryan’s words, just the usual self-righteous calm. “You flew his best friend to set, and he flew your favorite pop star to South Africa.”
He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Maybe it is.
“I’ve done that job. Before this season, I was the prince’s handler for four years, and do you remember me ever spending my days off hanging out with the guy? Do you remember me happily sharing a living space with him for two months? Of course not.”
“Please don’t tell,” Dev blurts when he finally finds his sentences again. “I know I am ruining the show, but—”
“The show? Dev, I don’t give a shit about the show. I give a shit about you.”
He thinks about Franschhoek, when Ryan didn’t tell him about the overnight date; he thinks about Ryan trying to talk to him about Charlie at the bar; and he thinks about their fight all the way back in week two. He realizes this is a conversation Ryan’s been trying to have with him for a while.
“Dev, what are you doing, hooking up with the talent?”
“I’m in love with him,” he says without thinking.
“So at the end of this thing, is it going to be you accepting that Final Tiara, or is it going to be Daphne Reynolds?”
Dev flinches. “Don’t be cruel.”
“I’m not,” Ryan says. And he’s really not. His tone is tired and a little sad, but it’s not cruel. “I’m being practical. What’s going to happen, Dev? In a week, is Charlie going to get engaged to Daphne?”
“I mean, he’s under contract, so—”
“So you’re going to let a man who’s been having sex with you behind the cameras get engaged to a woman on national television? And then what?” Ryan pushes. “Are you and Charlie going to continue dating in secret while he goes on talk shows with his new fiancée? Are you going to go in the closet for this dude? Are you going to live right off camera in Charlie Winshaw’s life forever?”
“I don’t know!” Dev takes three deep breaths, holding each one in for three seconds. Everything is spinning. It’s a humid night, suffocating. He hasn’t thought about any of this yet, and he doesn’t want to troubleshoot his future with Ryan Parker of all people.
But if he thinks about it, if he considers it for even one second, he knows. He would do it. He would live off camera in Charlie’s life if Charlie would let him. If Charlie wanted him, he would do just about anything for that little house in Venice Beach, including hiding away there like a gay Rapunzel, waiting for the moments when Charlie could come to him in secret.
He’s always known how this story ends, because it has ended the same way for thirty-six seasons. Dev doesn’t get the happily ever after, but he would settle for less if it meant being with Charlie. Because the alternative—losing Charlie—is going to destroy him.
“Charlie and I—we know we don’t have a future,” he tells Ryan when the silence stretches too tight between them.
“But you said you love him,” Ryan says quietly. He reaches out for Dev’s hand and gives it a squeeze—a squeeze that reminds Dev he and Ryan were friends once, before everything else. “Is this why you were depressed? In Germany?”
“I’m going to get back into therapy when we’re back in LA.” The words come quick. Automatic.
“Yeah. I’ve heard that one before.”
He wants to tell Ryan it’s different this time. Who he was with Ryan isn’t who he is with Charlie; Charlie isn’t Ryan, and when Dev pulls away, Charlie reaches, and when Dev slips under, Charlie stays.
But Charlie can only stay for ten more days, so what’s the point of explaining?
“Are you going to tell Skylar?”
Ryan snorts and drops Dev’s hand. “Skylar already knows.”
“She doesn’t. She can’t.”
“She definitely does, and she definitely can. She’s not an idiot, and you’re not subtle.”
“But…” Dev is spinning again. Or maybe the entire world is spinning? Either way, he needs to sit down in the dirt. The earth is so warm and his body is so weak, he sinks. “If Skylar knew, she would fire me. I’ve destroyed the season.”
“You really didn’t. This show is about the drama, and Charlie’s delivered that.”
“This show is about love,” Dev counters.
Ryan shakes his head. “D, love is the unintentional by-product of this show.”
Dev pulls his legs against his chest and buries his face in his knees.
“Skylar doesn’t care if you’re sleeping with Charlie,” Ryan says calmly from above him, “so long as Charlie delivers her the hetero fairy tale the network demands. And thanks to your amazing job as Charlie’s handler, they’re going to get it. But you—you deserve better than being someone’s dirty secret, Dev.”
Dev drums out the Morse code for “calm” against his shins and tries to remember how to breathe. Tries to remind himself he survived losing Ryan, once. He can survive losing Charlie, too. Even if those two things don’t feel equivalent on a humid night in Macon, Georgia.
“Besides,” Ryan says before he turns back to the house, “it’s not Skylar you should worry about. It’s Maureen.”
Dev wraps his arms tighter around his legs and feels himself collapse inward, like a dying star.
Charlie
His fingers clumsily fidget with the bow tie on his tux, and he watches himself in the mirror, the sweat gathering on his brow. They’ll have to redo his makeup before the Crowning Ceremony. Assuming he can figure out how to properly dress himself first.
Skylar pops her shaved head through the dressing room door. “We need you in five. Everything coming along in here?”
“Have you seen Dev?” Charlie tries to keep his voice steady around this question, but instead the words convey the panic grinding through his internal organs.
“Ryan asked him to lock up the set. Anything I can help with?”
“The t-tie,” he stammers as his fingers slip through the fabric again. “I can’t get it.”
Skylar comes closer and places her steady hands over his trembling ones. “Let me.”
The head director is shorter than he realized, standing on her toes to get a good angle on the bow tie. She seemed larger than life, indomitable, when he first met her two months ago. “Big night,” she says. “How are you feeling?”
He’s sweating and shaking and barely able to form cogent sentences. “I think you can tell exactly how I’m feeling.”
She smiles up at him as her hands deftly arrange the fabric into a perfect bow. “Do you know who you’re going to send home?”
He nods. The anxiety isn’t about sending Lauren home tonight. She is the obvious choice, the only woman remaining who doesn’t know it’s all a ruse. He’s anxious because of what sending home Lauren means. He’ll be one step closer to the end of this journey, and he still hasn’t figured out what to do about the certainty and the glittering something and the fact that Dev is already pulling away.
She steps back and admires her handiwork. “Then what are you worried about?”
Something in her tone suggests she’s not asking as Ever After’s head director; she’s asking as the woman who taught him the dance moves to “Bad Romance” in a New Orleans club. As the woman who got drunk with him on a patio in Bali.
“I never thought it would feel real,” he starts. He can’t answer her as anything other than the star of her show, so he quickly adds, “with Daphne, I mean. I never thought I’d develop real feelings for anyone on the show, and I’m not sure what to do. How do you know when you’re going to love someone forever?”
Skylar stares up at him, her face an unknowable mask. She takes two steps backward and collapses onto a folding chair. “Did you know I was married to a man for ten years before I met my current partner?”
He obviously did not. Skylar never talks about her personal life outside of the show. For all he knows, she doesn’t have a life outside of this show.
“Mm.” She reaches into the pocket of her jeans and pulls out a roll of Tums. “Diego. He was a good man. He treated me really well, and even though I wasn’t attracted to him, and even though I was repulsed by the idea of having sex with him, I was pretty happy.”
Charlie shifts uncomfortably on his feet but doesn’t let himself break eye contact with her as she carefully unfolds her private self to him in a slow, rhythmic voice.
“I was aware of the fact that I was more drawn to women, but I didn’t particularly want to have sex with them, either, so I swept it aside for years and years, until finally, I decided to try a support group for questioning adults. That’s where I met my current partner, Rey. They were the first person I ever heard use the word asexual as anything other than the punch line of a joke.”
Skylar pauses, and Charlie drops his gaze to the floor. “Why are you telling me this?”
She ignores his question and continues on with her story. “I went up to Rey after the group session, and we started talking. For a long time, we were just friends. They were the person who helped me figure out I’m biromantic, the person who helped me feel okay about being sex-repulsed. They see me exactly as I am while also helping me become a truer version of myself.”
Charlie thinks about Dev and about the beautiful simplicity of being seen.
“I’m telling you this, Charlie, because you asked how you know you’re going to love someone forever, and the truth is, despite what we tell people on this show, forever is never a guarantee. I don’t know if I’m going to love Rey for the rest of my life, but I know right now, I can’t imagine a future where I don’t love them. And for me, that’s enough.”
Charlie fidgets with his tux jacket and wishes he could find a way to thank her for sharing herself with him, find a way to tell her what it means.
Skylar swallows an antacid. “I think you have to decide if you love him enough right now to try for forever.”
Charlie chokes. “Him? Her. Daphne. I… I love… Daphne.”
Skylar rises from her chair and approaches him again, reaches up to brush the errant curls off his forehead so he’s camera ready. “Son, I know everything that happens on my set.”
She doesn’t say it threateningly, doesn’t sound angry. She says the word son the same way Dev says the word love—as if Skylar knows he’s always wanted to be someone’s son, too.
“But what if,” he asks the head director of Ever After, “I don’t know how to choose him?”
