Chapter Eighteen
Talia woke just before the sun the way she always did lately, wrapped in Sabine’s arms, groggy enough to contemplate falling back asleep and awake enough to know that she needed to wriggle out of her embrace before anyone else woke up.
Dawn crept in through the gaps in the shelter.
The sky looked both pale and peachy, like someone had dragged a finger across a watercolor painting.
She blinked her eyes a few times until they adjusted and focused on the moment.
Sabine’s arm was warm and heavy and unfairly comfortable.
One of her legs was draped over Talia’s, with her knee hooked like an anchor.
Her breath puffed hot against the back of Talia’s neck, and her chest was lovely and soft.
Which, frankly, was a huge problem.
Talia was so comfortable, so wonderfully relaxed and sleepy that she considered closing her eyes and nuzzling back against Sabine.
She even found herself picturing a moment away from this one.
A moment that didn’t exist, but Talia wanted it to exist. She pictured her apartment in downtown Boulder.
It was a third-floor, red-brick studio with large factory windows and no curtains.
Morning light spilled straight onto the bed, on the crinkled white linen sheets and the navy quilt she’d impulse-bought at a market in Denver because it had made her feel adult.
Sabine would be there behind her, same position, same arm slung heavy over her waist. Maybe she’d be wearing Talia’s old, faded Mile High Brewing Co.
hoodie with the sleeve seam blown out. Maybe their clothes would be lying in a pile on the Persian rug she’d found on Marketplace and lugged up three flights of stairs by herself.
Or maybe they’d be hanging over the armrests of the saggy brown leather sofa she’d also bought second-hand.
Once they woke up, coffee would be grinding in the tiny kitchen, and the blue kettle screaming on the stove.
They’d sit there, naked against the cushions, staring at the black-and-white photo of the Flatirons framed above a large fiddle leaf fig Alfred often used to do his business.
Would they stop at the bakery on Pearl Street for sourdough and pastries?
Would they grab iced lattes at Ozo Coffee I and watch people?
Would Sabine move to Boulder, or would Talia finally move out of the state she grew up in?
Would they try to make it together after the game?
Sabine shifted behind her, pulling Talia out of her fantasy and back to reality.
A reality Talia suddenly didn’t want anymore.
Yes, she wanted to win the million dollars—of course she did, who wouldn’t—but there were another seventeen days left, and she couldn’t imagine pretending that they were just teammates for all that time.
Talia slipped free and shuffled to the edge of the bamboo mat. She stood up, stretched her arms above her head, and ignored Amy’s rumbling snores that rose and fell with the waves.
Then something caught her eye. A glint. A shape that didn’t belong out there by the waterline. Talia squinted, tilted her head, and tried to make sense of it. Was it a table? Yes, there was a sturdy-looking thing with benches on either side, standing just beyond the reach of the tide.
The first thing that popped into Talia’s head was food.
Which was why her heart picked up and her stomach rumbled.
She quickly glanced back over her shoulder at the shelter.
No one was moving. Everyone was asleep. Talia considered waking Sabine, but more often than not Sabine woke up with a start.
Yesterday her leg had shot out, and she’d clipped Lucia with her foot, waking her.
It would be too risky to cause a commotion, so she decided to venture alone.
By the time she got to the table, she couldn’t believe her eyes. There weren’t just a few plates of food as she’d expected, though she wasn’t sure what she had expected.
There was a whole damn buffet. Talia could have fainted right there.
Croissants so golden they could have been made from actual sunlight were stacked in a basket.
A mountain of pancakes covered in syrup, glistening like molten amber, rested on a large plate.
There were three bowls of tropical fruit—mangoes, dragon fruit, pineapple—and two Greek yogurts.
A plate of smoked salmon curled into delicate ribbons, and another with avocado toast dusted with chili flakes and sea salt.
There was even a cheeseboard with wedges of brie, tangy blue and Manchego, alongside sliced figs and sticky honeycomb.
And to one side of the table, sitting on a silver tray, beside three carafes of steaming coffee, were ten flutes of champagne.
Talia looked down and spotted a bottle of champagne dunked in an ice bucket resting on the sand beside a table leg.
Dom Pérignon. The good stuff. She was practically salivating and was just about to reach for a croissant when her eye caught something.
A cream-colored envelope was standing upright against the coffee carafe.
Talia nearly snatched it up and tore it open. Her hand was halfway to the table when her conscience screamed, don’t.
But why not? If it were an advantage, surely she wanted it.
Wouldn’t anyone? She was fairly certain if Isla or one of the others were standing here, they would’ve already grabbed it and ripped it open and then most probably hid it in their bikini top and acted like it was nothing.
Not Talia. She glanced to the side and spotted the camera crew.
Their lenses were trained on her like vultures circling a dead squirrel.
They were probably waiting for her to do just that.
Then she thought about what Sabine would do in the situation. She didn’t quite like the answer. Sabine would read it. The doctor wanted to win. She’d step on toes to get there.
Talia didn’t want that. But she also couldn’t leave the envelope for someone else.
So, instead of taking it and keeping it, she quickly placed it under one of the table mats.
All she had to do was make sure she sat down at the same one when everyone gathered in a bit.
Then, she would show it to Sabine, and together they could decide what to do with it.
She turned back and called, “Guys! Wake up!” When no one moved, she tried again. “EVERYONE! THERE’S A TABLE ON THE BEACH WITH FOOD!”
People stirred.
Talia could see knees and arms and heads flick up as bodies unfolded from sleep. Before she could count to twenty, all eight other contestants were shuffling toward her. Every one of them looked groggy as they squinted into the dawn.
“What the hell?” Connie said, brushing red hair out of her face. Her eyes were so thick with sleep it was a miracle she made it down to the beach without tripping.
Lucia gasped. Marloe let out a shriek. Talia didn’t blame them. Connie, Charlize, Lucia, and Marloe were the only pairs left who hadn’t tasted a reward yet. Which was exactly why Talia wasn’t surprised when they descended on the table like animals released from captivity.
Connie scooped an aggressive amount of yogurt into a bowl and then buried it under slices of mango and pineapple. “What did we do to deserve this?” she asked, dragging a spoon through the mixture.
Talia, who had made sure to sit down at the placemat where she’d deposited the envelope earlier, reached for a plate. She’d been eyeing the croissants for ages. The flaky layers were puffed like edible clouds, and she couldn’t wait to run a stick of salty butter across the soft insides.
Marloe also reached for one. They nearly bumped fingers.
“They don’t usually give out rewards without challenges, do they?” Marloe asked, not looking particularly bothered. She’d already broken off the tail of the croissant and was about to stuff it into her mouth. “We’re not even halfway through the game.”
“Maybe they do,” Charlize said as she hacked off a slab of brie and slapped it on a croissant she’d torn in half. “This is the first season of Outlast Her, so who knows what the reason is. Besides, does anyone care? I’ve been dreaming of proper food for days now.”
“Do you think they left a note?” Monique asked, sticking her fork into the stack of pancakes. Syrup pooled and slid as she dragged a generous portion to her plate. “Has anyone seen a letter or a piece of parchment or something?”
“No,” Lucia said, lifting her napkin. “I haven’t.”
“Me either,” Amy said, picking up slivers of salmon with her fingers. “But there should be a note, right? That seems like the most logical thing.”
Talia’s heart dropped right to her stomach.
Her eyes flicked to the placemat in front of her, and she nearly moaned out loud.
Of course, that envelope wasn’t an advantage; it was probably a description.
A written reason for the breakfast feast, and she’d panicked and shoved it under her placemat like an idiot.
She wanted to bury her head in the sand.
Or, better yet, she wanted to walk into the ocean and cease to exist. The camera crew was probably laughing behind their equipment.
They’d seen her steal the envelope. The viewers would see it too.
She’d be that person who’d shoot her shot when there was nothing to shoot.
Ugh! Talia’s pulse ticked so loudly in her ears she barely heard the ocean.
“You okay?” Sabine asked, bumping Talia’s shoulder.
Talia hadn’t realized she had a croissant halfway to her mouth until Sabine’s eyes flicked toward her.
“Fine,” she said quickly, biting into it.
She couldn’t even relish in its buttery taste because she was too busy wondering how she was going to rectify the situation, or if she even could rectify it.
“Should we toast?” Talia said, quickly lifting her glass. This was quick thinking at its finest. If she couldn’t slip the envelope out without everyone seeing, she could at least take their minds off it. “To being ambushed with a gorgeous breakfast.”
“Hear, hear,” Connie and Charlize said together, already clinking.
Isla cleared her throat. “I want to toast to Taye,” she said.
“She showed up to this game brave and loud and absolutely unwilling to make herself smaller. She was a great partner. A great friend. And if friends could be trusted, she would’ve made it a lot further than she did.
” Then she raised her glass. “To the people we think we can trust,” she said, looking straight at Talia.
Talia swallowed. How did she become the person who couldn’t be trusted? What the actual fuck?
But she didn’t have time to mull over this revelation.
Surely she was more of an accomplice than an instigator; and surely Isla knew this because she tipped back her glass and swallowed the entire contents.
Sabine did the same, squeezing her eyes shut at the last sip.
In fact, almost everyone drank their champagne like it was a glass of ice-cold soda.
Everyone except Talia. She’d spent enough nights behind the bar to know what drinking on an empty stomach did.
She knew exactly how fast the bubbles hit, and how champagne skipped right past buzzed and went straight to sloppy.
“Taye will be missed,” Charlize said, though she didn’t sound particularly empathetic. She placed a slice of avocado toast on her plate and pointed. “Can you please pass me some blue cheese?”
“I can’t believe you eat blue cheese,” Monique said, scrunching her nose so hard it looked like she was about to sneeze. “It’s literally moldy cheese. There’s mold on it.”
“Yes, I know what blue cheese is, dear. That’s why I’m asking you to pass me a wedge,” Connie replied, perfectly calm and completely unbothered.
Amy scooped up the wedge with a fork and slipped it onto Connie’s plate. “I’ve always wondered about that,” she said. “Do you think someone just happened on moldy cheese and went, ‘yes this pungent smell is delicious,’ or did they plan it?”
“That’s like asking the chicken-or-the-egg story,” Lucia said, pouring herself a cup of lukewarm coffee. Apart from Talia, she was the only other one not heavily invested in their glass of champagne. “Someone had to eat something first.”
“So, you think it was the chicken?”
“I think most scientists agree the egg came first,” Marloe said. “My oldest did a school project on it. Something about proto-chickens.”
“Anyone want more champagne?” Talia hollered.
Talia wasn’t surprised when Isla stood up, fetched the bottle of champagne from the bucket, popped the cork, and refilled everyone’s glasses.
But she was a little surprised when she completely missed Talia’s.
She was downright shocked when she sent her a vicious-looking side-eye that made Talia’s stomach roil.
Seriously, the whole voting Isla and Taye out wasn’t even her idea.
“I think Isla hates me,” Talia whispered to Sabine the moment Isla had turned her back to dig into the pancakes.
She hadn’t even had time to admire how soft Sabine’s hair looked in the morning light, or the way her cheeks were perfectly pink and her lips deliciously plump.
She was too stressed. “She keeps looking at me funny.”
“Just ignore her, Talia.”
“That’s easy for you to say. She’s not looking at you like she wants to take the butter knife and drive it into your back.”
Sabine laughed, but Talia did not. This was serious. So too was the envelope hidden under her placemat, like a secret waiting to explode. Frankly, if Talia didn’t do something about it, she’d explode. “I did something stupid,” she muttered under her breath.
“What did you do?” Sabine asked, leaning closer. She was staring at the slice of avocado toast in her hand. But her ear was close enough to Talia’s mouth for no one else to hear their conversation.
“I took something I shouldn’t have.”
Sabine still stared straight ahead. Talia could only see the faint lines at the corner of her mouth that could be mistaken for something else, but she felt like she knew Sabine well enough now to know when she was frowning. “What are you talking about?”
Talia’s fingers itched. She lifted the corner of the placemat just enough for the edge of the creamy envelope to peek out. Only Sabine could see it; the rest of the contestants were either too occupied with their platefuls of food or not close enough.
But when Sabine glanced down, Talia saw something she hadn’t expected. Sabine’s eyes were glassy and half-lidded.
Was she seriously already drunk? Talia immediately regretted her decision to share her secret.
Even more so when Sabine gasped. “Talia!”