I don't understand what happened… Abby won't even talk to me. What happened that she's so upset about? I can't even get near her without production crawling all over us, worried we're going to share answers. I just want five minutes with her, to see if she's all right. If we're all right. Ugh. Listen to me. I sound like a weepy girl.—Dean Woodall, Post Game Interview
"You're on in five minutes," the assistant producer bellowed, stalking past with a clipboard in hand. "Everyone make sure you're miked up and ready to go."
I shifted in my seat nervously, my stomach full of dread. In minutes, the lights would be up. I sat on the front row of a double-rise of bleachers on the stage, artfully designed with an island motif. Somewhere on the far end of the stage sat Lana and Dean. Once the lights went up, I'd be facing them directly across the stage. The producers had made sure of it.
What a nightmare.
I felt as if I'd been living in one for the past few months. Every week, the TV continued to show me things that I didn't want to see. Dean's silent fury with Lana as they returned from the tribal council where I'd been betrayed. Lana had hastily backtracked, but Dean's fury would not be contained. It took several days for him to calm down, though he'd hidden it from the other contestants. I thought of Heather's confident assurances that he'd been in cahoots with Lana because he was constantly with her. Dean's confessionals to the camera revealed the truth—he was only with her all the time because he didn't trust her. If he left her alone, she might run off and scheme against him again. So Dean stuck to Lana's side, oblivious to the rumors about them that flew about.
One episode focused on Shanna's vote out. She'd tried to work her charms on Dean to stay on the island. I watched, chugging Pepto, as the model won an overnight reward at a hotel. She immediately invited Dean, which made the other two furious. I watched as she sat close to him at the dining table and reached over and touched his knee. Her smile was inviting. Skinny from hunger and tanned a deep brown, Shanna was still beautiful. I expected him to take the bait. Instead, he laughingly brushed her hands off and went to bed alone. His confessional was all about me—how he missed me, and how he didn't want anyone but me.
I wasn't sure if that made me feel better or worse. A mixture of both.
Eventually it was time for the finale, held in LA. They flew me out and kept me sequestered in a hotel. The next morning, a professional stylist and wardrobe consultant dressed me up. For the big finish I wore a plain white cocktail dress with a high waist and a tall halter neckline that tied at the back of my neck and left my back bare. It was lovely and showed the light tan that I'd kept (and evened out) long after the show was over. My shoes were simple white stilettos, and my hair was long and loose, curls cascading around my shoulders, and my makeup accented the green of my eyes. I looked amazing.
I wanted to be anywhere else.
I was kept sequestered before the finale—to keep everyone's reactions for the camera genuine, the assistant explained. The stage was dark as the jury was led out to their seats in the bleachers, with instructions not to talk until the episode was over. Dean and Lana were nowhere to be seen. I rocked in my seat nervously, anxious for this to be over with.
The show began, and I watched with my stomach clenched in anxiety. It played on a large screen overhead, and the audience was silent, rapt as they watched.
Lana and Dean were the only two contestants left, and the scene closed in with them on the beach. A confessional shot of Lana ran, and she smiled cheerfully at the camera, looking tired and dirty. She rambled about how she missed home and her family and was ready to get back to the real world… after she got the money, of course, she said with a grin.
The camera then cut to Dean. He grinned easily at the camera, a growth of dark beard lining his now-angular chin. He looked just as exhausted as Lana, but smiled at the question. "Well, I'm not quite ready to leave the island. I sure am looking forward to seeing Abby again, though."
Tears pricked behind my eyes.
"I've missed having her here with me. I liked this game better when it was just the two of us. I felt like… well, like I could trust her, you know? I haven't felt like that since she left. Feels…" he hesitated, and then gave a half smile to the camera. "Feels weird, I guess."
The cameraman said something unintelligible.
To my surprise, Dean blushed. He shrugged his shoulders and averted his face. "I think it's a little too early to talk about love."
My heart plummeted to hear that.
Dean kept talking, though. "But I do know that I miss her, and I want to see her again. I want to spend time with her away from a beach and in real life, and see if there's something there, you know?" He shrugged. "I can't describe it. I just… it's…" He struggled for a minute, looking for the right words. Then, he snapped his fingers. "You know how the first few days on the island, all I talked about was coffee and chocolate? I wanted sweets. Craved sweets. Needed them badly because I couldn't have them. That's how I feel about Abby right now. I crave her."
I felt my cheeks heat in the darkness, followed by the unhappy gurgle of my stomach. I was going to die of happiness.
I was going to throw up.
The show went through a few more jungle shots. Lana and Dean on the beach, scrubbing their skin with sand to clean up for the final Judgment. Lana and Dean chatting as they ate the last of the food in the camp. Lana and Dean walking to the final Judgment.
The final Judgment began. Dean's smile at the sight of me dimmed as the camera zoomed in on my coldly furious glare. It continued to flick back and forth between the two of us, recording our reactions as the jury questioned the last two contestants. The clips were shown out of order—and I could guess why. They were saving the most dramatic bit for last.
Then it came—the moment I'd been dreading. I watched in numb horror as the me-on-camera scrawled a name on the slate and held it up to the camera. "I'm voting for you, Lana. You have my vote because you admitted to lying, and you never tried to get in my pants to get what you wanted in this game. Dean, I did not vote for you. I'm sure that ruins all your little plans for world domination, and I hope it does. I hope you slept with every woman on this island and I hope your dick falls off because of it. You are the worst kind of person to sleep with a woman just because you wanted her vote. I actually thought there was something below that shallow surface of yours, but it looks like I'm the biggest idiot on this island, right? No longer. Lana, I hope you enjoy your two million dollars."
My tirade sounded even worse than I remembered. Bitter and angry, it poured forth from the TV, my voice ringing from the rafters of the studio. I cringed as the jury behind me began to snicker. As the me-on-camera slammed the slate into the crate and stomped away, I buried my face in my hands in sheer embarrassment.
The theme music began to play and the lights went up. The audience began to cheer.
I didn't look up, still utterly humiliated. I'd ruined everything. I'd been nasty and hateful to him when he'd been simply happy to see me again.
I couldn't look over at him.
Chip's voice boomed in over the roar of the audience and music. "Welcome to the finale of Endurance Island! Here, we'll declare one of these two contestants the winner of two million dollars!"
The audience cheered.
"And now, the moment you've all been waiting for… let's read the final tally."
I kept my eyes carefully averted, staring down at the floor as Chip began to shuffle the slates.
"The first vote… is for Dean."
A cheer arose from the audience. My nerves gave a little flutter of hope. Maybe my vote wouldn't matter. I looked hopefully over at Chip, unwilling to glance over at Dean across the stage.
Chip held up another slate. "Lana."
One vote wouldn't matter, I told myself. One vote.
The next slate. "Lana."
"Dean."
I hadn't seen my handwriting come up yet, and a nervous, sickly flutter began in my stomach again. The room grew tense as Chip pulled the next slate and carefully turned it. "Lana."
"Dean."
A fine sweat broke out on my body as Chip pulled up the last slate and stared at it thoughtfully. The audience was completely silent. I'd stopped breathing, my pulse pounding hard in my throat as I waited for him to expose my vote. As if pulled by unseen forces, my gaze slid over to Dean and I caught my first glimpse of him since that last night on the island.
Paler than the deep island tan, Dean's hair was cut swimmer short once more. Given what I knew about him now, this did not surprise me. He looked terrific, though. His face was clean-shaven and he wore a crisp gray suit with a green shirt that had an open collar. He looked casual and at ease despite the fact that we were on stage in front of an audience and on national TV to boot. His careful smile was easy and devastating all at the same time.
He glanced over at me. Our eyes locked.
I cringed and looked away.
"The final vote… and our winner of Endurance Island…"
Panic set in. I couldn't breathe. The world wobbled in front of me, blackness creeping around my eyes.
I turned and watched Chip slowly turn around the last slate, displaying my angry scrawl of handwriting. My furious voice piped in over the loudspeakers.
"Lana, I hope you enjoy your two million dollars."
The crowd erupted into cheers. Lana and Dean hugged, and Lana bounced up and down with sheer excitement. Everyone on the jury bleachers stood and began to hug each other as Chip began to chat into the camera, giving a bit of narration as the crowd went wild with excitement.
I stood up. The world weaved and my stomach was so upset I knew I was going to throw up. I couldn't stay on stage. I tore off my microphone and bolted. Like a chickenshit, I ran off, pushing through the mob of people to get backstage. Away from the lights that glared into my eyes and away from proof of what I'd done.
I'd cost Dean two million dollars. Any hope of ever speaking to him again had just gone out the window.
Shuffling into a back hallway, I ignored the production assistants that swarmed the back stage and leaned against the cool brick of the studio wall. People rushed past me with microphones and cameras, cords running all over the place. But now that I was off stage, I could finally breathe.
To make matters worse, I began to cry. Tears brimmed over my eyes and began to pour down my face, and I swiped at them repeatedly. This was stupid. I was not going to cry. I was not going to cry. I was not going to feel humiliated and lonely and like I'd made the biggest mistake of my life because I'd listened to others. I was not going to cry.
And yet I couldn't stop the hiccupped sob that broke from my throat. Hugging my arms close to my chest, I huddled against the wall, miserable and trying to keep the tears under control. Maybe they wouldn't notice I was gone. Maybe they'd cut to a commercial break and give me a chance to recover so I wouldn't go out there with red eyes and hiccups. Maybe—A warm hand touched my arm, brushing across the bare skin. "Hey, hey… don't cry."
To my horror, it was Dean. I stared up in surprise, brushing my hand across my cheeks again. He was even more devastatingly handsome up close, his eyes clear and bright, his skin with just a hint of tan, and that amazing sculpted jaw that never left my dreams. I longed to lean over and kiss him. Instead, that just made me cry harder.
He pulled me against him, cradling me against his chest. Warm arms wrapped around me and his hand stroked my hair as I wept. At that, I cried even harder. Dean holding me felt so good. I hadn't realized how much I'd missed him in the last few months, and how betrayed I'd felt when I thought he was using me.
Except he hadn't been. That just made me cry even more.
"Hey," he said in a low whisper, stroking my curls. "Don't cry, Abby." He gave me a little pat on the back and teased, "I should be the one crying. I lost two million dollars just now."
I choked on my tears and looked up at him in surprise. "That's not funny!"
Dean grinned down at me, his fingers brushing my wet cheeks. "Got you to stop crying, didn't it?"
My face crumpled a little at his sexy, playful smile. "You probably hate me now. I said some really horrible things."
"You did say some horrible things," he agreed. When I glanced down again, he put his finger under my chin and lifted my face so I was looking at him again. "But you didn't know what was going on."
Some of the awful tension in my shoulders eased, and my tears were drying up at his calm, soothing voice. I didn't move out of his arms, however; I liked being there far too much. "What do you mean?" I said in a wobbly voice.
Dean's smile turned sheepish. "I have to admit that I didn't exactly tell the others what was going on between us. It seemed a little personal and then you got voted off and I was so mad I couldn't see straight. But I couldn't let them see that or they'd vote me off too."
"I remember…" I said softly. I'd seen it all on TV.
"After you left, I didn't understand why you were so upset at me. Heather pulled me aside and tried to shame me for sleeping with you to get your vote. That's when I started to figure out what they were telling you. I didn't realize that all of them had been filling your head with all these stories about me and how I was just using you to get ahead. I talked to everyone and they all told me the same thing—they thought I'd been sleeping with you to get your vote, and they were shocked when I told them I thought what we had was the real thing."
I blushed at that.
"And then they mentioned you were a studio plant and you were working on a TV special and a novel about the behind the scenes gossip…" He let his voice trail off, letting me fill in the rest.
"It's true," I admitted. "I worked for MediaWeek and that was how I got on the show. I never applied. I didn't want to be on the show until my boss made me. But when I got home, I didn't… I couldn't…" I gave a small shrug. "I couldn't talk about what happened on the island. It was kind of… for me. You know?"
"You should have said something," Dean told me.
"You should have told me you were an Olympic swimmer," I retorted.
"I should have told you a lot of things," he admitted, pulling me close again. His head moved in closer to mine and I could see the blue of his eyes. "I should have told you that what we had wasn't some sort of ploy on the island to get ahead, and that I really liked you. And that I wanted to spend more time with you when we got home. But when you left, I didn't have any way to get hold of you."
This wasn't going how I had anticipated. I thought he'd be furious at me. Never want to see me again. And here he was confessing that he'd made a mistake? Dean Woodall? The cockiest man on the island?
"Abby?"
"What?" I said weakly.
"Do you… still want to give this another shot?" His mouth curled in the self-deprecating half smile I adored. "I'd love to spend time with you outside of the game, on a real date."
"But… the two million?" I couldn't get past that. "I just… I cost you a fortune, Dean. How can you ever forgive me?"
He laughed at that. "Abby, I have multiple endorsement deals. I don't need the show's money. I have plenty of my own." Dean brushed his fingers over my cheek as if he couldn't help himself and he had to touch me. His voice dropped a little. "Is that the only reason you won't date me?"
I reached up and placed my hands on the sides of his head, pulling his mouth down to mine. After a moment's hesitation, his hands grasped me tight against him and his mouth began to devour mine. Like that, all the months of uncertainty melted away, and there was nothing but the teasing lick of Dean's tongue against mine.
A deafening roar swelled around us.
We broke apart, and I stared up into the microphone hanging over our heads. The cameraman grinned at us from behind his equipment. Our happy little reunion had been filmed and we were on national TV. Figured.
Chip emerged from the crowd that had gathered, beaming at the two of us, still wrapped up in each other's arms. "Looks like you two had a happy ending," he sang out. "All's well that ends well, and it looks like everyone here tonight is a winner."
The crowd cheered. We could hear the roar, even backstage.
"Commercial break," an assistant yelled, and Chip immediately lost interest and wandered away. The cameramen departed and the gaffe swung the microphone away from us. To my surprise, the crowd departed, leaving only a smiling Jim Matlock behind.
He approached us with his hands wide open. "Before you two go back on stage and finish the finale, I just wanted to say thank you for making some entertaining TV this season." Jim beamed at both of us. "You made this season worth watching, and the ratings prove it."
Dean took my hand in his, as if unwilling to let go of me for a second, and it gave me a warm feeling. "Thanks, Jim, but I think both Abby and I would have preferred a less exciting season." He flashed a warm smile down at me.
I returned it, my heart brimming. "I wouldn't mind some quiet time at this point."
"Well now," Jim said, clasping his hands. "It's interesting that you say that, because I have a proposition for you two. How about the two of you hook up as a team for my show The World Race?"
Dean groaned at the same time I did.
"If you're not interested in that, how about a reality show—"
"No thank you," I said hastily, squeezing Dean's hand.
He pulled me away from Jim, shaking his head. "I want to spend the next six months with Abby… without a camera in our faces." Before the producer could come up with another argument, Dean steered me away from him, back toward the stage that we were contractually obligated to reenter.
"Is that true?" I said to him as we walked back out. "Do you want to spend the next six months with me?"
Dean grinned down at me and pulled me close, not caring that we were in view of the crowd and they had started to cheer again. "Six months is just the start of the game. If we work well as a team, I'd like for us to make it to the merge."
I tilted my head and looked up at him with a rueful smile. "I don't do so well at merges, remember?"
"You will with me at your side," Dean said and leaned down and gave me a long, satisfying kiss.
The audience roared their approval.
***
Sometime after midnight, the after parties were coming to an end. As soon as we had a free moment, Dean grabbed me and hauled me out to a cab. "Are you staying at the Four Seasons?" he asked me, even as he began to nibble on my ear.
"Second floor," I breathed, my nails digging into his arms as his teeth grazed my sensitive earlobe. I liked that far too much. "You?"
"Fifth floor," he said. "Wanna stay with me tonight? I have a suite."
"Sounds good to me."
It really, really did.
We raced through the lobby and into the elevator, ignoring the few partiers that tried to get our attention. We were done with Endurance Island and now it was time for our own personal reunion.
As soon as the door shut, Dean's mouth was on mine and my fingers were ripping apart the buttons of his shirt. He hastily shrugged off his jacket and began to work the dress ties at the back of my neck.
"God, you looked amazing tonight. I couldn't take my eyes off you," he said, between fervent kisses that he pressed to my bare shoulders. "I thought you were sexy on the island but you're totally blowing my mind in this dress."
"Then I should keep it on," I teased, pushing his shirt off him and displaying the tanned, ripped chest that I'd dreamed about for the last six months. I gave a sigh of pleasure at the sight and skimmed my hands over his abs. "You're so beautiful. I can't imagine what you see in me."
"You should be asking what I ever saw in other girls," he said, sliding the dress down my front and exposing my bra. He unclasped the front hook, exposing my breasts and nuzzling the pink nipple of one. "Though I do have to say these are amazing."
I gave a moan of delight, my fingers clenching against his ultra-short hair. "So you like me just for my boobs? Typical man."
He looked up, his arms locked around my waist, surprised. "Is that what you think of me?"
As he straightened, I felt flustered. Had I messed this up already? "Well, no. I just—"
Dean's hands cupped my face. "Abby, I like you because I respect you. You're one of the strongest girls I've ever met, and the funniest. I started to fall for you the moment you pushed me aside and made the fire for us. That's when I realized you were someone different than usual."
My mind focused on one part of that sweet speech. "You're falling for me?"
He kissed me again, his mouth gentle against mine. "I am. It seems silly to think you're in love after three weeks but…"
I knew exactly what he meant. "But those three weeks felt like plenty of time," I replied, smiling. It was true. I knew more about Dean and what he was like than I did anyone else. I knew the frown he got on his face when he was unhappy, I knew his playful side. I knew how much he loved to be in the water and how quickly he lost his temper at puzzles. I knew that he liked to put his hand on my belly when we slept, and that he liked to wake up early. I knew that he never wanted to eat another coconut in his life. Being only with each other for those three weeks had taught me that. And most of all, I knew that we were good together.
So I wrapped my arms around him again and gave him another long, exquisite kiss.
"What was that for?" He said.
I smiled at him and leaned in. "Time for the merger."
***
Six months later, Dean and I were married on the beach in the Cook Islands. Wearing nothing but tans and sarongs and beaming smiles, we held hands at sunset and stood ankle deep in the surf as one of the locals married the two of us.
The network was not invited.
The End