110
Cat snorts and Thorun shudders at Starlen’s commentary where they stand next to Cherry on specially marked spots under a massive chandelier.
It’s been three weeks since the last two made it across the line, six since Cherry stumbled in, and this is the first time I’ve been able to see them in person, although I’d sent flowers and candy and had them guarded day and night while they were recovering.
No one knew of my interference in the final trial, but even if they had I doubt it would have mattered, since Cat and Thorun were obviously in the final three and it was just a matter of time before they made it back.
While awaiting their return, and then throughout their lengthy recovery, the show had gone on with recaps of each of the contestants’ journeys and what can only be described as fictional narratives for each that bordered on the ridiculous.
Thorun had been portrayed from start to finish as an innocent thrust into a violent world, but one who knew from the start how to bend the Game to her advantage.
The director, through judicious cuts and snippets of conversation, had portrayed her as deliberately befriending Cat, described as the most dangerous and bloodthirsty character, to be her guide and protector.
They’d filmed Thorun choosing her bedroom, intimating that too had been a deliberate move; they’d angled her as only having saved Valérie in order to gain more clues in Seville, and they’d repeatedly shown smile after smile sent my way with the suggestion they were not genuine.
They’d shown her kneeling beside a dying Evelyn, Cat standing above her having just saved her life, Cat speeding them both to safety on a motorbike, Cat throwing down rabbit after rabbit before Thorun as she sat warming by fires, making it seem as though she was being completely coddled.
And finally, Cat stumbling across the finish line of the last challenge with her arm around Thorun.
Never mind that it was actually Thorun helping a concussed Cat.
That wasn’t the angle that the director or the producers wanted.
They wanted it to seem like Thorun had been playing smart, but ultimately owed her spot to others, and held no special affection for me.
As for Cat.
They’d first shown her meeting me last on night one, her dress already covered in blood and red paint; a symbol of what was to come.
Her montage switched from one violent and dramatic scene to the next.
Spinning 360 on her bike, two guns in her hands, looking like a cross between Lara Cross and a superhero in her catsuit in Egypt.
Tipping sleeping tablets into drinks in Vietnam.
Blowing a hole point-blank in Amadea’s head, stabbing Evelyn, standing bloodied but strong, guns pointing at the tunnel in Seville as one by one the other competitors limped out or were dragged out either dead or hurt by her hands.
And, of course, close-ups of Claire’s mutilated corpse.
They’d shown snippets of her conversation where she threatened pretty much everyone at one time or another; shots of her expression that made her look purely evil and diabolical when learning of the deaths of competitors.
And they’d made her appear at every turn like she cared nothing for me, or I for her.
The argument on the dance floor, the scars on her neck, the awkward stance she held during the kissing competition, snatches of our uncomfortable dinner date in Seville, her dropping my hand quickly on numerous occasions, her avowal that she was not looking for love, her scowls and frowns in my direction, and mine to her.
Every look made it seem she was a cold, diabolical killer whom I loathed and who was destined to come last despite it all; the complete juxtaposition to the Londoner.
Cherry, obviously the producers’ and Starlen’s favourite, hadn’t suffered as much hardship during the last challenge.
Consequently she’d had more time on her hands to be interviewed over the past weeks to fill in some footage gaps for the viewers.
In between, she’d become someone the producers have banked on winning.
Her montage showed her kissing me at every opportunity.
From the first impression date to every talk on the couch and interaction in between, her conversational snippets with me were full of talk of love and destiny, and the editing made it seem I agreed.
She was shown to be first all the way, the editing making it appear that I had chosen her from night one and kept my eye on her as the prize from that time forward.
Every time they’d filmed me talking to all the girls, they’d cut away to Cherry’s expression and made it appear I was taking special note of her.
Dancing with her at the ball, in particular, was replayed in full along with an interview of her waxing lyrical about how perfectly we blended as a couple; how we ‘heard the same music’ and ‘danced to the same tune.’ Anyone watching the montage of her journey in the Games could not come away with any conclusion other than she was madly in love with me, and that the feeling was mutual.
I look at the girls now, where they stand awaiting the decision over who will spend the first night in the Dreams and Desires Suites with me.
They’ve all recovered from much of their ordeal, although exponentially thinner than before they left, and every one of them has been subjected to the tender mercies of the make-up, hair, and costume departments in preparation for tonight.
But first, we must all endure Starlen’s idiocy.
“And here we have them folks. The final three. The final three contestants in Viscount Jaguar Speardon of Versailles Provence’s Season. And what a trio they are!”
He spins from where he’d been facing the girls to facing the camera with his back to them.
“And now we’re about to learn which lucky lady will be the first to spend the night with the bachelor in the Dreams and Desires Suites — every woman on Earth’s dream, I’m sure.
But they deserve it, these three; they truly do.
These past months we’ve watched the highs and lows of the final contest with bated breath.
We saw Cherry, our English Rose, eliminate our little German, Silke.
We could only speculate at the rage Cat, our fiery Italian, must have felt when she eliminated Claire, the poor girl’s body mutilated beyond anything we’ve ever seen on the show, and we saw Thorun, our sweet, innocent Icelander out-play and out-manoeuvre our Aussie heroine Miranda, with her mad dash through the forest culminating in a Moose pit of all things — Miranda’s body penetrated by a thousand spears.
And speaking of spears,” he winks lewdly to the camera, “we all know what the next few nights could hold for these lucky ladies.”
“Your thoughts, Viscount?” Starlen turns, shoving the microphone towards me.
“I’m very happy to be heading towards the end of this Game, as I’m sure these three beautiful women are. I’m looking forward to getting to know them more without the cameras in preparation for meeting my family.”
I look at all three of them where they stand as I say this. Cherry’s glowing and beaming at me, but Cat and Thorun, both changed in some indefinable way from their harrowing time on the last challenge, look nervous. Neither appears at all to be looking forward to the next stage.
“And who will be the lucky lady to enjoy the first overnight suite with you, Viscount?”
“It’s only fitting,” I say without enthusiasm, “that the woman who had the first impression date with me, and came first in the final challenge, be the first I take to the suites.”
Cherry shrieks with joy and runs towards me, throwing her arms around my neck and covering my face and neck with kisses. Over her shoulder I see Thorun smile and Cat let out a deep breath.
I don’t know what’s going through her head, but if I had to guess I’d bet she was wishing she hadn’t used her one elimination in the house to save Thorun, which would have allowed her to murder Cherry over the coming days.
But as the girls turn and Thorun loops her arms through Cat’s, I change my mind.
I don’t think she regrets that choice.
I think she’s relieved I didn’t choose her.