And it was true. She wasn’t. She was the kind of person who puttered around her store from open to close, who ordered the same brand of loose-leaf tea, who liked her evenings quiet and her mornings predictable. She didn’t belong on a show likeThe Sapphic Match, just like she hadn’t belonged atNinety-Two.
“Maybe we should just leave it,” she muttered, not looking at Jade. “I’ll meet someone organically instead. Someone real and not on a reality show with cameras everywhere.”
“No,” Jade said firmly. “Absolutely not.” She planted her hands on her waist as if she were about to deliver a lecture, which she probably was. “You’re not backing out, Bird. I won’t let you. You can’t keep waiting around for someone to juststumble into your bookstore and fall into your lap. You have to put yourself out there.”
Birdie wasn’t going to remind her again that she had done just that. Or maybe she was. “Didn’t you just congratulate me on putting myself out there?”
“I did,” Jade said, unbothered. “But you need constant reminding that doing things that are uncomfortable is good for you. And just because one person didn’t call you back, doesn’t mean it’s the end of the world.”
Birdie didn’t agree. It had felt like the end of the world. Or at least in the way she imagined it. For her, it was complete mortification.
Jade stood up and crossed the room to the kitchen. Despite the small size of the apartment, the kitchen took up quite a bit of space with its honey-colored cabinets, teal backsplash, and a long butcher-block counter cluttered with jars of dried herbs and well-loved cookbooks. She grabbed a bottle of red wine from the counter and twisted off the cap before pouring two generous glasses.
“Here’s to new adventures,” Jade said, handing one to Birdie.
“You’re getting ahead of yourself,” Birdie replied, swirling the wine like a character in one of her favorite books. Or at least that was how she had imagined Marie Christie inMidnight Montmartredoing it while she sat in one of Paris’ smoky cafés watching people as they passed by a rain-drenched window.
Jade shook her head as she settled herself on a stool at the counter. “I sent your audition tape off,” she said, waving her phone in the air.
Birdie blinked as she lifted her glass halfway to her lips. “What?”
“You’re officially in the running,” Jade said excitedly.
Birdie set her glass down a little too carefully on the table, her heart thumping in her chest. “You mean they’ve already received it?”
“Received it, approved it, and now it’s out of your hands,” Jade said, leaning back against the counter with her arms folded over her chest, clearly delighted with herself. “Congratulations, Birdie Sinclair. You’re one step closer to falling in love on TV.”
Birdie pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a long, half-panicked, half-disbelief sigh. A headache was quickly starting. “Well, this is a tad terrifying.”
Chapter Three
The jeep rattled to a stop at the top of the gravel drive, spitting dust up behind it. Alexis stared out the window as her sunglasses slid down her nose. To her right, vineyards rolled down the hillside in neat, undulating rows, and the morning mist still clung to the valleys below.
The villa stood ahead with its limestone walls, terracotta roof tiles, and shutters painted a soft lavender that matched the fields to its left. Ivy spiraled up the walls. Wrought-iron balconies with climbing roses extended from each window, and the cobblestone courtyard looked bleached from the sun. In the center was a fountain, with production tents set up on a large patch of grass off to the side.
It was beautiful. Very different from last season’s Hawaii villa with its palm trees and ocean breeze, which should have made Alexis feel something like relief or excitement. Except it didn’t.
All she felt was a big knot of regret. Regret for not thinking this through, for saying yes like it was nothing, for believing she could somehow convince America that Alexis Wolf wasn’t the villain she’d been edited into. Though fine, she did have to remind herself every so often that she had tried to blackmail her way to winning. It was no secret that poor Skye had seen the worst of her. Lucy too. It wasn’t exactly her finest moment in life, but did that make her a terrible person? No. Maybe a little too competitive, though.
Which was why she needed this. To show the viewers the real, raw side of her. It was imperative that they got to know this side of her she barely even remembered—the side she wastrying desperately to find again. She needed America to see the side of her that once at sixteen, had baked a tray of chocolate chip cookies for her elderly neighbor. Edmund, the neighbor’s cat, had just died of lymphoma, and Alexis wanted to take some of the woman’s heartache away. Viewers needed to see the side that used to smile at people on the street, offer her seat on the bus, and kick the soccer ball back to the kids at the park instead of stepping over it. She wanted them to see the side of her that life had altered with broken promises, heartbreaks that felt like traffic accidents for her soul, and an endless string of bad choices.
Alexis moaned and pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the window. “Fuck,” she muttered under her breath. “What the hell was I thinking saying yes to this?”Fuckity fuck!
She considered asking the driver to turn around and drive right through the wrought-iron gates with the nameVilla Amourscripted across the archway in looping gold letters and take her back to the airport. It wouldn’t be beneath her to beg him to take her back to the US. But just then the door yanked open and a man in a black suit, sweating at the temple, glared at her.
“Madame,” he said gruffly in a thick accent. “You have to get out now.”
Alexis smiled weakly and did exactly that. She climbed out of the car, and then her attention was immediately grabbed by a woman walking toward her, waving as if they were best friends. The woman had a whirlwind of blonde, curly hair held back by a bright blue scarf that fluttered in the breeze. She wore loose jeans and a white T-shirt rolled up at the sleeves.
“Ms. Wolf,” she said, extending a hand when she was just a few short feet away. “I’m Elise Mercier. Executive producer. Welcome toVilla Amour.”
Alexis blinked and tried to summon some charm. She was trying to look as if she had a shred of excitement in her soul,but all she managed was a tilt of her head and a scrunch of her brows. “Where’s Marla?”
Elise’s smile faltered just a fraction before she squared her shoulders. “Oh, ummm… Marla’s moved on to another project. This season is a fresh start. You’ll see as we go along. There are a few new twists.” She grinned as if the changes were all her idea. “We’ll only be having ten contestants this season. A little cozier, hopefully, and viewers now have live input in choosing dates and activities. Also, you’ll actually be staying here at the villa with the contestants instead of having separate accommodations. But I’ll explain all of that later. First, I want to introduce you to someone new this season.”
She gestured toward the villa, and Alexis’s eyes immediately landed on a tall, striking woman leaning against the stone wall, glancing down at a clipboard in her hand.
“Alexis, meet Vivian Michaels. She’ll be your host this season.”
