Love you
London stared at the phone for long, useless minutes, wishing their twin’s ruthless honesty would magically reappear, even though they knew it wouldn’t.
Because the other thing London knew to be true about Julie was that she’d do anything in her power to protect those she loved.
Sighing, London threw the phone onto the side table, rolling back over toward Dahlia, pulling her close. They wrapped an arm around her stomach, finding her hands, twining their fingers together. More indistinct murmurs rumbled from her chest as she wiggled her butt into them, and they couldn’t help but smile into her hair.
London knew, deep down, that they didn’t need Julie to put two and two together for them. They didn’t like that she was hiding the details, but London could guess well enough. That having your child parading around in an identity you didn’t agree with, on national TV, no less, probably wasn’t an easy thing for a proud man like Tom Parker to swallow.
They just didn’t know what to do about it. What it would feel like, when they went back home, when they had to face their family and everyone they knew again. They’d outed themself to millions of strangers. They knew there would be fallout.
It was just so easy to ignore reality when they were on set. When they were here, next to Dahlia. London tucked their face into the warmth of her neck and closed their eyes, trying to calm their pulse.
Maybe Dahlia and London had more in common than just cooking. They still didn’t know exactly what Dahlia had meant, before she’d fallen asleep. But maybe London knew a thing or two about being a disappointment.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Dahlia squeezed London’s hand on the way back to the hotel from the set Monday night. They grinned at her. She grinned dumbly back.
The past weekend had been . . . incredible. Dahlia had decided to shove any lingering doubts about Chef’s Special out of her mind, and for this one, magical weekend, just be. No hashtags, no anxiety about eliminations. No cameras. She let herself have it all with London, one memory at a time.
Everything had felt carefree and fun, exploring LA together, filling their stomachs with tacos and bubble tea and laughter and wine.
And today the magic had continued, even with the returned pressure of being back on set. They had worked together on a special group challenge, along with the other remaining contestants, cooking a meal for the Chef’s Special crew. It felt so right, cooking side by side. Dahlia loved watching London work. Their plating skills were impeccable, so precise and beautiful.
They were an artist. All the best chefs were.
For her part, she had helped make several rounds of the most delicious pork tenderloin. It had been a rush, working on so many plates at once, and the crew had raved. It was so satisfying, cooking for someone other than the judges. It filled her belly with pride, cooking good food for good people.
They had another Elimination Challenge tomorrow. But as they walked into the hotel lobby, Dahlia didn’t feel nervous, full only of a restless kind of energy.
They walked toward the elevators, but Dahlia paused, tugging on London’s arm as an idea sneaked into her brain.
They quirked an eyebrow but followed without question, until Dahlia paused before two massive doors.
“I think it’s empty.”
Dahlia held her ear to the ballroom doors for another second before trying a handle. To her delight, it swung open. She pranced inside, light on her toes. She turned to London once she reached the center of the dance floor, now completely devoid of wedding revelers.
“We missed the slow dance, last time we were here.”
London ambled over to her, scratching the back of their neck.
“I don’t think we’re supposed to be here right now.”
“That didn’t stop you last time.” She smiled. A bubble of laughter escaped her throat as a flash of memory lit up her brain.
“You should have seen the panic on your face when that slow song came on. I had to steal that wine for us to save you.”
“It was a bad song anyway.” London dug their phone out of their back pocket. “Do you have a better one in mind?”
She shook her head. “Your choice.”
London was quiet a moment, scrolling through their phone. Dahlia bounced on her feet, fine with waiting. Fine with stretching out this night as far as it would go.
“That dress you wore that night . . . ” London glanced up at her for a second. “That dress was rude, Dahlia.”
“I had never worn it before.”
“Really?” London’s eyebrows raised a smidge, a corner of their mouth lifting. They were pleased, she could tell, that they were the only one who had seen her wear it.