Chapter 52 – Public Moments of Intimacy
If the producers thought they could script every heartbeat between us, they were about to learn just how wrong they were.
Because chemistry like this? It didn't fit neatly on cue cards.
The morning after our "unscripted betrayal scene," the entire set buzzed like a hive shaken too hard. Contestants whispered in corners, crew members traded smirks, and the social media team barely looked up from their screens, probably monitoring the storm we'd stirred online.
"Trending in eight countries," a stylist chirped as she fussed with my hair. "The clip of you two last night already has over three million views."
I nearly choked on my coffee. "Three million?"
"Four now," she corrected with a grin. "People are shipping it hard. #UnscriptedLove is everywhere."
My face heated. The logical part of me screamed that this was bad—fans dissecting every glance, every smile, every brush of hands under a table. Yet the other part, the traitorous part, was… thrilled.
Because for once, people weren't rooting for some fabricated love triangle. They were rooting for us.
And that terrified me almost as much as it thrilled me.
The first test came during a live group challenge. Cameras circled like sharks as contestants paired off to complete a ridiculous obstacle course involving oversized foam props, glitter cannons, and an unholy amount of fake snow.
Naturally, I got paired with Dante.
"Coincidence?" I muttered as we took our places at the starting line.
"Not a chance," he replied, leaning down so only I could hear. His breath tickled my ear. "They're hoping we'll either combust or confess."
"Or both," I whispered back, heart hammering.
The whistle blew before I could process how close we were standing.
What followed was chaos—slipping on foam blocks, ducking glitter blasts, and shrieking with laughter when a bucket of snow dumped directly on Dante's head. He shook it off like a wet dog, sending icy flecks flying in every direction, including down the collar of my shirt.
"You did that on purpose!" I squealed, shoving him lightly.
"Never," he said with mock innocence, though his grin gave him away.
We stumbled through the course, hands brushing as we steadied each other, arms looping instinctively when one of us tripped. At one point, I lost my footing entirely, only to find myself scooped up into his arms before I could hit the ground.
The audience roared.
He didn't put me down immediately. Instead, Dante looked at me—really looked—while glitter sparkled in his hair and snow clung to his lashes.
"Careful," he murmured, voice low and warm. "I can't promise I'll always catch you this gracefully."
My breath caught. Cameras flashed.
And just like that, a private moment became public property.
Backstage, I tried to shake it off, but the teasing started immediately.
"Well, well," one contestant drawled. "That was some rescue. Should we call it an action-romance now?"
Another piped up, smirking. "You two planning to rehearse that kiss next?"
Heat rushed to my cheeks. Before I could stumble through a denial, Dante cut in smoothly.
"Jealous?" he asked, his smile razor-sharp.
The room went quiet.
I blinked at him, caught between shock and a laugh bubbling up in my chest. The others muttered and scattered, but not before shooting us looks sharp enough to cut glass.
When we were alone again, I smacked his arm lightly. "You're impossible."
He grinned, utterly unrepentant. "And yet you're still here."
That night, the producers scheduled a live interview segment. Which meant no edits, no second takes. Just us, sitting under blinding lights while a host peppered us with questions designed to stir drama.
I braced myself.
"So," the host began with a sly smile, "viewers are buzzing about your unscripted dinner scene. Tell us—was that real chemistry, or just very good acting?"
Every instinct screamed at me to deflect, to laugh it off. That was the safe answer.
But then I felt Dante's hand brush mine under the table. A small touch, deliberate and grounding.
I drew in a breath. Smiled.
"Maybe a little of both," I said softly.
The audience erupted.
The host raised his brows, clearly not expecting me to play along. "Interesting. And do you two always improvise this well together?"
Dante leaned forward, his voice smooth but his eyes locked on me. "Only when it matters."
My heart fluttered. I forced myself to glance away before the cameras caught the full force of my blush.
The host tried for more questions, but the crowd had already decided—they were in love with the idea of us. Hashtags flew across the live feed, hearts scrolled faster than the tech crew could moderate.
And for the first time, I didn't feel dread at the exposure.
I felt exhilarated.
Later, as we slipped away from the chaos of the set, I finally let out the laugh I'd been holding in.
"You're going to get us in trouble," I said, shaking my head.
He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms, looking infuriatingly smug. "Me? You're the one who admitted it wasn't just acting."
"That was a slip," I protested, though my grin betrayed me.
"Mm-hm." His eyes sparkled with mischief. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "So, if I asked you right now… would you tell me the same thing off camera?"
The air between us crackled. My pulse thundered in my ears.
"Maybe," I whispered, daring myself to meet his gaze.
His answering smile was devastating. "Then I'll take that as a yes."
Before I could retort, footsteps echoed down the hall. We stepped apart, but the tension lingered, humming in the air like a secret no one else could quite touch.
The next morning, headlines screamed our names.
"Unscripted Sparks Fly—Are They Real?"
"Fans Obsessed with On-Camera Rescue"
"Chemistry Too Hot to Fake?"
I scrolled through comments with shaky fingers, my heart doing somersaults. Fans weren't just watching. They were invested. They believed in us.
And though the thought of public intimacy once made me want to hide, now it felt… different. Like validation. Like proof that what I felt wasn't one-sided or delusional.
I wasn't just falling for Dante Chase behind the scenes. I was falling in front of the world.
And for the first time, I didn't want to stop.
Of course, Dante had to make it harder.
During rehearsals that afternoon, the producers staged a "romantic duet" challenge. Nothing subtle—two people singing together under soft lights, with plenty of opportunities for longing gazes.
We took our places onstage, spotlights casting everything else into shadow. My nerves thrummed.
He leaned close, voice just for me. "Relax. Just follow my lead."
The music swelled. Our voices blended. And somewhere between the first verse and the chorus, I forgot about the cameras.
Because the way he looked at me—like I was the only thing anchoring him—wasn't performance. It was raw. Real.
By the final note, the crowd was on its feet. Applause thundered, fans chanting our names together.
I stood frozen, breathless, while Dante leaned down and whispered, "See? Magic."
And when he laced his fingers through mine, right there on stage, I didn't pull away.
The world saw it. The world cheered it.
And my heart didn't care.
Because this wasn't just a slow burn anymore. It was fire.
As the lights dimmed and the applause echoed, I realized something.
I wasn't scared of public moments anymore.
I was scared of what would happen if they stopped.
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