“Okay, ladies! Please take a seat,” Beck calls through cupped hands from where she sits on top of the bar. “Orientation time, people!”
We crowd around little round tables, and I find myself safely tucked between Anna and Drew. I wave at Beck, but her gaze coasts right over me, and I’m guessing it’s because she’s trying not to play favorites. Then again, that assumes I’m her favorite. I shake the thought from my head. She’s probably that friendly with all the contestants so they warm up faster.Get it together, Cindy. This isn’t real life. This is reality television.
I felt good this morning. I put on a pair of pointy coral patent leather loafers I made for my final during my study abroad in Italy and a crisp white T-shirt tucked into my favorite cuffed mom jeans. But every single woman here is shiny and glossy and polished in a way I’ve never been. I am definitely out of my depth here.
“All right, class, listen up,” Beck says. “Most of you know me, but for those who don’t, I’m Beck. Back at that table are Zeke, Mallory, and Thomas. They are your assistant producers. And this is Wes.” She motions to the tall guy with light brown skin beside her with his hair shaved close on the sides, leaving a pile of curls atop his head. “Think of Wes and me as co-captains. We are your junior executive producers. We are your people. If something happens, you talk to us. If something that is supposed to happen doesn’t happen, you talk to us. Think of us as your mothers, your sisters, your therapists, your fairy godmothers, but also your dad who sometimes has to lay down the law.”
“Tell us a dad joke!” someone shouts.
Without missing a beat, Beck says, “I’m reading a book about antigravity. It’s impossible to put down.”
Half of the room laughs dryly, while the other half makes a confused tittering noise.
“And of course, the renowned Erica Tremaine is your show creator and executive producer. She will be in and out during production. We’re about to load you all up on a fancy bus,” she continues. “At which time we will distribute a welcome packet with some house rules, a map of the château, a brief bio of our mystery suitor—”
The women, including Anna and Drew, whistle and squeal.
“I heard he’s a pilot,” someone behind me says.
Beck clears her throat. “And you will also find your room numbers along with the names of your roommates. We have about four girls to a room, but that will change as many of you are eliminated. Tonight, we go from twenty-five to eighteen, so some of you won’t even have a full room by the time you close your eyes.”
The women groan, and even I feel a sinking pit in my stomach.
“This is when I should give you a lecture about sisterhood and playing nice and yada, yada, yada, but let’s be real: When has that ever made for good TV?”
The room goes sharply quiet except for the producers chuckling at the back of the room.
“I’m kidding,” Beck says. “Sort of. In all seriousness, we want you all to get along, of course, but don’t forget that this is a competition with true love on the line.”
Around me, several women nod with fervor. Not Addison, though. She sits with her legs crossed once at the knee and again at the ankle—is the woman a contortionist? Maybe a contortionist influencer? Is there an audience for that?
“And of course,” Beck continues, “a hundred thousand dollars.”
Everyone lets out an excited whoop! Even me! I could do so much with that money. I’ve been aimless for the last year, but I can’t ignore the little burst of excitement I feel when I think about what I could do if I won. That money, even after taxes, could be a real start to something huge for me and what might someday be my brand. I wiggle my toes inside my shoes, the worn leather insoles perfectly formed to the shape of my feet, and for a moment I imagine what it might be like to see these babies on shelves everywhere in all kinds of sizes and colors. And a very small part of me even aches for my sketch pad. Not because I have any huge ideas just bubbling at the surface, but because I miss the feel of it in my hands.
“For a lot of you, this will be a life-changing experience, and we truly do hope you bond with one another, but don’t forget what you came here for. Orwhoyou came here for.” Beck claps her hands together. “File up in a line outside the buses waiting for you in the carport. Please make sure your luggage is clearly marked…and with that, we’re off to the château!”
We all cheer, and Anna squeezes my hand. “I can’t believe we’re actually doing this!”
On the bus, Drew and Anna sit together and I sit behind them. Several women walk past me in search of other contestants, but a petite white woman with light brown hair wearing a pink-and-white-striped shirt dress and matching espadrilles stops at my row. “Is this seat taken?” she asks in a Southern drawl.
“All yours,” I tell her.
She holds a hand out to me, and I’m honestly surprised she’s not wearing matching lace gloves too.
“I’m Sara Claire,” she tells me.
I shake her hand and try to wedge myself against the wall to give her a little more space. “Cindy,” I tell her. “Just the one name.”
She giggles, and then pats my thigh. “I’ve got plenty of room, Cindy. No need for shrinkin’ yourself up into a ball.”
“Th-thanks,” I say, feeling a little self-conscious that she noticed, but then again, I’ve heard that Southern women have a way of being both polite and direct.
We sit in silence as we begin to read through our welcome packets.
MIDNIGHT CHÂTEAU RULES
1.No glass containers—none whatsoever!—in the hot tub.
