Chapter 8
Lyra
I
think that went well.
Grayson and Rue had explained the concept of this season: that the men selected for the show will all be romance novel types or something like that. I’ve never been a reader, but Sophie is, so I asked her for a breakdown of what to expect.
Sophie had been very thorough in her explanation of the archetypes, so when I walk into the hotel lobby after Ashton arrives, I look at the men and categorize them with a label in my head, like what will be shown on the screen when they’re each introduced.
I’m going to have to pick one of these men, so I’ll need more than a label.
When I walk in, every single man there jumps to his feet. There is so much admiration and appreciation thrown at me that it’s palpable and slightly overwhelming.
And I’m used to being admired.
I accept a glass of champagne from Luc P. — no, Luc C. My nerves have settled but this is just the beginning.
What am I doing?
You’ve got this.
And I take a breath before the second part of the evening begins.
“Hi, y’all,” I manage and immediately kick myself. Where did the southern accent come from? I try again. “Hel-lo. Welcome to my world.”
I was supposed to say, Welcome to this season of The Suitorette, but the way the guys cheer, it’s obvious my way is better.
“Let’s get this party started,” I add and turn to the first man I lay eyes on. Gord? Or Marc? I’ll figure it out. “Come talk to me.”
His chest puffs as I lead him away from the others.
Throughout the next four hours, I manage to have private conversations with eighteen of the men. By the time the producers call it a night, it’s after two a.m. and I’m exhausted. For once, I may be completely peopled out.
But at least I’ve kept busy; the guys are forced to sit around and wait for their turn to talk to me. A group sets off on an exploratory mission through the hotel; a few of them spend the time drinking, which makes private time interesting.
I’m kissed: by one of the drunk guys—to my dismay. Basher, the drummer—not really dismaying at all, and Rand, who gives me the sloppiest and yet sweetest kiss I’ve ever received.
I don’t bother trying to talk to Lucas and Ashton because I know them. Ashton understands because I hear him laughing as he holds court, but I get sad eyes from Lucas every time I step a foot back in the room.
It’s like the worst kind of event at the castle, where all I want to do is take off my shoes and have a dance before I go to bed, but there are so many dignitaries I have to talk up first.
I do take my shoes off half-way through, which leads to Jon, the big, broody guy, giving me a foot rub.
I’ll be keeping him for a while, just for that.
Finally, Grayson, Rue, and Ria get me out of there. I’m spent, but the adrenaline keeps flowing during the ten-minute drive back to Camille and Odin’s.
Lucky them—they’re asleep when we get back, but lovely Madame Carol is still awake to offer us coffee or tea.
Because I don’t get to go to bed. Now the work begins.
Ria has a list of names—on Bristol board written in coloured markers, no less—and we go through them and make notes on each to help me remember.
I’ve already forgotten too many of the men.
“Is there anyone that you’re ready to rule out?” Rue asks after we finish that part. She’s making her own notes via iPad.
“About half of them,” I tell her as I yawn without covering my mouth.
“Seriously?” Her eyes pop open. “I thought this was a great group.”
“Sure, but I’d rather get rid of half of them. It would make narrowing them down so much easier.”
“Do you see potential with anyone?” Ria asks, marker poised like she’s about to put a star beside the names I give her.
“Basher seems fun.” She does star him. “Jon rubbed my feet.”
“Likes foot rubs,” Rue confirms as she taps on her keyboard.
“Rand,” I decide. “He made me laugh. So did Asani. But get rid of the drunk guy who slobbered all over me.”
“I thought that was Rand?” Ria frowns.
“Yes, but he was sweet about it. Drunk guy had too much whiskey. I don’t drink whiskey.”
“I think that was Luc C.,” Grayson offers.
“No, it was P.,” Rue corrects.
“Couldn’t you find more with different names?” I complain. “Two Luc’s and a Lucas— how did you get him here, anyway?”
“We contacted the school in Battle Harbour and asked for volunteers. We got about six of them, and after interviews, decided on Lucas.”
“I’m not sure I’d pick Lucas,” I admit.
“He said he always had a crush on you,” Ria protests.
“He also had a girlfriend three out of the four years of high school, so who’s he lying to?”
Rue makes a note. “We tried to get a brother’s best friend, but we were turned down.”
Brother’s best friend? That would be— “He—really? He said no?”
Utter desolation crashes over me like a hurricane-size wave and I blink away the sudden sting in my eyes.
Spencer said no.
Of course he did, because he’s with Abigail. He doesn’t want me, he’s never wanted me. He wants her.
I clear my throat twice before I can manage anything else. “Oh.”
Not much else to say.
There must be something else to say, because all three heads whip around.
“Jonathan McKibbon,” Grayson supplies. “That’s your friend Kate’s brother? He’s friends with Prince Kalle. I guess we could have used him as best friend’s brother, but he wasn’t interested.”
I let out a shaky laugh. Jonathan. Not— “Thank god for that,” I say with more emphasis than is necessary. It’s better that than letting the relief show that it wasn’t Spencer who refused.
Did they even ask him?
I’m not sure if I’m more relieved or disappointed, but definitely curious about what he might have said.
I should already know—he’s with Abigail, so he would have said no. He said no when I asked him to come to the wedding with me, so of course he would refuse.
This isn’t Spencer’s thing anyway. He’s too much of a fixer. He’d take over the producing of the show before he got to go on one date with me.
Not that there would be any dates, because Spencer would never agree to this.
A little voice that sounds awfully like my mother reminds me that I wouldn’t have agreed to this if Spencer had come to the wedding with me.
Or if I had ever told Spencer how I felt about him.
That would mean admitting it to myself first, and I’ve always steered clear of that.
“We need to send three of the men home.”
I focus on what Rue is saying, how tomorrow morning there will be one red rose left outside a room, yellow roses of friendship for the men I’m sending home, and pink roses for everyone else.
The flower shop in town must be making a killing from this show.
“What do you want from me?” I do my best to keep my mind off the did they or didn’t they ask Spencer dilemma and the frustration I feel that it’s even an issue.
“We need you to pick the three that are going home, plus the one who gets the first date,” Grayson says. He looks more exhausted than I do, his natty suit jacket thrown over a chair, shirt sleeves rolled up. This needs to be finished for the night.
I lean back in the chair, tilting my head to look at the ceiling. “I’m so tired I don’t think I can remember enough names for that.”
“I know it’s late, and there are a lot of them, but if you can’t remember their name or some trait, it’s a good indication you don’t want them here,” Rue points out.
“That’s a good way of looking at it, but I still feel I like need to phone a friend.” Another yawn. “Can I ask Camille?”
“We’re your sounding board,” Ria says in a firm voice. “And time’s up for three of them, so make your choice.”
I finally decide to send Desmond home because I found him too smooth; Eriq, who it turns out, was the slobberer; and Waylon because all I could think about when I saw him was the country singer, Waylon Jennings.
My father used to make us listen to old country music.
Plus, Waylon looks like a cowboy, and that’s never been my type. He’s cute, but a cowboy can’t handle me.
I’m honestly not sure how many of these men can.
After I give the exit orders for them, it’s time to pick who gets the First Date Rose. Who gets the first one-on-one date with me?
Grayson explained how it used to be—in other seasons, the one to get the First Date Rose was notoriously the first to be sent home. That it was basically picking who was the next to leave, but giving them a bit of hope before they got kicked off the show.
I have to think back, but I don’t think Odin got the First Date Rose. I think his was the second one-on-one date.
Either way, I think I’ll keep this little tidbit to myself, lest he be even more anti-Suitor.
Grayson also assures me it is entirely my decision, that he doesn’t want the producers to have that much say about who stays and who goes.
They also don’t give their opinion on whom I should pick. This is good because it’s my love story, but my eyes are bleary with lack of sleep and the faces of the men keep swimming through my mind, and I really wish one of them would just tell me who to pick.
I finally decide on Asani because I remember him. “And he was the first to meet me, so I think I should pick him,” I finish giving my reasonings.
“Are you interested in him?” Rue demands.
“Sure.”
That must not that been convincing enough because Ria gives it a try. “Are you interested in anyone?”
“The only thing I am interested in right now is my bed, so if that’s all…” I stand, swaying tiredly. It’s been a long day, and the producers still have to deliver the flowers early in the morning.
Unlike the Bachelor, this show doesn’t make them stand around in suits looking miserable as I slowly make my decision. The men will check the hall outside their rooms in the hotel tomorrow morning to see who gets what, and cameras will be there to catch the reactions.
I’m off the hook until my date with Asani.
I use that time to get some much-needed sleep.