The Last Lei (The Sapphic Match #1)

Chapter One

Skye Wilder had survived five seasons of The Sapphic Match without ever breaking a sweat—metaphorically speaking, of course.

Literally, she was always sweating. Mostly because The Sapphic Match was filmed in various tropical climates across the world and also because, in her experience, the contestants had exactly two modes.

They were intensely aggravating and far too flirtatious for their own good. Both of which made her perspire.

But this season was supposed to be easy.

The show was being shot at a new eco-resort on a private Hawaiian island that the executive producer, Stanley Elliot, managed to procure.

There would be plenty of ocean views for drone shots.

And of course, there would be plenty of romance and fun and sun.

Not to mention that everything was solar-powered, hammocks were suspended between palm trees, and all the cocktails were themed.

Then there were the captivating contestants.

Twelve queer women who had each been hand-selected by the recruiters after reviewing hours of intro videos.

Each had completed pages and pages of personality questionnaires and endured countless deep dives into their social media accounts.

Each had to be ready to fall head over heels in love with the bachelorette.

Skye’s job as the assistant director was simple: make sure everything went off without a hitch while staying blissfully off-camera. She’d even pre-written most of the bachelorette’s cue cards. They were charming, quippy, and would no doubt have the audience falling in love.

Everything was set. Everything was perfect. Skye had a feeling that this season of The Sapphic Match was going to be their best one yet…

“We have a problem!” Marla burst in through the production tent.

Marla was flustered, and the way she was holding her hand on her phone made it seem like she was carrying a hand grenade. Everything about her demeanor was deeply concerning.

“She’s not coming,” Marla added, her voice shrill.

Skye barely looked up from her call sheet. She was used to these kinds of outbursts. If it wasn’t Marla catastrophizing some detail, it was Stanley threatening to shut the entire thing down.

“Who’s not coming?” Skye muttered. The tip of her pen sat squarely between her clenched teeth.

Marla cleared her throat.

Skye looked up, only to feel a slight roll of something unknown in her stomach.

The last time Marla looked that panicked was two years ago in Puerto Rico when they had to evacuate the entire production crew and all the contestants due to an incoming hurricane.

Whatever it was that was bothering her now, it was big. Seemingly bigger than a hurricane.

“Deanna,” Marla stammered. “The bachelorette. She’s not coming. Her PR team just emailed. Apparently, she’s on some cleanse in Tulum and wants to prioritize her health. Says the show’s too toxic.”

Skye blinked. Her stomach flipped. Every hair, long and short, hidden and visible, stood up. “Ummmm… what?”

“She’s out,” Marla said as she shook her head forcefully.

Her cheeks appeared to be warming up. Crimson crept along her neck and was quickly moving upward.

“Which is a huge problem because the show starts soon. The fucking show starts soon! We’ve got twelve women en route, and they’re expecting to meet the woman of their dreams. This is a fucking disaster. ”

Skye exhaled. “Okay,” she said, already thinking of a hundred different ways to thwart the disaster. “We delay. Or I can edit something together to buy us—”

“No,” Marla interrupted, shaking her head so hard her headset slipped. “We can’t delay, Red. The network already announced the premiere date. The press is coming in three days. We have to keep filming on schedule.”

“So… we replace her then,” Skye said slowly, running her fingers through her thick, wavy locks.

Her hair wasn’t just red; it was loud. The kind of deep copper that, when caught by the sun, set her head on fire.

The kind that was threaded with gold and rust and made her easy to spot.

Which she hated. And impossible to forget, which she hated even more.

Hence the nickname Red. Everyone called her that: the crew, cast, and even Stanley, who referred to most of the production team by their last names.

For a long time, she’d corrected people.

It was only somewhere around season two that she had stopped, accepted it, and even begun to like the nickname.

“We find someone else,” Skye added, nodding to herself. “Who was the runner-up Stanley had in mind? We can simply call her and tell her she got the part. Fly her out here pronto. No problem. Easy peasy. We’ll get her on a private jet if need be.”

She was already across the room, heading for her laptop, when Marla stepped forward and declared, “Stanley has someone else in mind already.”

“Who?” Skye asked, clicking on the screen. She knew she had a list somewhere. All she needed was a contact number, and this entire problem would be solved.

Marla bit at her lip. “You,” she said after a brief pause.

It took Skye a few good seconds for the word to sink in, and then a few more seconds to understand the gravity of it.

Stanley wanted her to take Deanna’s place.

He wanted her to play the part of the Bachelorette, the one with a dozen women projecting their hopes, their needs, their wants, and their traumas on.

“No,” Skye said flatly. “Definitely not.”

“You’d be perfect,” Marla said as she stepped forward. “You already know the script and the pacing. You’ve got a pretty face, you can be funny, and, most importantly, you’re real.”

But Skye didn’t agree. On the contrary, she couldn’t disagree more.

“I don’t want to fall in love,” she blurted.

Out of all the things she could have said, this statement was completely unhinged.

She could have said I hate being in front of the camera, or I don’t have time for this.

Instead, her mouth decided to go for the most vulnerable of reasons.

Skye didn’t believe in love, which was ironic, given that her career was based on it.

Love made people stupid. It made them hope for something better, and Skye had spent most of her adult life avoiding both of those things.

“You don’t have to actually fall in love,” Marla replied. “All you have to do is pretend you’re falling in love. You, of all people, know this is a reality show. It isn’t real, Skye.”

“And what if someone actually falls in love with me?” Skye added. She knew it sounded egotistical, delusional, even. But the thought lodged itself in her head.

Marla didn’t blink. “Then we’ll get great footage of you breaking up with whoever that is. It’s a win-win, to be honest.” She waved her hand nonchalantly through the air. “But don’t worry about that now. We’ve got weeks before we even get to that point.”

Still, Skye didn’t move. Didn’t nod. She wanted to tell Marla to shove the idea up her ass, but instead, she simply shook her head. “I’m not the type of person who belongs in front of a camera. I’m the exact opposite of that. I’m not some lesbian heartthrob, Marla.”

“Yes, that’s true. You’re not exactly heartthrob-y, but you’re…” She looked Skye up and down before she added, “Relatable.”

“Wow,” Skye said. “Just…wow.”

Marla remained unperturbed. “And you’re… salty. In a way that the audience will relate to. You’re a relatable level of salty. Which is exactly what this show needs. Some more substance.”

“So, I’m not hot, but I’m salty… and safe,” Skye said dryly, raising an eyebrow. She should be offended, and would be, if she weren’t still in a state of shock.

Marla didn’t blink. “Exactly.”

Skye let out a slow breath. “Great. That’s exactly how every girl dreams of being described on national television.”

But Marla didn’t seem to notice or care.

“It’ll work. I know it will work,” she said, more to herself than to Skye.

Then she looked up with her eyes all earnest. “Please, Red. You’re the only one who can pull this off.

We’re in a state of emergency, and only you can save us.

Please say yes. If you say yes, I’ll make sure you get a raise. ”

“A raise,” Skye repeated, caught slightly off guard. She hadn’t expected that.

“Yes,” Marla spluttered, looking far too desperate, but at the same time equally reluctant to hand out such a promise. “As long as it’s reasonable and as long as you play the part of Skye Wilder, wine lover and thrill-seeking romantic.”

“So, you want me to act like someone else?”

“Kind of,” Marla replied. “Or just a more interesting version of yourself.”

Skye looked down at the laptop screen. She stared at the wallpaper, which was a photo of her sister’s golden retriever called Finn.

Her apartment was too small for a dog. With a raise, she could probably afford a bigger place, one with a yard, maybe even a back porch.

But that would mean leaving New York. And she loved New York.

The noise, the chaos, the way no one cared what you were doing as long as you did it out of their way.

Skye was just another fast-moving piece of the city.

She was just another face in a blur of faces. And she loved that.