Page 36 of The Final Rose

I bury the beaniepast my brows. My hands shake when a gust of cold wind cuts through. I’m told this is the mild season, but my Californian ass is freezing and I’m pretty sure by the glint in Sebastian’s eyes, he’s relishing in my misery.

I usually like filming outside, but this time is different. I hate the cold and wet wind on my face. But I love where we are.

Sebastian was tasked with creating perfect dates to bring each girl and show them around London. And of course, like everything he does, he nails it.

I bite my lip, trying to keep the pure envy out of my face. I’m walking alongside Justin, the boom man, the earpiece secure in my ear as we follow the adorable couple.

Vera and Sebastian.

She looks glorious in a mid-length emerald green skirt and a black jacket that is the elevated version of my own. She laughs, throwing her soft caramel hair back, with an arm looped around Sebastian’s as they talk and walk down the lane.

This little alley, moments away from Leicester Square, is a treasure. And sure, at first, I made a face when he told us to bring poor Vera for a date in an alley, and I had to remind him we weren’t that kind of show. But this date? It’s nothing short of perfection.

The alley is a secret spot for second-hand bookshops that in fifty years haven’t changed their front. It’s like stepping back in time, every single shop front takes my breath away.

Sebastian handed Vera a cup of coffee and now is letting her browse all she wants. Her fingers trail each spine while she makes a comment about each title.

It’s not that I want to be on this date. Of course not.

It’s just that this place is a hidden gem and instead of smelling the books myself, I’m here listening to other people gush about it.

Sebastian is also annoying me.

His accent grew thicker since we landed, and his mannerisms are perfectly timed. He says the right things, smiles at the right cues, and asks insightful questions.

With her, he’s not a sarcastic pain in the ass.

He’s supposed to show her his real self, right? They are supposed to fall in love, but how can Vera fall in love if he keeps her at arm’s length?

That’s why I’m so annoyed. Because clearly, I’m more committed to this whole thing of finding him a wife than he is.

Hiding who he is means not giving Vera a fair chance. And if he’s not going to give Miss Perfect a chance, what the hell is he even doing?

And God, she’sperfect. Like right now, when she’s walking like the most beautiful dream as she talks about her super important and difficult STEM job. EvenIwant to marry her.

“Sosa, get going.”

I’m ushered inside a bookshop when Jeff announces we have enough footage from the outside. Honestly, this whole thing is a bookworm’s wet dream, and I’m getting more envious at each step.

I can’t even remember the last time I read a book. Like an actual book. Not a script or a magazine. It was probably thePretty Little Liarsbooks in middle school.

But liking books is a state of mind. I do wish I could read more. I do wish I could stop to smell the pages.

I don’t know why my lack of reading time is suddenly Sebastian’s fault, but it is. And so are my cracking lips and chipped nails. I’m trapped in my bad mood and now even the way I look bugs me.

I pass a storefront and fix my outfit. And then, I need to shake myself off.

This is not me.

I don’t care about any of that. If I did, I wouldn’t be working on a show where everyone is literally beautiful enough to burn your retinas.

I'm Sosa. I’m all about hard work, junk food, and late-night TV. My nail polish isalwayschipped because as much as I love to see them in color, I don’t have time to keep them up.

My hair plays in a weird mix of wavy and curly, depending on the day’s humidity. My legs are strong because they bring me up and down the set, and everything about my body is about sustaining my brain.

That’s me. But as I walk to Sebastian and Vera, I feel like crap.

A small and ugly pimple on the beautiful canvas of London.