“I’m watching it,” I say firmly, and they sigh but don’t fight me.

I sink into the couch and stare at the screen. Sam is looking at the interviewer, a grimace on his face. I wonder what he’s thinking. Does he hate this? How public his life has become? Or is he just thinking about how quickly he can get Sabrina alone again, get her naked and tie her up? Maybe he’s worried I’m going to tell her what happened and ruin this for him.

“Well, we aren’t exactly—” Sam begins.

Sabrina jumps in. “Who told our secret?” She turns to Sam. “I thought we weren’t going to tell yet?”

He reaches up and tucks a lock of her hair behind her ear. I think I’d rather have him kick me in the face.

Sabrina looks back to Ina. “It’s hard, you know, falling in love with so many eyes on you. I didn’t want to make a spectacle of our relationship, and Sam here kept telling me he was done being so secretive.” She squeezes Sam’s hand. “What was it you said last month? You wanted to ‘shout it from the rooftops’?” She tugs her lip between her teeth and breathes a dreamy sigh.

She’s so damn pretty. I don’t normally find myself comparing my looks to those of other women. Insecurities are Hanna’s department. It’s not that I think I’m all that, but I grew up watching Hanna feel bad about her looks. I know damn well that she’s beautiful, so her insecurities taught me that beauty comes in all packages and I should appreciate mine for what it is.

Whether or not I was the prettiest girl in the room never mattered much to me. I always believed there would be a guy who thought I was prettier than anyone else in the whole world, just because I’m me. I didn’t need every guy I met to think I was beautiful. I just wanted to, someday, with some guy, be the prettiest girl in the room to him.

Sam did that for me. I wonder if he makes Sabrina feel the same way.

“I think it’s just precious that you two were trying to keep your relationship quiet.” You can tell the host is so damn psyched to have this interview that it’s all she can do to keep from bouncing in her seat.

Sam, on the other hand, looks as if he’d rather be hung by his toenails. “It was what Sabrina wanted,” Sam says. “And I respected that. Until someone took that decision from our hands, that is.”

“Well, you two made it clear that you won’t talk about the tape during this interview, but can you tell me what you thought when it was first leaked? And are you worried about who leaked it?”

Sabrina laughs. “My first thought was, ‘My mom’s going to see this.’” The women laugh together then Sabrina’s face goes serious. “We don’t know who’s responsible for the leak, but my laptop was hacked a couple weeks ago. We thought someone was looking for campaign secrets, but look what they found instead.”

“It was a violation of our privacy,” Sam says. “We’re still reeling.”

Ina nods sagely. “Shall we talk about how you met? Sabrina gave us these pictures.” The screen cuts to images of Sam and Sabrina when they were young: a bare-chested, younger Sam sitting on the edge of the pool, and awkward, gap-toothed Sabrina sitting next to him. The way she’s looking at him, you can tell she’s crushing hard. But Sam seems completely oblivious to her.

In the next picture, the two look as if they’re on their way to prom or something. Sabrina’s in a big froofy dress that swallows her up, and Sam’s in a suit and tie. Other images follow—the two at family gatherings, political balls, fundraisers, and cookouts, and in almost every image, Sabrina seems to be gazing longingly at Sam, and Sam seems to be clueless to her existence.

When they cut back to the couple in the studio, Sabrina is giving Sam one of those puppy-dog-love looks again. Only this time, she has his hand in hers and he’s looking right back at her. I want to believe that what he has on his face isn’t love, that it isn’t adoration. I want to believe he’s looking at the product of political convenience. Once the sex-tape scandal has settled, his relationship with Sabrina might even be good for the campaigns—Christine’s and Mr. Bradshaw’s.

Only I’m not convinced this is a political move. Sam wasn’t interested in using his personal life to advance his father’s career. But still, my gut tells me I’m missing something, that Sam would never have had sex with me on Saturday when he planned to marry another woman.

My brain says I’m delusional and have horrible taste in men.

Frankly, I still haven’t wrapped my head around the fact that he never called. I moved up here and started my new job, but in all other ways my life was on hold, as I waited for Sam to forgive me. I know I could’ve called him, but it didn’t feel as if I had the right. So I wrote that letter instead.

I carried that letter in my purse for weeks, feeling like the biggest coward in the world because I couldn’t bring myself to put it in the mailbox. But now he’s getting married, and I’m grateful I never sent it. I have waking nightmares of Sabrina reading the letter and laughing with Sam about how stupid I am.

“I think I’ve always loved Sam,” Sabrina says. “Our families have been close for years, so we grew up around each other. He’d come to our house in the summers, and here I was, this dorky, awkward teenage girl. He was this hunky, slightly older football player. I was lost.”

“Gag me,” Krystal says. “Are they for real?”