29
The cocktail party is progressing much the same as the opening night party, and I wish I could just slip away without anyone noticing, but that’s not how this Game’s played.
When we’d been advised this morning that there was to be another party, we’d all been surprised. A challenge was due now that we were in another country, yet so far we’d only had the one back in Denver.
It’s frustrating, because challenges inevitably reduce the competition, and confusing, because most of the competitors had studied the game as I had year after year in order to learn how to best play.
There were changes here and there, particularly after Lord Falcon Dragonspur’s two appearances, but generally speaking, the cadence of the game was familiar — and anticipated for that reason.
Every new country must have a new challenge.
In between challenges there could be one-on-one dates with others the bachelor might fancy, and again, some inevitably didn’t return from those dates.
But to call for another cocktail party?
Some of the girls had suggested he was going to make up for lost time by dispensing with a whole heap of us tonight.
After all, he hadn’t killed anyone on opening night.
It seemed like the most logical explanation for why he’d insisted upon meeting us all again in the face of no other information or warning.
The director had merely appeared this afternoon with the make-up and hair crew and dozens of beautiful dresses on racks.
For the first time, we’d been allowed to choose what dress we’d wear, although the selection was limited.
Again, this little perk made us all suspicious.
Would we get to choose the gown we died in?
I’d chosen a black satin sheath with bell sleeves that reminded me a little of the dresses worn by the mother on The Adams Family.
It seemed fitting since I’m absolutely convinced I’m going to be in a coffin by the end of the night.
The dress had a plunging neckline, but nearly all of them did, so there was nothing I could do about that.
The hair crew had brushed my hair over the wounds on my throat to try to hide them.
Unlike other girls with their neat little puncture marks, I look like I’ve been savaged by a small shark.
My neck is bruised black all down one side.
Ideally I’d like to have kept the bandage on, but the beauty crew had refused to allow it.
They’d tried to hide the damage with a broad, bejewelled choker, but it had hurt too much and I’d removed it the moment they left.
Consequently I’d been the subject of whispered speculation from the other contestants all night.
Fuelled too, by Evelyn and her snide remarks.
But then, that’s the thing in this game: if people aren’t talking to you, they’re talking about you.
From what I could gather the gist of most of the whispered conversations was the concern that the bachelor wasn’t the sweet gentleman they all thought if he was going to be violent towards a competitor.
Others thought maybe he’d hurt me because I’d done something to piss him off, and he’d lashed out.
Either way, it didn’t reflect well on either of us.
The Portuguese contestant, Daniela, swans into the room grinning now, and immediately the Iranian, Mahsa, rises and rushes outside to where the bachelor sits before anyone else can claim him.
Bitching about Mahsa begins immediately.
“She’s so desperate,” Cherry snipes, “I mean, if he wants to see you, he’ll see you.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” the Scottish contestant, Claire, retorts, “you’ve had a one-on-one date with him.”
“And kissed him,” Silke, the German contestant, chimes in.
“I can’t help it if he’s attracted to me,” Cherry shrugs, “maybe Mahsa should take a leaf out of my book and play a little hard to get.”
I almost choke on my drink, and turn my attention to the others now surrounding Daniela to interrogate her. It’s been the same all night. They all want to know why he’s called another cocktail party, what questions he asked, and what answers they’d given.
‘Whether he’d bitten them.’
“All I know is that he kissed me and we connected in a very real, spiritual way,” Daniela gushes.
“You’re not the only one he’s kissed tonight,” Cherry snipes. “His connection to you can’t be that strong.”
“It’s like our hearts were just waiting to meet each other,” Daniela murmurs, her face aglow.
“My body wants to meet with his,” Sona sighs dreamily.
“Ugh,” I snort and take a sip of my drink.
“Have you spoken to him yet?” The Ethiopian, Dinkinesh, asks saccharinely sweetly as she sits down beside me, her thigh against mine.
It’s the first time she’s asked me a direct question, and unsettling to have her sit so close.
“You know I haven’t,” I give her a sharp look as I move slightly away, “you’ve been watching me like a hawk all night.”
Dinkinesh laughs, although it has a false ring to it, just as everything she says and does from what I gather, having also watched her for some time.
“What a thing to say! If I look at you it’s only because you’re so beautiful. Although sadly, I don’t think he’ll want to talk to you tonight, since you dated last night,” she meets my glare with wide, fake-innocent eyes.
‘In other words, if I try to get out there to see him I’ll be putting a huge target on my back. Never fear, bitch, I have NO intention of going anywhere near that predator tonight.’
I’d like to call her out, tell her I don’t think she’s as ditzy or sweet as she pretends. But what’s the point? As long as I know the truth, I’m wary of her. Let her think I’ve fallen for her act as the others have.
We both look up as the Iranian returns, a petulant turn to her lips. Her time with the bachelor was the quickest so far, but she does sport two neat little puncture marks on her neck and proceeds to display them proudly for those who rush to her.
Dinkinesh and I wait to see who’s going to try their luck next, but no one gets the chance as the Viscount walks into the room, his eyes sweeping across all the contestants and coming to rest upon mine.
‘Oh fuck. No, leave me last. Let me live a little longer.’
“Ladies,” he drawls, looking away from me and towards the rest of the contestants, “I fear I may not have time to meet with all of you tonight after all, so I’ve drawn names out of a hat. It seems to be the fairest way.”
There are groans from some, expectant gasps from others.
“Catriona,” he says, bringing a piece of paper out of his pocket and waving it quickly before putting it back. “May I have the pleasure?”
I grit my teeth. If I didn’t know better I’d say he was lying and my name was not on that piece of paper.
‘I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t want to go anywhere near him in case he bites again and, knowing how it feels, neither of us has the willpower to stop it this time. No, that won’t happen. I’m stronger than that.’
I dutifully rise and take his proffered arm, allowing him to lead me outside.
“Perhaps we can take a stroll around the garden,” he murmurs.
The director steps forward and opens his mouth, but the low growl emanating from the bachelor stops him in his tracks.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and my skin goosebumps.
“Cut!”
I swing wild eyes to the director over my shoulder as the filming stops and the Viscount leads me towards the dark garden, away from all scrutiny.
As we reach a hedge-lined walkway away from the lights, I stop and draw my hand out of the loop of his arm.
I want to pre-empt whatever’s about to happen by convincing him that it’s better to leave me in the game.
Maybe I’ll apologise for being so brutally honest, maybe beg as a last resort…
but I don’t get the chance as he shakes his head and steps back from me.
Sliding his hand into his jacket pocket, he draws out a long, black, velvet ribbon.
“Would you mind wearing this for me?”
I nod, confused, as he points to my neck.
Taking the ribbon in trembling fingers, I studiously avoid his gaze as I tie it around my throat like a choker, covering his bite marks.
When I look back up at him he crosses his arms and locks eyes with me.
“How are you feeling?”
“Better, I guess. Thank you.”
“Good.”
He nods and continues looking deep into my eyes. His own holding the promise that they’ll know if I’m lying.
“Who’s chasing you?”
I gulp.
‘Shit, so he knows. This is why he wanted to be out of prying eyes. Oh, God. He’s definitely going to kill me. But why the ribbon? Is it some kind of sick ritual?’
“Bad people,” I whisper. “Very bad people.”
He leans towards me, and I flinch.
Shaking his head he turns from me and walks further down the path.
I follow reluctantly, my feet feeling like lead.
Eventually he stops, sitting down on an ornate mosaic bench and motioning for me to do the same.
“I’m not going to bite you, Catriona,” he says quietly, moving slightly further away from me as I sit near him. “If that’s your real name. I just want the truth. Who are you? Who wants you so badly they’d risk royal wrath to get you back, and why?”
I gulp and consider how much to tell without revealing the whole truth.
“I’m the daughter of a Machiavellian monster.”
‘This much is true.’
“Anyone I’ve heard of?”
I keep my expression neutral and shrug. There’s no way I’m revealing who, or what, my family is.
“The attack on the limo opening night, the disappearance of Regina…”
“Yes,” I admit reluctantly, “my fault.”
“Mmm. I would have thought you’d be all ponies, cotton candy and pink princess dresses. At least, that’s my experience of little Italian mafia daughters.”
“I never said mafia. But you’re not far wrong,” I laugh half-heartedly. “Although it’s more like ponies, pink dresses, and blood-stained fingers.”
“Is Catriona your real name?”
“It’s what I’ve always been called.”
‘Oh please, please don’t ask if my last name is real.’