119
I stand beside Thorun, both of us looking spectacular in our white dresses, even if I do say so myself, as we await the commencement of the final ceremony.
We haven’t seen each other for several days now. Once we’d left Jag’s castle we were flown to separate destinations to be fitted for gowns and prepared for tonight’s gala performance.
The culmination of the season.
The choosing of the bride.
Usually, the two potential brides are dressed dissimilarly to highlight their unique qualities, but tonight the costume department has decided to put us in quasi-wedding dresses.
Thorun’s features a tight bodice and broad sweeping skirts covered in tiny Swarovski crystals in the shape of little snowflakes.
She has a matching crown of diamonds and looks like a fairy princess, and almost child-like, despite her curves.
I have no idea who the designer is. If I had to guess, I’d say someone who dresses Bjork.
Mine is an Yves St. Laurent dream, a creamy white satin sheath that appears pale gold in the light and clings from head to toe, with a more modest trail.
I didn’t get a crown, but I kind of feel a little like a movie star, and I know they’ve gone for a Sophia Loren look.
It’s stupid, but I also feel strangely triumphant knowing that even if I’m slaughtered tonight, Valentino will never have the satisfaction of knowing I wore such a dress for him.
And I’m pretty sure I am going to be killed tonight.
Jag hadn’t spoken to me on the ride to the airport from his family castle, although he’d been polite enough with Thorun.
I’m guessing that he hadn’t anticipated being confronted over his relationship with Lady Dragonspur, and I know that the last thing he wants is emotional turmoil from a future wife in name only.
‘And if she said he should choose me after my conversation with her, it can’t be coming from a good place. For sure he’ll do the opposite.’
Thorun looks sideways at me and smiles, but I can’t return the smile.
Not tonight.
I don’t for a second think Jag made me save her only to have to kill her himself.
I don’t know why I agreed to his bargain, and I still don’t know if this is my last night on earth and he actually plans to kill me.
All I know is that when he looked into my eyes and asked me to ‘trust’ him, I had to. I did. I believed he had honour.
But that was before I found out he was fucking his best friend’s wife.
‘I do still trust him, don’t I? I more than trust him, I want him, want to be with him.
Always. Shit. Shit. Shit. How is he going to get out of this?
Surely he’s come as far as he can without killing?
This time there’s no escape. But will he choose me?
Or all along has it been sweet Thorun? Too sweet to survive the game without help. Help from someone like me…?’
I try to stop my mind from going into overdrive and instead focus on the prize.
I have to win tonight, even though I’ve met the woman Jag’s actually in love with and found out what being his wife will really be like.
‘I didn’t come this far, fight all those battles, take all those lives, to lose. All through the game I’ve been positive I’ll come out on top, well, mostly. My plans for vengeance have kept me going. I need to focus on those.’
Yet revenge against Valentino seems to pale into comparison tonight with everything else that’s going on.
‘Why does it feel like, standing here on this dais, that I’m standing on an executioner's block just waiting for the axe to fall, and that the one who’s going to deliver my end is one I dream about?’
My knees are trembling like crazy, but thankfully my long gown hides that. Anyone who knows me well would notice I’m as pale as a corpse. No amount of make-up can hide my terrified pallor. But then, what’s the difference? I’m probably going to be like that permanently soon anyhow.
Thorun reaches out to take my hand as the director and presenter approach.
Starlen, swaggering in wearing a too-tight tuxedo, nods to us as if to say, ‘we’ll do,’ before clearing his throat. I guess we’re just two more temporary humans to him, and he’s already thinking about the next season, the next twenty-four victims.
“As you know, Catriona, and you probably don’t,” he points to Thorun, “so listen up; I’m going to run through the rules for the Bachelor Universe, then I’ll switch up to the big screens for family time.”
I swallow hard. Customarily, this is the time we get to see our family on the big screen and say our last goodbyes, just in case. But I didn’t nominate any family members who would appear on my behalf.
So I guess this is just going to be all Thorun.
Still, I nod my understanding and Thorun squeezes my hand.
I don’t know if she does know the rules about what’s going to happen tonight.
I thought I’d have time to fill her in, but I hadn’t anticipated we’d be separated, and I hadn’t told her earlier because I didn’t want to frighten her.
She’d needed to think that reaching the end of the final challenge was the main hurdle.
I didn’t want her to know that the bloody end of this season is usually just that, bloody.
‘I guess Jag would have told her by now, though.’
“So,” Starlen turns on his ‘star-quality smile’ for the cameras as his voice booms out.
“It’s time, Bachelor Universe! It’s that time of the show when we finally get to find out who will become Viscount Jaguar Speardon’s royal wife.
It’s been a long, harrowing, heart-wrenching journey.
We’ve lost favourites, we’ve lost those we loved, those we hated — no,” he holds up his hand to the camera and mock shakes his head, “don’t try to say you didn’t hate some of them.
But,” he shrugs, “they met their ends, sadly, tragically, just as, love her or hate her, one of the two contestants before me will tonight. As we all know, the bachelor will ask each of these beautiful women to accept his bite — but this evening, this beautiful star-lit evening, when the cicadas are singing, and the moon lights up the landscape like a luminescent party balloon,” he pauses for dramatic effect, “only one will survive that bite.”
Thorun squeezes my hand tightly as the camera pans back to us before it focuses once more on the presenter. I can’t hear what he says next, because I’m straining to hear Thorun’s whispered question.
“Wait, is he serious? One of us dies tonight?”
I try not to laugh out loud, suddenly hit by the ridiculousness of the situation we find ourselves in.
“Yes,” I whisper back.
“How?” She whispers urgently.
“Supposedly Jag’s going to murder one of us. Didn’t he tell you that?”
“No,” she whispers, “he just said to trust him.”
“Yeah,” I look straight ahead, my eyes hard, “there’s a lot of that going around.”
“I don’t want you to die,” she says, a tear running down one cheek, prompting the make-up woman to lunge forward and pat her cheek with a tissue.
“I don’t want to die either,” I mutter through clenched teeth, realising as I say this that I also don’t want her to die, but not as much as I don’t want me to die. “But one of us has to.”
“But why?” She groans.
“He can’t fucking marry both of us,” I snap, digging my nails into her hand in annoyance, more at the situation than anything.
She squeaks, and the director gives a ‘finger across the throat’ motion, warning her to shut up.
“And here we have the first family!” Starlen announces.
“Cut!”
Gerry approaches, clipboard in hand as usual, and meets my eyes before turning to stare at Thorun.
“Thorun, try to refrain from talking when we’re filming Mr Starlen.”
She nods, and he steps back.
“Ready ladies?”
I want to say ‘no,’ punch him in the throat and run out of here as fast as my legs will carry me. I’m pretty sure Thorun would be right with me, minus the throat-punching part, but instead we both reply, “yes.”
“Great. Stand tall and face the screens to the right. You each have two minutes only, so make the most of it. Oh, and try to show off the dresses; the sponsors need to get their money’s worth.”
I frown, wondering why he’s referring to both of us, but I don’t have any time to question him as he shouts:
“And…Action!”
Turning as directed, Thorun whimpers behind the hand she’s holding to her mouth as a snowy landscape is revealed and dozens of fur-clad people and dogs cram into the camera shot.
It seems her whole tiny town has come out to wish her the best, despite the obvious blizzard all around them.
I wonder if they just didn’t have a room big enough to accommodate them all for the filming.
If the rest of the town is anything like Thorun, they wouldn’t have taken no for an answer about appearing.
‘Probably had no idea that the show generally only allowed immediate family.’
I love the irreverence of them, and I can’t help but smile. What I wouldn’t give for a huge, loving family.
Front and centre of the group, a little, wizened old lady with a face resembling a walnut steps forward and right up to the nearest camera; so close, her breath frosts the lens and the camera man obviously has to step back.
“Gran,” Thorun whispers, raising one shaking palm in greeting to the old woman.
“Thorun. I want to tell you, I’m sorry,” the old lady says into the camera, her voice shaking with emotion. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know…”
Beside me Thorun shakes her head, her eyes now streaming tears.
Another woman, presumably Thorun’s aunt given the family resemblance, steps forward and puts her arm around the old woman to strengthen her as she goes on.
“Please forgive me, child. Please forgive an old, foolish woman for placing her only granddaughter into harm’s way.”
“Gran,” Thorun chokes, brushing away her tears and smiling at the screen. “Of course I forgive you. How could any of us have known?”
The crowd behind the old woman murmurs and several people wave. Others shout out their best wishes.
Starlen breaks the mood as he steps into the camera shot and addresses the family.
“You must all be very proud of how our little Nanuk has performed this season. Any parting words for the audience favourite?”
“We want you home!” A man on a snowmobile shouts. “We’ve had a terrible fishing season. Bring us back your luck.”
Thorun’s grandmother, her eyes on her granddaughter, shakes her head while others laugh.
Off-screen the director gives a ‘winding up’ signal and holds up a sign for Thorun to ‘speak now or forever hold your peace.’
He obviously thought that was funny when he wrote it.
“Gran,” Thorun clears her throat, “I’ll see you soon. Stop worrying, I have luck on my side. Manu,” she points to a man on one side of the crowd and shakes her finger, “is that my snow mobile?”
There’s general laughter from the whole group as he shrugs and grimaces, and Thorun smiles and waves as her time is up.
“Ah,” Starlen says to the camera, “what a life? Can you imagine trading that for being a royal vampire’s wife? You know you can!” He grins. “But no time for speculation,” he holds up his hand, “let’s meet our hot-headed Italian’s family.”
I gape at his rudeness just as a familiar, and very unwelcome, face appears on screen.
He’s dressed all in black, as usual, and leaning casually, one elbow resting on the roof of the pink dollhouse still displayed in pride of place in my childhood playroom. The same dollhouse he’d bent me over all those years ago when he brutally stole my innocence.
“Valentino,” I gasp.
Without saying a word, he raises his hand to his mouth and clamps his teeth over the side of his hand. A hand bearing a ring I hoped I’d never see on his finger.
His eyes meet mine, and the quintessentially Sicilian message is clear; the ring shows he’s taken his father’s role in his family, making him all-powerful. And the warning…
‘If I ever catch you…’
A shiver runs down my spine. But before I can respond he nods, presumably to the camera man, and the screen goes dark.
I swallow hard. If I was pale before I’m probably looking like a bleached chameleon right now, blending in with Thorun’s dress to the point I can’t even be seen.
Starlen, obviously confused, clears his throat before fronting the camera.
“Well, well, family, huh?” He chuckles and gives a ‘you know how it is’ look at the camera before putting on a more sombre expression and continuing.
“As we all know, when it comes to emotions some of us are eloquent, some of us hold our sentiments tight to our chest — if you haven’t picked up on that this season, then you’ve had your eyes closed.
And yes, we might have expected something more for our fiery Sicilian, but it is what it is.
He was obviously a man of few words and deep feelings. ”
I swallow hard.
“Cut!”
Starlen spins to me.
“Who the fuck was that?”
“An enemy.”
“Why am I not surprised?” The director murmurs from close by.
“Vaffanculo!”
“Hey, hey,” Thorun grasps both my hands in hers and squeezes tightly. “It’s OK, focus on the prize, remember? Isn’t that what you always say?”
I grit my teeth and nod.