“I don’t know what to say,” I say helplessly.
“Well, you better figure it out. Because if I’m letting you go so you can find out once and for all exactly what is between you and Lyra, you better start planning. We’re talking open and honest and grand gestures. And you need to tell me about it. Because I want you to be happy, Spence. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
I pull her into my arms, wanting to offer some comfort.
Or maybe it’s me who needs the hug. “I don’t deserve you,” I say into her hair.
Abigail tightens her arms around my waist. “No. You don’t. But I’m giving up a lot, so don’t mess this up.”
6
Lyra
I
havetwodaystoprepare for being the Suitorette.
I actually had three weeks, but I’m in Saint Pierre for only two days before we start filming. And it won’t be televised for another month, to allow the producers and editors and everyone else involved can work their magic to take it from hours of boring video to an emotional, drama-filled, must-watch happily ever after starring yours truly.
In those two days, I’ve never had so many cameras pointing at me, and I’m a princess.
This is after the “make-over” that my team is tasked with performing. I like to think I’m fairly consistent in my grooming so there’s not much outward difference when they finish with me, but the hours I spend being pricked and proddedshouldhave resulted in some sort of transformation rather than looking like I just got a glow-up.
I have my hair cut and styled. A facial and a full-body scrub. My teeth are whitened and brightened.
Mani, pedi, and everything waxed. Then they touch up my tan with a spray.
While all this is going on, I have producers, Rue and Ria to keep me company. Grayson shows up occasionally, depending on how much privacy I need. The women don’t give me that consideration.
Luckily, I quite like them both and having them around isn’t a big deal. Except Rue must have a Mrs. Theissen gene because she feels the need to instruct me about everything Suitor-related.
It’s helpful because as we get close to filming, I start to feel a little nervous. It’s an unusual sensation for me. I do my best to push it down because I’m definitely not about to admit to anyone that I’m scared.
When I’m getting my hair cut, Grayson offers to show me pictures of the men, but I turn him down because I think it might make me feel worse.
What if I don’t like any of them? What if I’m attracted toallof them? What if they don’t like me and all decide to leave?
I don’t share those thoughts either.
“If I start looking at them, I’ll start sending them home now,” I tell Grayson in a light and bright voice that is nothing like the queasy uneasiness inside my head. “And that won’t be good for the show.”
“If you’re sure.” Grayson frowns. “You don’t think it’ll be a good idea to prepare? Make some early decisions?”
“What am I supposed to prepare for? Hey, I don’t like the way you look, go home? I may have the shallow, materialistic vibe, but it takes more than a funny-looking nose for me to turn a guy down.”
“I don’t get that vibe at all,” Grayson protests.
I smile slyly at him. “Then I must be doing something wrong.”
I know what the world thinks of me. People get the impression I’m all about the party, the wilder the better. That I like pretty, shiny things. That I’m high-maintenance and always need to get my own way.
And to be honest, I’ve never really given anyone an opportunity to see anything different.
According to Kate, that’s what I’m supposed to do on the show, and that’s what is making my stomach tighten into a little ball. I’m supposed to be open and honest about my feelings. Vulnerable. Show the real me.
And the thought of that is making me quiver like a little girl as the curtain rises on her first ever dance recital.
I—Lyra Bodil Selena Sif Erickson—am nervous. Who would have thought?
