Bianca cleared her throat politely. “I’d take the day I won silver at the Beijing Olympics.”
“You won silver?” Birdie said, eyes wide, mouth falling open as if Bianca had just announced she’d been recruited for a mission to Mars. Not that winning a silver medal at the Olympics wasn’t an excellent accomplishment. Though Alexis did feel a pang of jealousy at the way Birdie was staring at Bianca, full of admiration.
But that feeling thankfully slipped away almost as quickly as it came because the next moment Bianca turned toward her. “And you, Lex? Any specific day jump out for you?”
And then every single woman sitting on the sofas, and the cameraman of course, turned their focus to her.
Alexis’s mind went blank. Not a single day came to her. Not even the day she got her real estate license and on the same day ended up selling a four-bedroom craftsman in Laurelhurst to an Italian who asked her out on a date to Rivière Rouge, one of the most obscenely expensive restaurants in all of Portland. But she did know which day she’d never want to see again, and that was the dayThe Sapphic Match, Season Six had been aired on national television.
“Umm…” she started. All she needed was a few more seconds of stalling to make up some bullshit story. But before she could, Vivian walked through the open doors.
Today, the host was dressed in gold gladiator sandals and a pink jumpsuit so pale it looked like it might fade away in the sunlight. She caught Alexis’s eye and gave a subtle flick of her head toward the buffet table.
Alexis’s chest tightened. She considered staying put and acting as if she hadn’t spotted Vivian at all. But avoidance onlyworked for so long. “I’m sorry, ladies,” she said with a sigh as she rose from the sofa. “It seems I’m needed.” She crossed the room without making eye contact with any of them.
“Morning,” Vivian said when Alexis reached her. She smoothed a palm over Alexis’s bare arm and smiled. “I’m sorry we’re only having this conversation this morning.” The way she looked at Alexis made it seem like it was somehow her fault.
Alexis smiled politely. “It’s fine. What’s going on?”
Vivian flicked her gaze to the buffet table, landing briefly on the croissants. She bit her lip, clearly tempted, but then it seemed she remembered whatever punishing diet she was currently committed to and pressed her mouth shut. When she looked at Alexis again, she leaned in and whispered, “There’s been quite a bit of talk on the message boards.”
“Message boards?” Alexis asked, acutely aware that the chatter from the sofas behind them had gone silent. She’d bet all her life savings that the contestants were eavesdropping.
“Yes,” Vivian said. “On the app. Fans can comment live, throwing in their opinions. It’s where our production team gets instant feedback. It’s the reason we’re doing this season live. Haven’t I explained this to you before?”
She had not. Well, not in so much detail yet.
“The viewers want to see more of you and Birdie. Apparently, there’s a lot of…” she cleared her throat. “There is a lot of chemistry between the two of you. They’ve requested a one-on-one date again today. However, Elise and I think it’ll be better if we do another group date.”
“Why?” Alexis asked.
Vivian’s eye twitched, as if she hadn’t expected Alexis to question her. “Because the storyline isn’t ready for that yet. And trust me, if we give it to them too soon, they’ll get bored.”
Alexis wanted to say there wasn’t a storyline. There wasn’t even chemistry between her and Birdie. But it was a lie.A lie that had gotten stuck in her throat because therewassomething going on between them. The kissing. The sex. And yes, fine, she’d spent the first few days of the show wishing Birdie would get carried off by an eagle or something. But now, things had changed. And she so badly wanted to go on another date with Birdie.
“That doesn’t seem very honest.”
“It’s a reality show, not reality,” Vivian said. “You, of all people, should understand that.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Alexis asked, feeling both impatient and annoyed. She didn’t like Vivian’s tone. She didn’t like what Vivian implied. Frankly, she didn’t like Vivian very much at all.
“Consider it a reminder that we don’t want a repeat of last season. Do you understand?” Vivian said, lowering her voice even more.
Wait. Had Vivian seen something? Did she know? Had she somehow found out about the other night?Oh shit!If she had, what then? Had she already told Elise? Was Alexis about to get fired? This was bad, maybe not blackmail bad, but still really, really bad.
But Alexis didn’t get the chance to finish her spiral because Vivian had already pivoted. She walked past her as she yelled cheerily, “Alright, everyone, we’re doing a group date this morning.”
~~
Just like the whole horseback riding thing, Alexis could have gone her entire lifetime without ever being a muse. When Vivian had announced the group date at breakfast, the first thing that popped into her mind was a mental image of a naked Kate Winslet with the Heart of The Ocean around her neckand Leonardo DiCaprio with his sketchbook in hand as his eyes flicked up over the page with that smoldering gaze of his.
She’d flushed almost violently at the thought and considered opting out of thePaint Me Like One of Your French Girlsdate. Because yes, she was the bachelorette, and so of course she could decide if she wanted to partake in something so exposing. But as it turned out, she didn’t have a say in it.
When Alexis found herself perched on a wrought-iron chair and thankfully not a velvet chaise lounge, with her legs crossed at the ankles, her back straight but tense, and her hands resting lightly in her lap, she just couldn’t relax. Not so much because of the cameras angled at her from all directions, but because eight beautiful women sat watching her, studying her, probably convinced they could capture something about her that she didn’t already know about herself.
Alexis glanced at the semicircle of easels. There were eight. Each with a clean white canvas. Each with a small wooden tray holding jars of pigment: sun-bleached orange, burnt sienna, crimson, cobalt, and way too many others.
Sunlight filtered through the grapevines overhead and wove itself into a glittering gold lattice that landed on her head. The pergola stood in the heart of Domaine de Soleil, a neighboring wine farm dotted with cypress trees and marked by snaking rows of vineyards. The winemaker had apparently agreed to lend the pergola and its surrounding terrace for the day’s festivities, which was why the wine farm’s signature bottle stood on a small stone pedestal surrounded by nine glasses.
