There’s a sudden glint of recognition in her eyes as she drags her gaze from the camera on my shoulder to my face—one perfect brow arching up, lips parting ever so slightly, then closing again to adopt a smirk that says,well, isn’t this interesting?
She doesn’t look surprised—not in the horrified way I am. Not in the way that is causing every muscle in my body to scream at me to run. No, instead, she looks like a wolf stalking a scrawny rabbit and coming across a tantalizing deer instead. Anticipation mixed with pleasure; like she’s going to eat me alive and enjoy every single minute of it.
A horrible realization starts to dawn on me.
Molly Spencer is a contestant.
Even worse, she’sthecontestant. The one who will get the most airtime, the most attention, and whom I’ll have to see the most.
She’s going to be here the entire time Iam—Glen will make sure of it.
Six weeks of Molly Spencer.
Six weeks of hell.
I have to get off this ship.
SEVEN
Chloe’s ‘90s Hits, Now Playing:
WWW.NEVERGETOVERYOU — PROZZÄK
There are onlya handful of reactions that seem appropriate when coming face-to-face with your archnemesis in the middle of a cruise ship reality TV show.
The first option is to lay on the charm, and lay it on thick.
The goal here is to make them believe that everything is fine. Better than fine! You’re unbothered by their existence andthriving. Who cares if they got you dropped from one of the most prestigious and highly coveted film internships in North America?
The second option, which is admittedly a bit harder to pull off, is to simply pretend they don’t exist. Their betrayal is a mere blip on your timeline of success. When they saunter up to you, offer no reaction to the sight of their duplicitous, backstabbing face. Simply adopt a confused smile and say, “Sorry, do I know you?”
This one is brilliant because itreallygets under their skin. It’s gaslighting at its finest, but it requires a certain level of restraint to make it truly believable.
The finaloption—and my personal favorite—is to harness the white-hot rage bubbling up inside you like molten lava, convert it into fuel, and use it to summon the brute strength needed to hurl your mortal enemy over the side of the ship into the sparkling water below; their stupid gold dress flapping like an ugly bird in the wind.
For added effect, you can also laugh maniacally as Italian Port Authority officers haul you away to jail. But this is optional.
I do none of these things.
Instead, I freeze, camera perched precariously on my shoulder while my hands begin to go numb.
I scream internally at myself, urging my body to move, to do something—anything—to demonstrate that I am a functioning adult who isn’t rattled nearly to the point of catatonia.
But it doesn’t work. I’m rooted to the ground.
Thankfully, my spiraling thoughts are interrupted by someone clearing their throat beside me. I slowly drag my attention away from Molly—who is now fully integrated into the squealing group of female contestants as they greet each other—to see Sora’s concerned face peering up at me.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine,” I croak, and her brow furrows. “I just realized I know that woman. I was caught off guard.”
“Oh,” Sora breathes a sigh of relief and brightens. “That’s cool!”
I narrow my eyes, and she pauses.
“That’s…not cool?”
“Definitely not cool,” I murmur back.
