The stars are bright and I have a sudden urge to tell Lyra, to find out if they’re just as bright in Saint Pierre.
Maybe Abigail is right.
It’s time to find out what exactly is between Lyra and me.
8
Lyra
I
thinkthatwentwell.
Grayson and Rue had explained the concept of this season: that the men selected for the show will all be romance novel types or something like that. I’ve never been a reader, but Sophie is, so I asked her for a breakdown of what to expect.
Sophie had been very thorough in her explanation of the archetypes, so when I walk into the hotel lobby after Ashton arrives, I look at the men and categorize them with a label in my head, like what will be shown on the screen when they’re each introduced.
I’m going to have to pick one of these men, so I’ll need more than a label.
When I walk in, every single man there jumps to his feet. There is so much admiration and appreciation thrown at me that it’s palpable and slightly overwhelming.
And I’m used to being admired.
I accept a glass of champagne from Luc P. — no, Luc C. My nerves have settled but this is just the beginning.
What am I doing?
You’ve got this.
AndI take a breath before the second part of the evening begins.
“Hi, y’all,” I manage and immediately kick myself. Where did the southern accent come from? I try again. “Hel-lo. Welcome to my world.”
I was supposed to say,Welcome to this season of The Suitorette, but the way the guys cheer, it’s obvious my way is better.
“Let’s get this party started,” I add and turn to the first man I lay eyes on. Gord? Or Marc? I’ll figure it out. “Come talk to me.”
His chest puffs as I lead him away from the others.
Throughout the next four hours, I manage to have private conversations with eighteen of the men. By the time the producers call it a night, it’s after two a.m. and I’m exhausted. For once, I may be completely peopled out.
But at least I’ve kept busy; the guys are forced to sit around and wait for their turn to talk to me. A group sets off on an exploratory mission through the hotel; a few of them spend the time drinking, which makes private time interesting.
I’m kissed: by one of the drunk guys—to my dismay. Basher, the drummer—not really dismaying at all, and Rand, who gives me the sloppiest and yet sweetest kiss I’ve ever received.
I don’t bother trying to talk to Lucas and Ashton because I know them. Ashton understands because I hear him laughing as he holds court, but I get sad eyes from Lucas every time I step a foot back in the room.
It’s like the worst kind of event at the castle, where all I want to do is take off my shoes and have a dance before I go to bed, but there are so many dignitaries I have to talkup first.
I do take my shoes off half-way through, which leads to Jon, the big, broody guy, giving me a foot rub.
I’ll be keeping him for a while, just for that.
Finally, Grayson, Rue, and Ria get me out of there. I’m spent, but the adrenaline keeps flowing during the ten-minute drive back to Camille and Odin’s.
Lucky them—they’re asleep when we get back, but lovely Madame Carol is still awake to offer us coffee or tea.
Because I don’t get to go to bed. Now the work begins.
