I realised I haven't put a disclaimer in this story yet. O.K, I don't own any of the characters in This Lullaby (or Mark, who I've borrowed from Keeping the Moon, or Olivia, who features in this chapter and I've borrowed from Lock and Key). I only own the plot. Okies?

Ten

"Remy?"

Something sharp and hard dug into my side as a rushed voice whispered in my ear. I was jolted back to the present and shook my head, letting the scene around me fall into place. Mark – whose elbow had slammed into my ribs in an attempt to rouse me – and Jonathan to my left, Paul to my right. And Dan, creative director, in front of me. Dan. Crap, crap, crap.

"Sorry," I said, shaking my head again. "I was, er…"

"Away with the fairies," Dan finished for me, with an irritated look on his face. "Please try and concentrate, Remy. Are you or are you not a main feature in this show?"

I smiled apologetically and shifted in my chair. I hadn't been away with the fairies, I thought, as once again Dan went through the complicated set-up of tomorrow's season finale. I had been away with Dexter, reliving the times before he'd taken my heart and stomped on it.

"Remy." Dan was definitely pissed off now. "Tell me, if you can, what I just said."

In a panic I looked down at my notes, to find with surprise that I had written Enter stage left and take new host Zack's arm. I repeated this aloud, and this seemed to satisfy Dan, at least for now.

I'd met the new host yesterday, and he'd been nothing like Dexter. For one thing, he hadn't knocked my new phone clean out of my hand. That would have involved him actually coming three feet near me. Zack had shot me a look that clearly said, "Hello, unimportant person," and carried on his way.

"See you for Friday's show!" I'd shouted at the back of his head in some sort of embarrassed spasm, though he had pretended he hadn't even heard me. Well, that suited me fine. It wasn't like I was going to get involved with him, or anything. I wasn't going to get involved with anyone ever again.

My stomach lurched as I thought back to what I'd said. See you for Friday's show! The producers had moved the season finale up a week after the relationship between Dexter and I had been leaked to the press, in the hopes that they would still pull in big ratings before the buzz wore off. This at least meant that I no longer had to eliminate one contestant, and for that I was grateful.

The downside was that I had to eliminate two, and pick my winner. That was kind of hard to do considering I now knew all three of them were screwing me over.

Dan finished his talk-through, gesturing wildly with his hands to represent the fireworks that would appear once I'd chosen my winner, before sinking back in his chair and putting his head in his hands. "You may go," he said, sighing, and we left quietly. It was a badly kept secret that Dan felt he was under-appreciated.

As we stepped out of the room, Jonathan hooked a hand through the arc of my arm and pulled me to one side. This, I have to admit, threw me, and I lost my balance completely, ending up on my ass. Already I knew this was not going to be a happy conversation.

"Remy," Jonathan began, and to my horror his bottom lip jutted out in some sort of pout. He had got to be kidding me. "I have always hoped we have an open relationship, right?" Relationship was pushing it, I felt, but instead I simply nodded and waited for him to get to his point. Jonathan sighed, clearly uncomfortable, and then took the plunge. "Is it true, about you and Dexter?"

Even though I had been expecting it, I still recoiled a little and had to bite my lip from automatically biting his head off. Instead, I took a deep breath and said levelly, "That is none of your business, Jonathan." His mouth twisted apologetically.

"I'm sorry," he said, though clearly he wasn't. "You can't knock a guy for being jealous." And then, taking me by surprise, he leaned in so that I could taste the Listerine on his breath. "I'm really into you, Remy. Let me take you out for dinner so we can celebrate the end of the show. Are you up for that?"

Aw, geez.

"I don't know," I admitted, trying to take a step back and instead finding all I had behind me was wall. "I have plans with my family…" Lies, all lies.

Jonathan. "Think about it," he said, and he disappeared. Thank God.

I was just about to reach into my bag and call Jess – calling Lissa was risky these days, as she was still obsessed with Dexter, and I really didn't want to talk about him – when Mark appeared, in his hand a red rose. Clearly, today was a day for buttering up Remy.

"Hello," he said, in a manner I think he was assumed was suave. I had to choke down a laugh, and focused my attention on accepting the rose. Well, I wasn't about to turn down free flowers. "How are you, Remy?"

"I'm fine," I said, fudging a bit. I didn't feel like sharing my insecurities over tomorrow night's show with him.

"Nervous about tomorrow?" Mark inquired with a wink, and my stomach turned. I must have looked uneasy, since he poked me jokingly in the ribs – more gentle than earlier, thank God – and said, "Relax. It's an easy choice." He grinned again. I reciprocated weakly.

"Sure," I said. It was easier just to agree.

"Well," Mark continued, looking satisfied. "You want to see a movie tonight? To commemorate our time on the show, I mean. Not that we won't have time to see each other after, of course…" Ugh. Kill me.

What was this? I hadn't received this many date offers since the summer my boobs arrived. Clearly today was a last-dash attempt on the part of all three of them to win my affection. Or at least trust.

Since I was in need of more material to work with before I made my choice, I shrugged nonchalantly and said, "I'll think about it." Let's see what he made of that.

Surprisingly graciously, Mark nodded his head. "Call me later," he replied, and kissed my hand before walking away. Poof-poof, two gone like magic. One more to go.

And like clockwork, as I was walking down the corridor I was grabbed by a third pair of hands and tugged into an empty store closet. Before I could speak lips were pressed onto mine and I felt Paul's hands in my hair. Ah, finally. Someone who spoke my language.

"Paul," I whispered, dragging my mouth away from his. "Please. I think this could be considered as bribery."

"Is it working?" he asked, peppering kisses along my collarbone. I had to admit, my brain was going a little fuzzy. It had been a while.

"Maybe," I said, taking hold of his head and bringing it up to be level with mine. "Keep talking."

I know it was wrong, and that it was Paul – who was lying to me – but old habits died hard. I was hurting after Dexter had cracked my armour and then cracked my heart, and I was in dire need of being comforted. If Dexter wouldn't have me, then I'd take anyone. And as Paul's hands slid down to my jeans I pushed all thoughts of Dexter from my head and lost myself in what I knew best.

"How's the salad?"

I looked up from my half-empty plate to see Jonathan chewing on a breadstick anticipating my reply. I wondered how many adjectives could be used to describe something as nondescript as salad, before settling for 'fine'. His 8oz steak was already long gone, the plate clean. Mentally, I added 'human vacuum" to his list of attributes.

The conversation was slow, and I found myself slipping off into dreamland a few times throughout the evening. If I had found Jonathan barely bearable before, he was slowly declining into thoroughly humdrum. Personally, I couldn't wait to leave.

Once my plate was clear and the bill had been paid – Jonathan took care of it, as he should have done for such a sucky night – he offered his arm to walk me back to his car, as if I needed aid to walk. It was gentlemanly behaviour, I appreciated that, but it felt like a device to keep me in his company longer to influence his decision. But I had a feeling my mind was already made up.

I sank down into the passenger seat, eyes closed, listening to Jonathan's footsteps as he walked around the car to his door. Arching my back I stretched my arms down the side of the leather seat, fingers curled round the leather. The seats at the restaurant had been so stiff, I swear –

Wait.

My fingers froze as they closed around something underneath the seat. Something… silky. Edged with lace.

Ew.

I dropped the panties immediately, making a face as Jonathan slid into the seat next to me. I said nothing, because I didn't want to make a scene. Besides, it made no difference to me. It just meant that Jonathan was out. That was the last straw.

"There's nothing like a good chick flick, right?"

I raised my eyebrows as Mark said this. That statement was bordering on kiss-ass Ken behaviour, something I would have expected from Jonathan, not him. I just hoped that the rest of the evening wouldn't follow the same.

I'd called Mark as soon as Jonathan had dropped me home, eager to squeeze in as much time with my three suitors as I could before I was forced to choose tomorrow. I had just under 24 hours left before my whole life changed. I wasn't particularly enthused about fighting a losing battle – after all, whoever I chose would end up splitting the prize money with the others – but in order to save face I didn't want to make a fool of myself on television. I had to pick somebody I could at least be able to pretend I supported.

Mark was still watching me, waiting for an answer, so I shrugged. "Right."

We settled down into our seats at the Vista 10, where I had been sent to buy popcorn from a girl with braids – who seemed more interested in her cell phone than the five dollar bill I was wafting at her – whilst Mark had bought two tickets for the latest Matthew McConaughey. Don't get me wrong, I liked Matthew McConaughey. I just never pegged Mark for that type.

The film was O.K, as far as films go. The plot was predictable, the gags funny enough to titter at. The only thing was Mark's persistence in "accidentally" bumping my knee with his, and then using that as an excuse to whisper "sorry" in my ear. It happened several times throughout the feature, and I was thoroughly glad to get free of his touchy-feeliness once we re-entered the lobby.

"So," I said, working up my best cheery smile. "Thanks for a great night. This was fun." Mark rubbed my shoulder as he grinned back.

"No problem. It's been awesome getting to know you, Remy."

I took a step backwards, trying to evade him bit by bit. "Likewise, Dexter." I froze, realising my mistake as Mark's face twisted in confusion.

"Huh?" he asked, his expression goonish as I tried my best to figure out how to talk my way out of it. "What did you call me?"

"Nothing," I settled for saying, and adopted a sort-of 'what are you talking about?' look in the hopes that he'd assume he heard wrong. "I'll see you tomorrow, Mark."

And then I ran for the hills.

Turning a corner down into an alleyway, I stopped for breath. Well, whether I liked it or not my decision had been made. There was nothing left to do now except return home and get in a good 8 hours, ensuring I looked my best on television tomorrow. But as I prepared myself to return back to the main street, I heard a ruckus to my right and saw the back door of Bendo swing open, and three silhouettes come into sight. I shrank back, listening to their voices.

"… I don't care if he's having a tough time. He gets one more week of 'figuring himself out' or whatever crap he's pulling and then Dexter gets kicked out of the band." Ted.

"Ted…" This voice I recognised as John Miller's, higher-pitched and more whiny. "You know he's upset about losing his gig on the show." Asshole. Of course he didn't care about losing me.

"I don't care, he's being a baby. Where even is he, anyway?" John Miller made a noise like he'd started to say something, and then thought the better of it.

"I don't know," he said, eventually, but something told me he was lying.

"Well, like Ted says," Lucas added, shaking a cigarette out of his packet. "If he doesn't come back to us soon, he's out. I've been in a lot of bands and I know a band can't work without a lead singer. We need one, one way or another."

Then the voices started fading away as they continued down the alleyway towards, no doubt, wherever they had parked the white van. The white van was like their own personal Batmobile, stark-white with their band logo painted on the side. Once upon a time, or so Dexter had told me, it had been in poorer shape, barely holding together long enough to get them across the country.

I straightened from where I had been crouched against the wall, and started towards the orange light of the streetlamp. But a voice from behind me stopped me, and I jumped three feet into the air, heart pounding.

"Remy?"

Whirling around, I saw who it was, and clutched my chest. "Holy crap, John Miller, you scared me to death." He smiled apologetically, burying his hands in his pockets.

"Sorry," he said. "How much of that conversation did you hear?"

I flushed, knowing now I'd been caught. "Enough," I returned truthfully. "Dexter's AWOL, huh?" John Miller nodded. "Well, power to him. Coward." He screwed up his face, looking conflicted, before finally sighing.

"Remy?" he asked, and his mouth stretched uneasily. "I think we need to talk."