Chapter Seventeen
Vivian had expected Carla to be sent home during the second rose ceremony, but she sure as hell hadn’t expected just how hard it would be to see Sienna with anyone else.
Four days had passed since the night both Carla and Imani had left the lodge.
Four days that should’ve been long enough to fade the bruise that was her feelings for Sienna.
But instead, things felt worse. A lot worse.
Watching Sienna on screen laughing, flirting, moving through dates with other women was like pressing on that bruise just to see if it still hurt.
And it did. Vivian hated that it did. Even more so when she had to watch it in high-definition.
Brooke had won the second one-on-one date.
A sunrise yoga session on the observation deck.
Vivian had watched the footage later, leaning over Elise’s shoulder in the production tent while the editors scrubbed through clips.
The light had been pink and milky, with fog rising off the river.
Sienna was on the mat, laughing at how she couldn’t keep her balance, while Brooke was beside her, calm and flexible.
At one point, Sienna had stumbled doing a Warrior Three, and then Brooke was behind her, hands on her hips, fixing her posture, and Vivian had found herself shuddering.
Then, during breakfast, when Brooke fed Sienna a piece of melon, Vivian had left the tent.
The following night, Lucille and Lara had gone home.
Double eliminations were hard. The entire rose ceremony had felt like a game of tug-of-war inside Vivian’s head.
She had wanted to talk to Sienna. But also, she hadn’t.
She had wanted to pull her aside and tell her how beautiful she looked in that silk slip dress the color of bruised peaches.
But at the same time, she knew she shouldn’t.
She had wanted to lean in and whisper that she should meet her at her villa afterward, where they could get tangled up in the sheets, all naked and hot.
But she’d already told herself that line had to stay uncrossed. Indefinitely.
And then two days later, there was another date.
Dani had gotten lucky this time. She and Sienna had gone on a private game drive, and once again Vivian had found herself in the production tent, watching the show from afar.
Dani’s hand had rested on Sienna’s thigh the entire time, and when the Land Cruiser had stopped near a clearing where a herd of elephants had passed through a touch too close for comfort, Sienna had reached for Dani’s arm.
Vivian had felt the connection right through the screen.
It was a spark she had told herself shouldn’t bother her, but then for some reason she’d spent the rest of the day feeling extremely bothered.
“You know, nothing good is going to come from you staring that hard,” Themba said, interrupting her thought like a sudden crash of cymbals. He was smiling, and for the first time since they’d met, Vivian noticed he had a dimple in his right cheek.
He was leaning back against the Land Cruiser, one knee bent, foot resting on the front tire, arms folded across his chest. Vivian hadn’t seen him until now, but then again, she was so zoned out, she wouldn’t have seen an elephant crashing through grass until it was right in front of her.
But that didn’t make his interruption any milder. “I’m not staring,” she snapped. But she was staring. In fact, her eyes followed Sienna wherever she went. “I’m observing.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Themba said, bringing out a hip flask. He lifted it up to his lips. “Don’t worry. This is just jungle juice.” When Vivian frowned, because what the hell was jungle juice anyway, he laughed and added, “Just some apple juice mixed with rooibos. Great for energy.”
She nodded and lifted the iPad clutched loosely in her fingers and stared out at the clearing ahead.
The contestants and Sienna were all out at a bush cookout near the riverbend.
The braai—which apparently meant much more to South Africans than just cooking over a fire—had been set up in a half-moon steel drum.
Coals glowed red beneath the metal grid where Jan Van der Merwe was expertly flipping boerewors and chicken skewers.
On the folding table beside him was a massive stack of braaibroodjies, which were basically made of just white bread, slices of tomato, cheese, onion and pepper, and salt.
It sounded like something that could be grilled on a pan, but according to Jan, when it was charred on the braai, it transformed into something magical.
Camping chairs were arranged in a loose semicircle.
Enamel plates balanced on knees. Jan had conjured up a starter called skilpadjies, which was minced lamb liver wrapped in caul fat and fried until golden.
Vivian had found the richness oddly satisfying, but many of the contestants couldn’t get past the liver part.
Glasses of wine rested on small plastic side tables.
Every contestant had taken their place with Sienna sitting next to Brooke and Holly.
“I’m considering switching things up with my art,” Brooke said, bringing one leg up and holding onto it with both arms. Vivian was reminded of Brooke’s hands on Sienna’s hips and made a rash decision to hate her. “I want to do more pieces inspired by the bushveld.”
“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” Sienna said, smiling so sweetly at her Vivian rolled her eyes. Was Brooke suddenly Sienna’s favorite contestant? Had she completely forgotten all about what Vivian had done to her with her tongue?
“What would you paint first?” Sienna asked dreamily.
Brooke seemed to think about this. She tapped her chin with her long, slender finger and glanced toward the hazy, honey-colored horizon.
“I think the bushveld sky,” she said finally.
“I haven’t seen anything like it before.
The way the light hits just before the sun sets completely.
It looks like the air itself is melting.
I think my clients will really appreciate it. ”
“I’m sure they will. They’d be blind not to,” Sienna said. “You can call your first painting, An Ode to the Golden Hour.”
Brooke smiled. “Maybe I’ll call it Sienna. The very reason I feel so inspired.”
They held eyes for a second, which turned into two seconds. Vivian’s ears went so hot she had to touch one to make sure it wasn’t melting. What the hell was going on between the two of them?
Vivian made a choking sound. Luckily, not loud enough for any of the contestants to hear. But then Themba shuffled a little closer to Vivian, and she knew he had heard her. His mouth twitched like he was close to laughing.
Suddenly, she regretted not going back to the villa when she’d had the chance.
After her introduction, she could’ve left, called it a night, and retreated to her air-conditioned villa to be with her friend Mr. Grey Goose.
But she’d stayed, made herself comfortable on the middle bench of the Land Rover with her feet up on the steel bar.
And the reason she’d stayed was sitting right there in that half circle, looking at Brooke with stars in her eyes.
Vivian felt sick.
“Have you ever watched a secretary bird courting?” Themba asked. He was leaning with his back against the Land Rover, right below where Vivian was sitting. If she looked down, she was staring at the wide brim of his olive-green suede hat.
“No,” she said, not sure where he was going with this or what exactly a secretary bird even looked like.
Did they wear a little suit and run the forest?
But she didn’t have the energy to ask since she was using every last morsel of willpower trying not to march over to that semicircle of contestants and take back what she’d said the other night. “I haven’t.”
Themba took a minute before speaking. “The male soars into the sky, swooping up and down in a kind of pendulum-like flight. Sometimes the female will roll backward and flash her claws as a display of strength. On the ground, they dance.” He chuckled to himself, and Vivian wondered if he’d lied about what was in his jungle juice.
“Wings out, crest feathers up, they chase each other. It’s as if they’re showing each other just how badly they want to be together.
And when it works—it doesn’t always—they build a nest together. They mate for life.”
“Where are you going with this?” Vivian asked, frowning so deeply her forehead hurt.
But Themba didn’t answer right away. Which seemed to be his thing. Vivian, however, wanted fast, prompt responses. She hated waiting for people and their wistful silences.
Finally, Themba crossed one leg over the other, sending up a puff of dust from his boots. “You’re not the only one observing.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Vivian snapped before she could help herself. There was no need to get so worked up. But she couldn’t help it. She had an inkling of suspicion that Themba knew more than he let on. But what did he know?
“Nothing,” he said. “Unless you want it to mean something.”
Vivian’s patience was as thin as a piece of floss. She was just about to tell him to mind his fucking business, but then Sienna stood up, and as she stood up, she looked up, and as she looked up, she caught Vivian’s gaze.