9
“Last again?”
He rises as I approach and indicates I should take the seat beside him, before sitting back down heavily.
I do so, nervously.
I hadn’t planned on being the last to speak to him tonight, far from it, but there were others more intent on demanding their time and more forceful in staking their claims. My plan was to take it easy because those women would either have a big target painted on them by other contestants, or be bitten.
I took a gamble that by staying around to the end he would have already killed two contestants by the time he met me.
The gamble hasn’t paid off.
As far as I know he hasn’t even asked anyone if they’ll accept his bite, death bite or love bite.
‘Perhaps he’s saved all his appetite for me.’
I take the proffered drink and try to slow my racing heart. Being eliminated on the first night is not part of my plan.
Turning to him, I open my mouth to speak, but sensing a deep melancholy beneath his polite, urbane veneer, the feeling rubs off onto me almost immediately, and instead I take a sip of my drink.
It’s been a long, long day and an even longer night, and I’m dead on my feet, figuratively — hopefully not soon also literally.
I’d dearly love to rest now, but just like all the other contestants, I need to stay here to see who’s eliminated and learn who will get his first impression date tomorrow night.
As he looks at me over the rim of his glass, clearly waiting for me to speak, I sip again, still holding his gaze.
Eventually, he clears his throat.
“It’s been a long night.”
I nod.
“Very.”
“And the dawn is coming,” he adds.
“Yes, the dawn is coming.”
We each take another sip of our drinks, and I realise I might actually have an easy out of this situation.
Placing my drink down, I stretch my arms up to the sky and yawn.
When I turn to him he has one eyebrow raised in amusement.
“So,” I smirk, “I can sit here until you ignite, or I can spare you the pain, and we can take a raincheck on this ‘getting to know you,’ thing.”
“That’s very generous of you,” he snorts, rising and holding his hand out to me.
“Well, I’d hate to risk your life…”
“Of course,” he returns my smirk, “God forbid lives should be risked on this show.”
I reach for his proffered hand. I don’t want to take it, but I know it’s only offered as a courtesy, and it would be rude of me to refuse.
As his fingers take mine and he helps me rise, I blush.
His palm is cool and slightly calloused, as though he’s worked outside at some stage.
It’s been so long since I’ve been touched by anyone, holding his hand makes me feel connected to him in some odd way; it’s way more intimate than I’d like, and I drop it immediately as I stand.
I don’t want to give him an opportunity to pull me close and fang me, and I definitely don’t want to think too much about how holding his hand sends tingles down my spine.
‘I’m just tired, and scared, and I’ve been alone for years and have to get used to having people near me. That’s all.’
“Well, ah, goodnight,” I say quickly, turning to leave.
“Catriona,” he says gently.
‘Oh, merda, here comes the bite, I knew it, I knew it.’
“Yes,” I turn back slowly to meet his gaze.
“Will you do me the honour of a one-on-one date tomorrow night?”
I frown and look quickly down at my feet. The person who gets the first date historically doesn’t last past the third week.
“You know,” I sigh, “I’d love to, but I want to be completely honest with you. I’m playing a long game here. Would you mind very much taking the English contestant?”
The bachelor bursts out laughing, a deep, resonant boom. He looks like a completely different man from the one I’d watched all night.
“Ah, Catriona,” he chuckles as he offers me his arm and indicates we should walk together to the mansion, “I think you and I are going to get along very well.”