Charlie lifts those huge gray eyes to Dev’s face. A splotchy pink blush has spread across his throat, and the absolute last thing Dev does is stare at any part of Charlie that is blushing right now. “What do I look like?” Charlie asks innocently.
The door to the wardrobe room opens again, and this time Maureen Scott swans in. “What seems to be the holdup?”
“The suit for the ball was made out of wool, and Charlie doesn’t wear wool,” Dev explains. “We’re finding him a different suit.”
“Oh, are we?” Maureen asks, her tone barely hinting at the layers of anger simmering beneath her affable surface. “And who authorized this?”
“I did,” Ryan says as he comes rushing back carrying a plastic dry-cleaner bag.
“Well, let’s hope our little diva finds this suit acceptable,” Maureen says with a smile. Charlie is wrestled into a suit an assistant purchased off a hotel guest, and Maureen watches him with a single raised eyebrow, her manicured nails tapping her forearm.
“Lovely,” she says when Charlie’s dressed. She grips him too tightly by both shoulders. “Don’t you look like the perfect Prince Charming ready for his ball?”
* * *
Quite predictably, it’s a shitshow.
Charlie doesn’t recover easily from the drama with his suit, and Megan doesn’t recover easily from her confrontation with Angie. It’s obvious the producers are spurring her along; in real life, away from the cameras and the pressure to win, Megan is probably a mostly decent person, if somewhat emotionally immature. But maybe because of her emotional immaturity—or maybe because she’s desperate to promote her YouTube channel by any means necessary—Megan gives in to the show’s worst impulses when it comes to pitting women against each other. At the start of the evening, she throws a fit, screams at Angie, then locks herself in the dressing room until Charlie is forced to come console her.
Daphne doesn’t recover from the earlier confrontation easily either, and in the middle of the ball, she unexpectedly makes a huge show of asking to speak with Charlie privately.
Angie is there, grabbing Daphne’s arm, hissing, “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone, Daph.”
She lightly nudges Angie away, takes Charlie’s hand, and guides him into a tiny space next to a bathroom. Dev, Jules, and Ryan all cram themselves in behind the two cameras.
“Is everything okay?” Charlie asks Daphne as they sit side by side on a bench.
“Yes, of course. I just wanted to… talk.” Daphne clears her throat. “We haven’t had much time tonight, and I want to make sure you know how much I like you.”
“Oh.” Charlie visibly relaxes. “I like you, too, Daphne.”
She pushes her hair behind her ears. “I wanted to show you how much I like you,” she says, like she’s trying so hard to sound brave. She puts her hand on Charlie’s thigh, and Dev understands exactly what’s about to happen. He has a weird impulse to shout cut. To intervene. To rescue Charlie and Daphne both.
But then Daphne is pulling him into a passionate kiss, and Charlie doesn’t look like he needs to be rescued. He meets every ounce of Daphne’s fervor with his own. They’re moving too quickly; she slides her hand up to his groin; he pulls her on top of his lap. His hands are in her hair, around her waist, up the front of her pink dress.
“Finally”—Ryan exhales quietly—“these two are giving us something we can sell.”
Cut, Dev wants to scream. Someone call cut.
Four days ago, he told Charlie to listen to his heart, and here Charlie is, doing just that, and it’s good. It’s right. It’s the way things are supposed to be. Charlie is their prince, and Daphne is the perfect princess, and this is all how it’s supposed to go. So why does Dev feel like everything is terribly wrong?