9. 7.
7.
Callie
This flower bouquet is the craziest bunch I’ve seen so far. In a wide range in color and variety, I’m sure this is the most expensive yet.
I snort a laugh. I can’t wait until we pack our bags and go to London for the next stretch of the show so I can meet Maverick. He’s either an extremely sentimental friend, or the best prankster. Something tells me he’s both.
Being as discreet as I can, I glance at my phone and revisit the messages from last night. It’s not every night Sebastian calls me, and it’s never preposterously late, as he claimed at first. But when he doesn’t call me, he texts. And it’s less and less about the show, which should concern me, but I’m stupid enough to feel charmed.
I’ve never been stupid enough for anything. I'm a Sosa. We are smart people.
What happened to my intellect remains to be seen, but now I stride around the mansion with an enormous bunch of flowers resting in the crook of my arm and my hand clasped on my phone.
Sebastian: Why can’t I find a decent kebab in this town?
Callie: I’m sure you can find a kebab in L.A.
Sebastian: Need a dirty chippy kebab after getting sozzled.
Callie: I don’t think those are words.
Callie: Aren’t you supposed to be royalty, anyway? None of this sounds like something a Prince would say.
Sebastian: Maybe you don't know them well enough. No matter. Riggs aren’t royalty, but Americans are easily fooled by an accent.
Callie: Don’t tell casting that.
Sebastian: Rightly so, Riggs are bastards enough to be almost royalty.
Callie: I thought being a bastard was a secure way not to get a title.
Sebastian: Semantics.
Callie: I just googled sozzled! Sebastian, are you drunk?
Sebastian: …
Callie: How can you type, nay, think the word semantics when you’re drunk??
After that, he ended up finding a good enough kebab and tucked in for the night. I couldn’t even blame him for getting drunk on expensive mini-bar drinks. Being a contestant in a reality show is boring. While the girls are constantly watched and called to interact all the time, Sebastian is kept away.
It works for the formula. Let the girls fight over the prize, who isn’t even in the same house, and at the same time, it keeps the dates pure and exciting. But the Eligible gets day after day doing a bunch of nothing in a hotel room.
Tracing my steps to the back of the mansion, I get in the middle of the mess of what’s going on out there.
Cameras, assistants, and sound mixers swarm the place. Six girls were chosen for this group date: Vera, Mackenzie, Vivian, Maya, Abby, and Emily. I tried to get Kirsten included on the date since she was the production’s number two option, but Anya thought it was good for her to feel excluded.
I needed to shake myself after that comment.
Something is changing. And it’s not my boss or the structure of the show. It’s me, and the thought alone is terrifying.
We need drama to keep the lights on. I say it again and again to myself, but this season, the justification won’t stick in my brain.
The meddling makes my skin crawl. A conscience isn’t something I can have if I’m going to survive in this industry.
The truth is, I can’t stop TV from being TV.
But I can find someone for Sebastian. And I want to do it. I want to be there for him because he has become a friend. A weird, sometimes too British one, but a friend, nevertheless.
I march toward him with his ridiculous flower bouquet in hand. I breathe in the morning air and tell myself I will find this man a wife and clear my conscience in the process.
“Oh, Callie, you shouldn’t have, love,” he says as I approach.
“I don’t even know the names of these flowers, Riggs,” I tell him, thrusting the bouquet in his hands. “How can he order so easily from a different continent?”
“Oh, Maverick is resourceful. He’d pride himself on knowing the best flower shop in L.A. I’m sure he’ll manage to throw it in conversation.”
“Name dropping, flower edition.” I bit my cheek not to open a smile.
“Precisely.”
“We don’t do flowers here!” Anya’s voice cut through our conversation from the other side of the backyard.
She doesn’t approach, so I have to yell back: “I know!”
“He has flowers. Why does he have flowers?”
“It’s a fancy British thing. He insists on smelling the flowers before each date.”
I suck on my lips, closing my mouth so I don’t laugh when Anya shakes her head. “The fucking English…”
When I turn to Sebastian, he has the cutest shocked expression, and I have to laugh.
“She believed you!”
“Oh yes, she did.”
“I thought your aim was to make me desirable, not a lunatic who absolutely must stop to smell the flowers.”
“Smelling the flowers is hardly the craziest request we’ve had,” I say, taking the bouquet from his arms and giving it to an intern who was tracking by. Not before I take the small card on top and hand it to him.
“Still, it doesn’t put me in the best light.” He reads the card, a little smile curling up his lip.
“Don’t worry, you don’t have to seduce Anya. You wouldn't survive that.”
“Oh, I’m surely not man enough.” He passes me the card so I can read too.
“Are you ready for your date?” I ask after finishing with the card.
His eyes trace behind my head to the six girls standing not so far from us. They are all dressed in what can only be described as Golfer Chic, the same as him. It’s the first time I see him out of a suit and I’m not sure what to make of it.
The shirt they put on him makes his impossibly blue eyes shine even more. It’s almost immoral how absolutely breathtaking this man can be.
“How can one even worry in a situation like this? A date with six women is surely a recurring event in any gentleman’s life,” he says wryly.
“You put together ridiculous sentences when you’re being sarcastic. That’s my tell.”
“It’s the subtitles you wanted for me?”
I nod. “How I can translate that to the audience is anyone’s guess.”
“I’m sure you’ll find a way. Being capable and all that.”
“Thanks.” I deadpan. “It’s the nicest thing anyone ever said to me.”
“I am a poet in my spare time.”
My lips curve in a little smile, but I hold back. “Please, I hope you brought a poem to share with the ladies.”
“Do you think it could help my chances of charming someone at… mini golf?”
“Please.” I scoff. “Thousands and thousands of men succeeded before you. It’s the standard date activity.”
“It’s unimaginative, you mean.”
I blow a raspberry because he’s so very right. Mini golf is the worst date in the history of dates, but it’s one easily recreated when there’s a little pitch in the back of the mansion. I won’t come out and agree with him, so I offer a new angle.
“Going for an activity is the best option for a first date. There will be no awkward silences, no pauses. You can talk about–”
“It’s a date with seven people, Callie.” His stare punches a blow to my gut. “It’s more of a party than a date.”
I let myself smile a little. A wire is visible on his lapel and I’m fixing it before I think better of it. “You’ll do fine. And you’ll get to know them.”
His neck feels warm beneath my fingers, and they linger, feeling the soft material of his shirt. I frown to myself, his warm breath coming out in puffs over my head.
“Tell me then,” his voice drops, “What’s your perfect first date?”
An unwelcome tremor goes up my spine when I glance up at him. We are all about the banter, but sometimes Sebastian can rotate my world on its axis so quickly, I’m left catching my breath.
Sebastian has a presence about him. His voice can command, and he’s doing it right now. His eyes trace my features for a moment too long and take my hands off him as if they are burning. I step back and crane my head, chin up.
I won’t ever answer him.
“I think you’re ready to go,” I say, clearing my throat. “I’ll tell them we can start.”
And before he has a chance to respond, I’m turning around and jogging away.