“You know, like a little line or something. It can be cute or clever. A little something to help with first impressions and all that,” Amy said.
A knot tightened in Lucy’s stomach. She hadn’t prepared anything, because she hadn’t known to. It wasn’t like she watched the show the same way Ben did. Her knowledge ofThe Sapphic Matchcame from half-watched snippets and secondhand recaps. Besides, she had no idea what even impressed the bachelorette. The only information they’d been given about the woman was her name.Skye.
“Oh,” she muttered. “Should I have?”
“I mean, you don’t have to,” Amy said, though everything about her face, about the way her mouth pulled, the way she raised her eyebrows, said the opposite.
Fuck.
“Well, what did you come up with?” Lucy asked, trying to sound casual, as if showing up without a plan had been intentional and not accidental.
Amy gave a tiny smile and tilted her head. “You’ll see.”
“Oh, come on,” Lucy said, the words slipping out faster than she meant. Somehow, she was already behind her competition.
“It’s better if it’s a surprise,” Amy said lightly, but her tone had an edge to it. Not mean, just competitive, as though she’d already practiced her delivery, as if she was already expecting that first rose, or whatever it was that this show used. She would never hear the end of it from Ben if they actually handed out a LELO vibrator instead of a rose.
Lucy opened her mouth to press again, then thought better of it. There was probably a camera somewhere on the boat, and she didn’t want to come off as too pushy. Instead, she turned away from Amy and looked out toward the horizon.
Across the water, the island came into view. Palm trees swayed in the breeze. A welcome arch was draped in flowers, and the sand was a pristine yellow. The closer they got, the more the details sharpened. Deck chairs were scattered, wind chimes hung off branches, and crew members with cameras and wearing all black despite the sweltering sun were scurrying about. There was a woman holding a clipboard, pacing back and forth, seemingly mouthing something to herself.
“Okay, wow,” Amy muttered beside her, leaning forward. “This is real.”
Lucy nodded. Her throat was suddenly tight, as if something had lodged itself in there. “Too real,” she whispered under her breath.
The boat docked with a soft bump. A slim woman with purple hair and a headset bounded onto the deck. “Welcome to the island,” she chirped. “If everyone could please grab their things and line up. We’ll take you to the house and get you all settled in. You’ll meet the bachelorette at sunset during the welcome soirée at the fire pit. So please rest up, hydrate, and get ready for your first official night in paradise.”
There were cheers. Claps. Someone behind Lucy whooped, which only made the knot in her stomach tighter. This was finally happening. Ben would lose his mind. She wanted to message him, but anything other than selfies and confessionals was strictly prohibited. No texts. No DMs. No connection with the outside world. At least not until filming wrapped.
For the next however many weeks, this would be her world.
Lucy followed the group along a winding path from the dock through a stretch of lush greenery. Palms swayed overhead. The gravel crunched beneath their sandals, and she could smell sweet plumeria and salt.
Ahead, the villa appeared, framed by tall ferns and bright orange hibiscus. Stucco walls were painted a soft cream and gave way to terracotta roof tiles. There were floor-to-ceiling windows that caught the sun just right. Golden light spilled across a mosaic-tiled patio, and a hanging chair swayed in the breeze. Lucy caught sight of string lights hanging off a banyan tree, already twinkling even though it wasn’t dark yet.
Amy hooked her arm in with Lucy’s.
“How is this real life?” Amy asked, staring dreamily ahead.
“It’s not,” Lucy said. “It’s reality TV.”
Amy laughed and squeezed Lucy’s arm with her own. “I can’t wait to see the rose ceremony setup. Or maybe they’re not even using a rose this year. Do you remember last season? The bachelorette was a florist, so they used flower crowns.”
Lucy made a noncommittal sound but only caught half of what Amy was saying. Frankly, it all blurred together. The further they walked up the path, the less Lucy was able to focus on anything other than the weight in her stomach.
Inside the villa, everything smelled faintly of coconut. The entryway opened onto a sun-drenched living area. There were curved white sofas, raffia accents, and expensive-looking rugs expanding over herringbone flooring. Their bags had apparently been delivered to their rooms by a small army of PAs wearing all-black outfits. A crew member with a clipboard pressed to her chest motioned the contestants toward the open kitchen, where bottles of sparkling water and chilled hibiscus rested on the marble counter.
“Please hydrate and make yourself at home,” the woman with the clipboard said cheerily. “You’ve got an hour or two to unwind, unpack, and explore. But please, ladies, keep to the designated areas. Everything is marked with red arrows. If you don’t see the arrows, it means you’ve left the safe zone.”
Amy leaned in and muttered just loud enough for Lucy to hear. Her voice was tighter than a pulled muscle. “Why do we need a safe zone? What happens if we wander off?”
“Pretty sure that’s how horror movies start,” Lucy said, smiling as she glanced at her out of the corner of her eye.
But Amy didn’t think it was funny. She shivered and ran her palms over her bare arms before shooting Lucy a look that said, ‘Not funny.’
But it was funny. Well, kind of. In the same way that everything about this setup was somewhat funny. Lucy was quite sure cameras were set up over doorways and behind the decorative woven wall panels of the living room. People were probably watching them right now from somewhere unseen, probably judging them and placing bets on who would win.
It was amusing, if not a little terrifying.
