Chapter 5
MISSY
I step out of the makeup-and-hair hangar and make my way down a pathway lined with thick jungle vegetation and lighted torches that culminate down at the beach where the opening interviews will take place.
As per the style team’s suggestion, I walk barefoot through the powdered sand, watching the sequins of my baby-pink dress glitter in the flickering firelight.
Not even in my pageant days did I wear a dress as stunning and expensive as this one.
When crowned Miss Tennessee State, I’d worn a gown I’d sewn myself, made from three other dresses I’d carefully thrifted, cut, and restyled.
But this—this shimmering beauty I’m wearing was hand selected by the show’s style team just for me.
I feel like Cinderella going to a ball, my chest bursting with a thousand rays of sparkling sunlight.
Knowing I’m alone on my sojourn to the beach, I take this moment to twirl in my dress, flinging my arms wide and tilting my head toward the starry sky.
I feel the skirts of the A-line dress float around my legs as I do.
Just then, I step on something cool and round.
I look down and pluck the tiny offender from the sand, only to find the most gorgeous seashell, complete with orange and pink stripes that fan out from its center, reminding me of a sunset.
“It’s perfect,” I breathe aloud, raising the shell to eye level. “You, my friend, are my newest lucky object.” I take that moment to dust off some of the sand stuck to the outside of the seashell and admire its shiny exterior.
“Enjoying yourself, Precious? Did Gollum find a ring?”
My internal ball of light is instantly snuffed out by the wet blanket that is Colton Downing’s voice. Elation gone, I pocket the tiny shell and turn toward the direction of the makeup-and-hair hangar, where Colton must have exited shortly after I did.
“If you must know, I was enjoying myself.” I smile confidently at him as his shadowy form passes between the light of the torches. “Are you ready to present our team to Ameri…”
The words die on my lips the moment Colton steps in front of me, his whole body now illuminated by the torch fire.
I’ve seen Colton Downing in a lot of suits over the years.
They are practically his family’s formally issued uniform, but now …
His suit is a dark navy, perfectly tailored, with a light-blue button-up beneath, and he’s got a patterned tie in bright blue tied and tucked beneath his suit coat.
I’ve never seen that bright of a color on Colton before, but it transforms his eyes into shimmering sapphires.
I feel pulled in by him—his gaze, his confidence, the way his lips tilt …
What am I thinking?
Where is Hairy?
I scramble to locate my comfort mole just above his left eyebrow and imagine it as furry as its name.
Because yes, Colton has a mole, and it does have a name.
You see, Colton is one of the more handsome men I know.
But long ago, I discovered a way to filter out his attractiveness.
It’s simple, really. In high school, I focused on the hairs that made up his unibrow, but then his mother must have shown him the power of the pluckers and the uni disappeared.
Since then, I’ve made the little mole above his left eyebrow my point of contact when addressing him.
I call it Hairy. Not that it’s a hairy mole, but wouldn’t it be so much better if there were two spindly hairs poking from it?
I will my heartbeat to simmer down. It’s just Colton. He’s the human equivalent of biting into your favorite Halloween candy only to find a razor blade inside. Attractive until it’s not.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Colton’s Adam’s apple dip as his eyes scan me like a copy machine. “You look … your dress … Uh, the team did swell.”
I raise a brow. “Swell?”
“Well,” he amends. “I mean, the team did well. With the way you look, er, that dress looks, fits, er … It looks nice.” Colton nods too quickly before pointing to the beach. “We should find out where the film crew wants us for the interviews.”
“Yeah.” My brain feels fuzzy with his compliment.
At least, I think it was a compliment. But then again, it’s Colton, so it was likely an insult in sheep’s clothing.
“Let’s go,” I say, happy to turn away from Colton and focus on something …
less Coltony. I hike up the hem of my dress to my ankles and pivot in the sand.
When we arrive on the beach, Colton and I pass Shannon and Penny, who are huddled around a tablet discussing something about bags and bars. We’re quickly whisked away by some Sunsets and Sabotage crew members who show us to a pair of matching seats, which we promptly occupy.
The seats are true to the plane crash theme of Sunsets and Sabotage.
They are the same semistiff seats you’d find on an airplane, but ours are a bright teal, the same color that’s all over the outfits we wore to the airport.
The same outfits we’ll change into after the opening interviews and wear for the entirety of our time on the island.
But for now, I soak in the fact I’m in proper undergarments and not a swimsuit that’s giving me a wedgie every two seconds.
Looking around, I see that we’re sitting in two of fourteen seats on set.
All of which are divided up by the seven different team colors.
The seats form a crescent shape around a familiar fire pit.
It feels absolutely unreal to be sitting on a set I’ve been watching through a television screen since I was a teenager.
I itch to grab my cell phone and take pictures from every vantage point for Paige, so that somehow I can bring some of this experience back to her.
But since our phones were confiscated several hours ago, I settle for memorizing every last detail—the film crew with their cameras and spotlights, the detailed staging with bits and pieces of plane wreckage scattered around us, the powdered sugar sand that clings to my feet, the tropical breeze that brings the smell of the campfire and the freshness of flowers as it blows past. It’s all more than I could have imagined—including the nerves that are running through me like track stars.
Instead of letting my jitters get in my head, I lean over Colton’s body to greet the couple sitting in amber-colored seats next to us.
I thank my lucky stars that the team who did my makeup and hair love to chat as much as I do.
They had eagerly spilled the tea on all of the show’s contestants, and I promptly devoured it.
And, if their information was to be trusted, then the man and woman are Team Amber—two former tennis athletes who both won Gold in their singles divisions in the 1992 Summer Olympics.
The couple looks sweet with their bright smiles and intertwined hands.
The man’s hair is mostly gray with a few wisps of brown while the woman’s hair is black with a few streaks of gray.
I wave to them, and they wave back, the woman replying with an “Hola.”
I respond with an “Hola” of my own.
I like them already.
After Colton and I chat with Team Amber, my eyes move down the line of chairs, spotting Team Violet—two female comedians that seem to favor self-deprecating humor, if their continual jabs at their “marshmallow-shaped nose” or “gizzard chin” have anything to say about it.
They’re both wearing brightly colored power suits, and their hair is done up in matching brunette chignons.
They are beautiful with their rosy smiles and infectious laughs, but it makes my heart sink every time I hear a demeaning joke just to elicit a reaction.
Yes, I know it’s a form of comedy, but I also know it’s rooted in insecurity.
I desperately want to walk over to the pair and show them just how stunning they truly are.
But then I spot the pair of guys sitting next to them—Team Ruby.
Both were former contestants on a reality dating show.
They’d played the “bad guys” of their season as they’d both brought their “matches” to tears in the final episode.
They look like gym bros through and through with their bulging arm muscles that press against their white dress shirts.
Their flat-billed hats have the words heartbreaker on one and tearjerker on the other, both nicknames they’d been given on their season of their reality dating show, and apparently, were proud to own.
I’m making a mental note to keep an eye out for those two when Heartbreaker looks up, catching me staring.
He winks at me, his lips curving into a wolflike grin.
I flinch with hardcore ick, but then Heartbreaker’s eyes shift to Colton, and Heartbreaker instantly goes rigid.
Suddenly, Colton clears his throat before turning some rather fiery eyes away from Team Ruby.
Whatever Colton just did, I can tell he has Heartbreaker rethinking his wink.
Just then, one of the guys from the makeup-and-hair team approaches me, brushing my face with another layer of powder.
I thank him. Between the humidity and the nerves exercising my sweat glands, my face likely looks like a bike reflector, something I’ll have to get used to for the next eighteen days, but for now, I’m grateful for the powder bath.
The stylist moves to my hair. I can already feel my long curls starting to frizz, but the man is quick on the draw and sprays another round of antifrizz hairspray.
When the stylist moves on to Colton, he, too, gets a face-full of powder, but as soon as the stylist attempts to touch Colton’s hair, he is not so subtly turned away.
No one but Colton touches his hair. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if one of the other personal items in Colton’s backpack is hair gel.