Chapter 27: Maia

"Are you happy with your Honeymooner?"

Maia prickled at the stupid language they'd concocted for the show and shook her head. "Not really."

"So you'd like to submit to swap?" The member of the production crew, who was standing across from her in the diary room, offered her an excitement-containing lip bite. Their dull eyes flashed with a light Maia would bet they'd never seen.

It was probably wrong for Maia to get a little bit of a thrill when she answered, "Not really."

They were caught in a three-way stare then. The producer staring at Maia, Maia forced to split her attention between the producer and the camera. The camera caught it all.

And it was the producer who broke the silence, of course.

"So you're not happy."

"Correct."

"Could you be happier?"

"Probably."

"But you won't take steps to get there."

"Unlikely."

The producer placed a hand to the side of his mouth as if to hide his words. As if there weren't a million other camera angles that could catch it and as if they weren't equipped with more microphones than they knew what to do with. "You know you're supposed to, like, have a good time on this show, right?"

Maia leaned back into the cushion, resting her elbow across the back of the loveseat. "I'm having a fine time."

"We don't have to do this every day, Maia," the producer complained with a sigh. "Can you just get to the part where you do what we fight about you doing? And then we can be done with this."

They wanted her to talk. They wanted her to monologue about all her feelings and about how she was really annoyed with what so-and-so said earlier but that she felt hopeful about where things were going with what's-his-ass. They wanted punchy little jokes to clip and air and her distress to use in previews.

She knew they wanted that. Like the producer said, they fought about it pretty much every day. And Maia knew that, technically, she'd agreed to be filmed. She'd agreed to live in this manor and participate in the necessary challenges and ceremonies. She'd agreed to do these diary entries.

But Maia had not agreed to put on a show.

She was not going to skip into this room and plaster a fake smile onto her face and gush about the men they'd plucked to be in this manor. And she, absolutely and unequivocally, was not going to bash any of the other women.

When things had gone down with Killian, they'd asked her if she felt any resentment towards Eloise. They'd asked again during the fight the other night, when they were trying to spin it like Killian and Silas were fighting over the other girl. They'd asked if she had any contention with Danica, after they'd seen Maia walk in on Maxon trying to persuade the other woman into his bed.

And what the hell was she supposed to say to any of that?

No, I don't feel threatened by Eloise because I know Killian only chose her when I wouldn't agree to be with him.

No, I don't think they were fighting over her because it all went down when Killian was whispering how beautiful he thought I looked.

No, I don't give a singular fuck if Maxon wants to get back with Danica because I prefer it when he doesn't pay attention to me.

Maia knew she was a bitch but she wasn't that much of a bitch. And she wasn't about to say anything that would put those girls in a bad light. For all her wariness of the show, she loved the other girls and she wasn't about to start shit just so the producers could scrape together an interesting episode.

So maybe she was being difficult. But she liked to think of it more as being loyal. To the girls and to herself.

She leveled one of her best glares at the producer. "What bullshit would you like me to spin for you today, then?"

The producer's suppressant, this time, was for his annoyance. "I'd like you to walk us through your reasoning for not swapping."

"I don't want to swap."

"Why?"

Maia's jaw clenched. "Why is the fact that I don't want to not enough?"

"Because—" He clattered his pen against his clipboard. "You've admitted that you like Killian," he tried.

"Yes."

"What do you like about Killian?"

What a trap. There was a lot to like, whether or not she wanted to admit it to herself. But she didn't want everything she liked about him to be aired for all of America. What if the footage got back to him, when this was all over, and he sought her out? What if he thought they had a future together, just because she'd complimented him?

But it wasn't like she could say nothing, either.

What if they made it look like there wasn't anything good to say about him? He didn't deserve that. He ran a business, for fuck's sake. She wasn't about to make him look like a dick on television, especially not for matters of romance.

That triumphant flash went off in the producer's eyes again and Maia fought the urge to present her middle finger.

"Killian's great," she finally answered. Confidently and without any pauses that could be misconstrued. "He's honest and hardworking. He's funny. Kind. Surprising. There's nothing bad I can say about him."

"Do you find him attractive?"

"I'm not blind."

"What about sexually?"

I'm not dead, she wanted to respond. Instead, she made an effort to deepen her frown and said, "If I try to say I don't, are you going to bring up the dry humping?"

The producer smiled, their first one since being forced to facilitate Maia's video diary. "Looks like you beat me to it."

"Are you trying to get me to say Killian's fuckable?" Maia asked wryly. "Okay, sure. Killian's fuckable."

"And what about the other Honeymooners—do you find any of them ‘fuckable?'"

She tried not to wrinkle her nose.

If Maia hadn't met any of them and they were presented to her in a lineup, she may have given an easy yes. Each and every one of them was a conventionally attractive dude that, abstractly, she might've fucked.

Unfortunately, she had met them. Silas was too possessive for her taste and Foster wasn't assertive enough. Maxon felt like an oily little worm and she unfoundedly felt that sex with Leith would be a little bit like negotiating terms of a deal she wasn't all that interested in.

"I'm good," she told the producer.

He smiled like he'd caught her. "Then what's stopping you from getting back together with Killian?"

"We were never together."

The producer rolled his eyes and corrected, in that language that made Maia cringe. "Then what's stopping you from honeymooning with Killian?"

"He chose Eloise."

"And yet, he's still pursuing you."

It felt useless to deny it but Maia did anyway.

"He is," the producer insisted. "Even Silas noticed it. So what's stopping you?"

"Because I don't want to."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want a relationship with him."

"Why?"

She understood that this was literally their job but Maia was starting to feel like this producer was an overly-curious five year old.

"I don't have to want to marry every man I want to fuck," Maia snapped.

"No one's asking you to marry him."

Not yet, maybe. But if Maia gave in? She could easily see it getting there. He'd charm her and they'd date and Maia would never refuse him the way she refused everyone else. She'd smile with him and laugh with him and she'd probably even love him and he'd do his level best to make sure she forgot every other relationship she'd ever witnessed.

Her mom would love him, too, and tell Maia to go for it. Her sister would be smug and insist Maia see it through, crediting herself with matchmaking since she'd forced Maia to sign up for the show. And they'd all ignore the fact that each of them had felt that way at the start of their relationships, too, before it all fell apart and left them heartbroken and alone.

And Killian would ask Maia to marry him and she'd accept and, down the line, some sort of fucked-up divine intervention would remind them all of what Maia had thought she'd known—that none of this shit was built to last.

Killian would be fine if it ended. He wasn't the type of guy to not be fine. Hell, Maia would probably be fine, too. Eventually. But then she'd be right back where she started, just with wasted time and a bone-deep sadness under her belt, not to mention the inability to trust herself ever again.

No, thank you.

This was better.

This had to be better.

So she wouldn't fuck him and she wouldn't date him and she wouldn't marry him and, under no circumstances, would she allow herself to love him.

Of course, that was too much to explain to the producer.

It was easier to leave.

Maia would not be disappointed. She would not fan the flames of that tiny part of her that was holding out hope for Eloise to make the decision Maia wouldn't. Actually, not a single one of the girls had made that choice, which was annoying in its own right, considering they'd only been given two opportunities to choose their own partners and both times they'd pissed it away.

She wasn't about to do it just to do it, though.

Unfortunately, that was how they found themselves in the side yard engaging in the most ridiculous shit Maia had ever seen. As soon as they'd stepped foot on the lawn, Lainey had wheeled out a muti-seat stroller loaded with wailing plastic.

Baby-shaped plastic.

She was going to kill her sister.

Lainey parked the stroller and moved to stand in front of it, raising her voice to be heard over the mini banshees.

"For this challenge, we're going to put each of you through a series of tests designed to measure your compatibility as parents. Unlike previous challenges, this one won't end before you go to sleep. You all will be responsible for your brand-new babies until tomorrow afternoon. Remember, Honeymooners who fail this challenge will be in danger of being evicted from the manor so you'll need to take this seriously."

Would it really be so bad if she?—?

"Now, the first steps to parenthood are going to be collecting your baby and filling out their birth certificate."

"I'm pretty sure that's not the first step," Maxon called from beside Maia.

Maia stepped away before he could grab her waist and do that obnoxious pelvis thrusting against her.

Lainey ignored the comment but gestured to the two of them. "Since you're so eager to get started, why don't you two make the first choice."

When Maxon didn't bother to make the first move, Maia stepped forward to collect the nuisance from the stroller seat closest to her. She felt foolish pretending it was a real kid so she just wrapped her fingers around the semi-squishy arm and yanked. Her efforts were immediately met with a recorded shrieking and she nearly dropped the baby when she tried to cover her ears.

"Christ, Maia!" Maxon shouted. "You're not trying to amputate it!"

"Oof, that's not a great start," Lainey observed.

Still uncomfortable, Maia rearranged the thing until it was cradled in her arms, sending Lainey one of her glares as she walked back to Maxon. The "birth certificate" turned out to just be a dry-erase board with lines for the baby's name, its parents' names, and a series of checkboxes across the bottom.

Maxon was about as annoying as the baby, with how hard he was pushing her to name their fictional child "Eminem" and it genuinely felt like more trouble than it was worth to argue. Besides, Maia was too busy rocking this fucking piece of plastic to get it to shut up. It was like the thing could sense that she had no maternal instinct and it railed against her.

Finally, she shoved the thing into Maxon's arms and made him bounce it. Her only consolation was that it seemed the other couples were having similar luck, their own baby's cries piercing the night.

Maia's ears would probably be ringing with it for months.

And Lainey just kept talking. "At the bottom of your birth certificates, you'll find a checkbox for each of the various challenges we're asking you to complete. For each successful challenge, you'll mark a box. To pass this week, you'll need to have at least three of those boxes checked." The host extended a pitying stare to each and every one of them. "Your first, you'll notice, was labeled ‘First Impressions.' I'd say by the crying we still hear that none of you have earned a check."

Well. If Maia had known that, she probably wouldn't have grabbed at Eminem like she was a sack of produce.

"Not to worry, though," Lainey continued, "there's still time to turn this all around. You've got four challenges left. The next one we've got for you is called ‘Baby's First Meal.' In the fridge in the backyard, we've stocked bottles of formula for you all. You'll be responsible for finding that formula, heating it up to body temperature, bringing it back here, and feeding it to your children. But! You'll only have five minutes to do it."

"I'll go," she whispered to Maxon before he could protest. She had to get away from the crying. "You stay with the kid."

He hadn't stopped bouncing and Maia warmed slightly at the paternal display. He didn't argue, at least. Only made her promise to give him the next challenge—great—and to let him watch her go—gross. When she caught a glimpse of the other couples, she noticed that the rest of them had pawned their kids off on the girls and subbed in the guys to be runners.

Sexist assholes.

To everyone's surprise, Foster took off sprinting as soon as Lainey started the timer, taking this challenge more seriously than anything else in his life. This, regrettably, sent Cora into a fit of laughter and their child—who had apparently been named Curly despite its bald head—into a more intense bout of screaming.

Maia kept pace with the best of them, not including Silas who had hung back and ultimately relied on his freakishly-long stride to get him there under time. So, she guessed, rather than the best of them, Maia kept pace with the ones who were being normal about this.

She approached the kitchen right about at the time Foster was popping one of the bottles into the microwave and she kindly refrained from telling him to never fucking do that unless he wanted to burn the shit out his child's mouth. Apparently, the sight had distracted her enough for Leith to shoulder his way through her and Killian, planting his massive body in front of the fridge as he snatched more bottles than a baby could realistically drink.

She saw why he'd done so only moments later, when his massive hands couldn't hold onto the slippery bottles and whatever solution was inside ended up on the concrete. But Leith only grabbed the next bottle and held it under the heating tap.

Killian swiped bottles next, handing two to her, and she returned the favor by gripping the back of his shirt to prevent his slipping on the spilled formula. Silas, of course, not having seen the accident, did so promptly upon entering the kitchen and blocked Maia's path to the sink.

But Killian saved her from tripping over him and grabbed her bottles, placing them in the sink under the flow before he bent down to help the other man to his feet. Maia had to turn away before either of them could see her lips tip up.

She wished she could tell Killian how much she admired him without it turning into a thing. Any nice thing she said to him would only turn into an opportunity for him to moon over her. Someone should tell him, though.

She imagined he was probably in a shit mood after the other night, thinking that the rest of the contestants thought the worst of him. Thinking their mistrust of him might extend to the outside world. She wanted to shake his shoulders and make sure he knew that she, at least, knew why he'd done it. Knew he'd only been trying to protect himself, only been trying to go after what he came here for.

Sometimes, Maia was weak. But she would not let herself be weak about this.

She put another of the bottles under the tap—she knew Killian would extend his heated one to Silas—and collected her own so she could begin the trek back to the side yard.

It was the last kindness she'd afford any of them.