I thought about it. ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Good question.’
‘Come on, ladies,’ the PA said. ‘It’s time to go inside.’
We separated, and I opened the door to my room. ‘Tell you what,’ Dylan said, opening her door. ‘If you feel yourself getting weak, you call me, okay?’
‘You wouldn’t say that if you knew how often I’ll take you up on that.’
‘Mandie,’ she said, ‘there’s a special place in hell for women who don’t help other women get over their shithead exes.’
Our quarantine hotel rooms were tiny, the kind where the bed took up ninety-five per cent of the floorspace. ‘Can you believe it?’ I said to Dylan when we FaceTimed that night, after I made her order me not to look at Jac’s Instagram. ‘I had all these plans to get into yoga while we were locked away, but there’s barely enough space to stand, let alone do a downward dog.’
‘It could be worse,’ she said. ‘It will be worse, in the Villa. I very much doubt we’ll be getting our own rooms there.’
‘Good point,’ I said. ‘No TV in the Villa, either. We should make use of all the fancy channels they have here while we can. I’m going to become an expert on the Kardashians.’
‘We should pick a show to watch together. Keep ourselves sane.’
That was why, two weeks, several virus tests, and a whirlwind day of hair, make-up, dress fittings, and interviews later, the first thing I said to Dylan when we were face to faceagain was, ‘I can’t believe they never made a second season ofReal Housewives of Auckland.’
‘I know, right?’ Dylan said. ‘How do all the otherReal Housewivesfranchises get a million seasons and the literal pinnacle of the franchise only gets one?’
‘It’s a tragedy.’
‘Agreed,’ she said. ‘Also, hi babe! It’s so nice to see you properly again!’
‘You too!’ I said, as we hugged.
She pulled back and held me at arms’ length. ‘Mandie, I knew you were hot, but damn.’
She gestured up and down my First Night Party dress, the ensemble I’d be wearing to meet the Romeo on the red carpet. It was a short-ish pale pink dress with a frothy, layered skirt, shot through with something sparkly, giving off a very ‘ballerina from the inside of a jewellery box’ vibe.
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘But why are we talking about me when we could be talking about you? You look incredible.’
She grinned. ‘I do, don’t I?’
‘Dylan Gilchrist and Amanda Mitchell?’ a PA said, coming up to us. ‘You’re both in Limo 1 with Murray. This way, please.’
The train of Dylan’s First Night Party dress swept along the ground as we followed the PA. It was electric green and sequinned, and it made her look like a sea witch – like she might sit on a rock and sing, and sailors would fall over themselves for the honour of drowning in her presence.
Incrediblewas too weak a word for how she looked. She might not have been my type, but in that dress, Dylan was stunning. The Romeo was going to fall to his knees and beg her to step on him.
There was a prickle of something in my stomach. I looked pretty enough in my ballerina gown, but in the blandest, most basic, pedestrian way.
I stamped firmly on the thought before I got stuck in the quicksand again.7) I am supportive of my friends,I added to my list of positive features.
Part of the sea witch dress spilled over my lap as we packed into the limo. I was the smallest, so I was in the middle, squashed between Dylan on one side and a pretty brunette in black tulle on the other. ‘Sorry, sorry, sorry,’ I told the brunette. ‘I really don’t mean to invade your personal space like this. I’m so sorry.’
‘It’s all right.’
‘Tell me if I elbow you or anything,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to accidentally hurt you.’
‘I will.’
‘I’m Amanda,’ I said. ‘Nice to meet you.’
‘Cece,’ she replied. ‘Nice to meet you too.’
I could feel her leg jiggling ever so slightly against mine. She was nervous.
