Chapter Three
The jeep rattled to a stop at the top of the gravel drive, spitting dust up behind it. Alexis stared out the window as her sunglasses slid down her nose. To her right, vineyards rolled down the hillside in neat, undulating rows, and the morning mist still clung to the valleys below.
The villa stood ahead with its limestone walls, terracotta roof tiles, and shutters painted a soft lavender that matched the fields to its left.
Ivy spiraled up the walls. Wrought-iron balconies with climbing roses extended from each window, and the cobblestone courtyard looked bleached from the sun.
In the center was a fountain, with production tents set up on a large patch of grass off to the side.
It was beautiful. Very different from last season’s Hawaii villa with its palm trees and ocean breeze, which should have made Alexis feel something like relief or excitement. Except it didn’t.
All she felt was a big knot of regret. Regret for not thinking this through, for saying yes like it was nothing, for believing she could somehow convince America that Alexis Wolf wasn’t the villain she’d been edited into.
Though fine, she did have to remind herself every so often that she had tried to blackmail her way to winning.
It was no secret that poor Skye had seen the worst of her.
Lucy too. It wasn’t exactly her finest moment in life, but did that make her a terrible person?
No. Maybe a little too competitive, though.
Which was why she needed this. To show the viewers the real, raw side of her.
It was imperative that they got to know this side of her she barely even remembered—the side she was trying desperately to find again.
She needed America to see the side of her that once at sixteen, had baked a tray of chocolate chip cookies for her elderly neighbor.
Edmund, the neighbor’s cat, had just died of lymphoma, and Alexis wanted to take some of the woman’s heartache away.
Viewers needed to see the side that used to smile at people on the street, offer her seat on the bus, and kick the soccer ball back to the kids at the park instead of stepping over it.
She wanted them to see the side of her that life had altered with broken promises, heartbreaks that felt like traffic accidents for her soul, and an endless string of bad choices.
Alexis moaned and pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the window. “Fuck,” she muttered under her breath. “What the hell was I thinking saying yes to this?” Fuckity fuck!
She considered asking the driver to turn around and drive right through the wrought-iron gates with the name Villa Amour scripted across the archway in looping gold letters and take her back to the airport.
It wouldn’t be beneath her to beg him to take her back to the US.
But just then the door yanked open and a man in a black suit, sweating at the temple, glared at her.
“Madame,” he said gruffly in a thick accent. “You have to get out now.”
Alexis smiled weakly and did exactly that.
She climbed out of the car, and then her attention was immediately grabbed by a woman walking toward her, waving as if they were best friends.
The woman had a whirlwind of blonde, curly hair held back by a bright blue scarf that fluttered in the breeze.
She wore loose jeans and a white T-shirt rolled up at the sleeves.
“Ms. Wolf,” she said, extending a hand when she was just a few short feet away. “I’m Elise Mercier. Executive producer. Welcome to Villa Amour.”
Alexis blinked and tried to summon some charm. She was trying to look as if she had a shred of excitement in her soul, but all she managed was a tilt of her head and a scrunch of her brows. “Where’s Marla?”
Elise’s smile faltered just a fraction before she squared her shoulders.
“Oh, ummm… Marla’s moved on to another project.
This season is a fresh start. You’ll see as we go along.
There are a few new twists.” She grinned as if the changes were all her idea.
“We’ll only be having ten contestants this season.
A little cozier, hopefully, and viewers now have live input in choosing dates and activities.
Also, you’ll actually be staying here at the villa with the contestants instead of having separate accommodations.
But I’ll explain all of that later. First, I want to introduce you to someone new this season. ”
She gestured toward the villa, and Alexis’s eyes immediately landed on a tall, striking woman leaning against the stone wall, glancing down at a clipboard in her hand.
“Alexis, meet Vivian Michaels. She’ll be your host this season.”
Vivian pushed off the wall as a grin spread wide across her face. “The infamous Alexis.” The woman stuck out her hand. Her fingers were exceptionally long, and her nails were polished a deep red. “I’ve always loved a villain.”
Alexis’s mouth dropped open. “Wow,” she stammered. “Good to know subtlety’s still dead.” She wasn’t sure if she should be offended. And even if she was, she wasn’t sure what she was going to do about it.
Vivian simply laughed. “You’ll find I don’t bother with subtlety. Welcome to Villa Amour. Shall I give you the grand tour?”
Before Alexis could object or come up with an excuse to run to the nearest restroom, Vivian already had her hand on Alexis’s back and was leading her through the arched doorway.
“This is the entrance hall,” Vivian said, flourishing her hand across the expansive space.
“We’ll be doing all the flower ceremonies in here.
” She pointed up to the ceiling painted with faded frescoes of cherubs.
“That’s seventeenth century, though the wings were retouched more recently.
” She tilted her head up, gave a squint, and sighed. “Pigeon incident, apparently.”
Alexis barely had time to look before Vivian ushered her into another room. This one was a sitting room with velvet armchairs the color of Bordeaux and a marble fireplace so massive it could’ve doubled as a chapel.
“So,” Vivian said, plucking a peach from a porcelain bowl on a side table. “How was your flight?”
“Fine,” Alexis replied, a little too quickly.
She was nervous. It would be weird if she weren’t, wouldn’t it?
She wouldn’t be human if she weren’t. Last season’s viewers had called her cold and soulless, and she had no illusion that some of this season’s contestants had already seen the show and filed her neatly into that category.
The thought made her stomach knot itself into tiny pretzels.
“Just long.”
“Of course. Direct from PDX?” Vivian asked, already pivoting down a hallway lined with gilt-framed portraits of solemn-looking Frenchwomen.
“Yes,” Alexis said, trailing after her. “And no, I don’t have jet lag yet.”
Vivian glanced at her over her shoulder and then stopped next to a narrow console table with a vase of fresh lavender. “I wasn’t going to ask about jet lag.”
“Oh,” Alexis said, mortified.
She had no idea why she’d even said what she said.
It was just that people always asked about jet lag.
It was an icebreaker. A conversational crutch.
Apparently, a useless one. Which made her feel even more nervous now.
What if she said something stupid to the contestants?
What if the cameras caught her blanking, fumbling, or worse, rambling the way she did when she was trying too hard?
Last season, she had been on the other side of it, just one of the contestants.
The pressure had been lighter because it had been spread among the group.
But now the pressure was all hers. She was the lead.
The star. More accurately, the villain who was trying to pass herself off as a heroine.
Vivian bit into the soft peach and stared at her. “So, have you been to Provence before?”
“No,” Alexis replied, shaking her head, hating the sound of Vivian’s chewing. She had self-diagnosed misophonia and would probably have remarked on it if she weren’t trying to be a better person. “I’ve only been to Paris, and that was years ago.”
“The city of love,” Vivian said, taking another large bite of her peach. “Do you speak any French?”
“I don’t.”
“Have you ever dated a French woman?”
Alexis shook her head.
“Do you actually believe redemption arcs work, or do you think the producers are making a mistake bringing you in this season?”
Alexis blinked. “Excuse me?”
Vivian grinned wide and unbothered. “Just trying to get a sense of you. Quick questions, quick answers. It helps me read people.” She took another bite of the peach and added, “You’d be surprised at what people give away when you catch them off guard.”
“Good to know,” Alexis muttered, making a mental note to keep her guard up.
Vivian laughed and led her into the dining room. It was a soaring space with high ceilings and glass walls that framed the rolling vineyards. “So, when last did you sleep with someone?”
Alexis froze with her mouth half-open at the question.
It was a ridiculous question and way too invasive.
She was absolutely not going to answer it, and she was just about to say that, but then suddenly Birdie’s face crashed into her mind.
She could picture the way she’d fumbled with her honey-blonde fringe, pink cheeks, eyes darting nervously when Alexis had suggested they go to a hotel.
Alexis remembered how it had made her chest tighten and how it had made her want to lean in closer just to see if Birdie’s nervousness could somehow be contagious.
“So,” Vivian asked, tilting her head to the side, watching Alexis like she was some calculation that needed to be deciphered. “Care to answer? A little honesty can go a long way.”
But before Alexis could even open her mouth, Elise suddenly swept into the room.
“Great to see you’re settling in,” she said, tapping the clipboard she was carrying against her thigh. “The glam team is waiting upstairs. They’re going to get you camera-ready for tonight.”
Elise was already stepping aside for Alexis to walk through the doorway when Alexis asked, “What’s happening tonight?”
Elise’s smile fell and then picked up again. “You’re meeting the girls, of course.”
“Already?” Alexis blurted. She’d hoped for at least a full day to breathe, maybe unpack, see some local sights, or hide in a corner with a glass of wine before being thrust into a room full of cameras. “I thought I’d have a bit of time to get settled.”
“The sooner we start filming, the better,” Elise said. She nudged her head toward the doorway. “Now come. Let’s get you camera ready.”