Anna sniffs the air.
“What?” Drew asks. “What is it?”
Anna crosses her arms. “Smells like fate. Looks like fate. Must be fate.”
Zeke peeks his head in from the courtyard outside. “Ladiessssss,” he says. “Your presence is required outside. Ya know, where the cameras are?”
“Take a chill pill, Zeke,” Drew says in a you-work-for-my-mom voice.
Anna swats at her. “Be right there, Zeke dear.”
Both Drew and I eyeball her as the door shuts behind him.
“What?” Anna asks.
Drew narrows her gaze. “Don’t think I don’t see you flirting with a crew member. Mom would kill you.”
I laugh as we head outside, thankful to not be the center of attention for a moment.
Meeting the suitor in advance of the show isn’t expressly against the rules, but I’m also pretty sure it’s frowned upon. A few seasons ago, one contestant had a one-night stand with the suitor at a mutual friend’s wedding weeks before filming, and the rest of the contestants would not let it go. She was constantly accused of having an unfair advantage, and they made her life in the house a living hell. So if Henry wants to keep our transatlantic flight a secret, I’m on board. Besides, we’re only acquaintances. I don’t even know him.
Which is why, when he joins us in the courtyard, I don’t make any attempt to swarm him like most of the other women. I glance around to find Addison and Sara Claire hanging back as well.
Sara Claire smiles at me, but she seems guarded in a way she didn’t just hours ago. Addison, however, is sending out her usual don’t-even-look-at-me vibes.
The courtyard is as decked out as I remember it being on television. Sadly, it turns out that both the ice sculptures and champagne fountain are fake. Still beautiful if you don’t stand too close, though. There’s a small bar set up off camera with a guy in a bow tie, black vest, and black jeans lazily pouring bottle after bottle. I can see how this all makes for great TV magic, but in person, it just feels like a wedding reception you’d try to leave early.
Over the course of the night, the house staff comes around with trays of drinks, and soon everyone is talking louder, like we’re in the middle of a concert. One white woman (who has the longest extensions I’ve ever seen and can’t stop talking about how she drinks mimosas with every meal) falls into the pool, and Henry has a heroic moment as he helps her out and wraps her in a towel. He’s met with a chorus of bitter fawning. Another contestant named Brenda, a white Spanish teacher from Nebraska with Shirley Temple curls and clawlike red fingernails, bursts into tears when someone interrupts her attempts at salsa dancing with Henry.
To say emotions are running high would be an understatement. It’s almost too much for me to take.
I find Stacy by the outdoor fireplace sitting next to a sobbing East Asian woman in a forest-green satin gown.
“Is everything okay?” I ask as I approach.
Stacy rubs circles on the other woman’s back and nods. “We’re going to be fine, right, Jenny?” She turns to me and quietly adds, “I thought it was just the white ladies losing it, but I guess none of us are immune.”
The crying woman looks up to me and says, “I fell.” Another sob hits her, and she begins to hiccup as cameras begin to swarm, her cries their siren call.
“Water,” I say. “Let me get you some water.”
I manage to track down a bottle of water from the guy behind the bar, and when I return, a small crowd has gathered to hear Jenny’s recount.
“I just stepped out of the car, and then my heel got caught in the train of my dress.” She sniffs. “And I bit it. Big-time. It wasn’t some cute romantic-comedy fall where I, like, tripped into Mr. Perfect’s arms. I landed face-first and—and there was so much blood. They had to call the mediiiiiiiiiic,” she tells us, her words devolving into another sob.
Around us, I can see the crew eating this up as Wes whispers to one of the camera operators to tighten his zoom.
“At least you didn’t break your nose,” Addison deadpans.
“Not helpful!” I snap at her.
She practically snarls, making it even clearer she’s not here to make friends.
Jenny wipes her tears away. “No, she’s right.” She smiles up at Addison in a familiar way, like she’s very used to playing beta to some other girl’s alpha.
Addison looks to me. “And, Cindy, I’ve been meaning to tell you, I just think you’re so brave.”
My brow furrows into a knot. “For what?”
