5. 5
M y knees crack against the cobblestone, pulling a cry of pain from my throat. Of course, this is my first impression with a man. I realized for a split second before I became intimately familiar with the ground, he was even prettier in person than he was on TV. I pray no one saw my fall. A frivolous, unanswered prayer.
Strong hands hoist me from my rock laden home, and I die a little inside.
“Are you okay?” the deep voice asks me. I know it’s not Jacob Jacobson. His voice is like a summer drizzle against warm ground. Quickly dissipates and is forgotten.
But this voice.
His voice is everything. It is the wave crashing against the shore. It is the tumble of thunder within the sky. It is the beauty of the brush stroke on the canvas .
It is all encompassing.
“Please tell me you didn’t see that,” I beg him to lie to me, looking up at his concerned face.
“The bright side is you will be the one I remember most from tonight,” he says, a soft smile on his lips.
I dust off one of the many dresses Charlie’s designer friend sold me at cost, which still made my credit card cry. He reaches out and I think he’s going to cusp my cheek. My face heats, but he pulls a leaf that inexplicably got tangled in my hair, dropping it down to the ground.
“While you’re getting to know the other ladies, I might be having a bonfire out back to destroy these shoes and send them to hell where they belong,” I tell him.
He gives me a small laugh, which pulls a smile to my lips.
“Should I have production get some sage? Smudge the space of the bad fall energy?”
His knowledge of smudging surprises me, easing my embarrassment.
“I wouldn’t want to put them out.” One of the people with a headset makes a hurry up motion with their hand and I know my time with Parker is coming to an end. “Come find me later?”
“The second I can,” he promises, his voice earnest.
I hold eye contact with him as long as I can, accepting the arm of one of the production assistants. As I cross the threshold of the mansion, all the aches from my fall make themselves known as if they were waiting for me to be done talking to Parker.
Very considerate of them, honestly.
My limo ladies are waiting inside with a glass of champagne for me. I accept it but only take a small sip .
“Ladies,” Carmen starts, lifting her glass, “to us and all the hell we will be put through. Let us remain friends despite trying to attract the attention of the same man.”
We all toast, taking a drink and as the bubbles burst across my tongue, I try to gauge how much of a disaster this is going to be.
Drew sits next to me on the couch. Her face has looked familiar since we were in the limo, but I still can’t place where I recognize her from. She doesn’t say anything as we sit together. The moment has the barest hint of awkwardness around the edges, but it’s to be expected in such an unusual situation. Camera people walk around the room, filming various groups, telling us not to look at the camera when we inevitably do.
Every five minutes or so a new woman enters the mansion and joins in the mingling until the evening has the air of a party while we wait for Parker.
Alcohol is flowing freely at a bar set up in the kitchen by production. I watch from my perch, nursing my original glass of champagne, watching the group get progressively more and more drunk. One thing Lorelei drilled into me after I was cast was to watch how much alcohol I consumed.
“ Just remember, everything you say or do can be cut and edited out of context. And no matter what you do, don’t get drunk. You will regret it because it will inevitably be the footage they choose. ”
It’s obvious this advice is accurate as I watch camera people follow those who are imbibing the most.
“Do you think they will serve us dinner?” Drew asks .
“No, there’s no dinner,” I tell her, watching Persephone tell a story, her body moving in an animated fashion while all the women around her stare, enraptured.
Hours tick by and I wonder why I’m here for the millionth time. Dating has never been my forte and there’s no way love can really be found in this situation. Once my embarrassment at Miles’s rejection wore off, I deeply regretted telling Lorelei to give her brother my name. However, since I’m not one to back out of a promise, when I received the call, I accepted the casting.
When I told my parents I would be needing to take time off, they were extremely worried about me. I haven’t focused on myself since I opened my bakery. Once I explained where I was going, they were excited. They are hoping I come home with a husband while I just hope I make it past night one. More to avoid the embarrassment at being let go the first night.
Mom and Liam immediately agreed to take over the bakery for me while I was gone, which will help me to avoid losing any customers I have. It also allowed me to continue taking cake orders during the time I’ll be out. While a great cook, my mother’s decorating skills are limited. I made sure to only accept the types of orders we had discussed.
It took twenty minutes for Dom to stop laughing when I told him. If he had been in the room, I would have thrown a shoe at him.
I’m going to miss being at my bakery, but hopefully this turns into the best choice I could make.
Bethany H, the fashionable accountant, plops down on the couch, sloshing her martini out of her glass and across my arm.
“Whoops!” she says giggling. “You’re beautiful.” Her hand is slightly sticky as she runs it down my face .
“Oh, well, thank you so much. Can you stop touching me?” I try to pull my face away from her, but she wraps her arms around me, pulling it back toward her. For a drunk girl, she’s surprisingly strong.
“Can I tell you a secret?” she whispers in my ear, her spittle making me cringe.
“Only if you get away from my face.”
“I’m only here because I want to become a leading Hollywood actress. Don’t tell, okay?” She hiccups before giggling.
“Ladies!” a production assistant calls, clapping his hands loudly. The noise diminishes immediately. “Parker and Jacob are about to come in. There should be a lot of excitement and cheers. Everyone please be standing and mingling during this time.” He looks pointedly at Drew, Bethany H, and me until we all stand awkwardly.
“Also,” he continues, “Jacob will reintroduce Parker to you all and then he will say a few words. There will be a toast at the end, so everyone please have a glass in your hand. Everyone will need to talk to Parker tonight. Have fun!”
A few camera people come into the room, adding to the visible cameras that are placed around the room. This entire situation makes me feel like it’s the first day of school where no one really knows what’s going on and I’m just following the lead of others.
An unseen production assistant calls out a countdown to the doors opening. When she hits zero, Jacob and Parker push in and we all cheer as instructed. They both smile at us until the noise settles down.
“Ladies, welcome to House of Desire !” Jacob says, causing another round of applause. “This season is going to be a great one, I’m sure. As a reminder, five of you will be going home tonight. Parker, would you like to welcome the women fighting to be the flame of your desire?”
“I’d love to,” he says, taking half a step forward, smiling at us. “Ladies, I can’t wait to get to know you all over these next few months and for you to get to know me. Thank you for your willingness to be here. I already know I’m the luckiest man alive.”
Everyone claps politely as he looks around the room. Locking his gaze on me, he shoots me a wink. Confused, I look behind me, thinking maybe he meant that for someone else, but there’s no one else there. I point to my chest, just to confirm. He nods and winks again.
This time, everyone turns and looks at me. Some women with confusion, others with outright hostility, and I know this singled out attention is going to hurt my ability to make friends.
“Parker will now choose the woman he’ll have a one-on-one moment with first,” Jacob Jacobson says.
Parker looks at me and I can tell he’s about to call me out again. My eyes widen, worried everyone is going to hate me if I get his attention again. I shake my head infinitesimally. Confusion colors his expression, but he seems to understand and calls on another woman.
She’s the shortest of the group, barely coming up to Parker’s chest, but her boisterous laugh and sunny disposition more than make up for her lack in stature. He leads her outside and the rest of us break up, mingling more.
An hour into the night, I have settled back onto the couch, trying to be comfortable as we wait to cycle through our time with Parker.
“Cletus is my thoroughbred. He’s the most beautiful chestnut color,” Leslie says to the small group of us. She is everything I would expect from a debutante, something she told us about within the first minute of her joining our group. Her long, blonde hair, blue eyes, pale skin, and slight southern drawl pair perfectly with the string of pearls clasped around her neck.
She has shared the name of every horse on her family’s farm and their various pedigrees like it means anything to us. My eyes glazed over around the fourth horse, unable to follow the conversation, never having been near horses in my life.
There was a girl in our town who was the designated “horse girl” growing up. She was a nice girl, but the deep obsession took up her entire life and a good portion of her wardrobe. In elementary school, she would often whinny when teachers would call on her. Luckily, she grew out of the habit and once she developed boobs, the guys in our grade quickly learned to ignore her dedication to the animal.
By the time high school rolled around, she would participate in competitions, winning the majority of them. Her love of the horses took her all the way to the Kentucky Derby as part of a now famous trainer duo.
While Leslie seems to love her family’s horses, I don’t get the impression they are anything more than an accessory to her.
My empty water glass saves me and I excuse myself from the conversation, moving to the bar.
“Can I get a rum and coke?” a blue-haired girl asks the bartender. “It’s shocking to me they don’t have food at this little shindig. I’m Zoey,” she says to me.
“Anastasia, but you can call me Anya. I agree about the food. I am starving. I would kill for a chicken fried steak and some mashed potatoes and gravy right now. ”
She takes a sip of her drink while I gulp down my water, sure I’m dehydrated at this point.
“That sounds delicious. Is that your favorite meal?”
“Just what I’m craving right now. I’ve been eating healthier the past few weeks in preparation for this, and I started dreaming about everything being smothered in gravy.”
“That sounds like a very sexual dream.”
I laugh, genuinely enjoying this woman. “It definitely was.”
“Anastasia,” a member of production calls, reading off a list on their clipboard.
“Yes?” I say, turning toward them.
“You’re up,” they say and move on with no care to the bomb of nerves that just exploded in my stomach.