I nearly vault myself across the crowd to shake her shoulders and scream, Don’t you see how belittling this is! I’m not brave for wearing a dress. I’m just living!
But instead, I clear my throat and say, “Thanks, girl.”
“Ladies.”
We all spin around to see Henry returning to the group after a brief one-on-one with Sara Claire, who is beaming.
“Hi, Henry,” a few girls say in singsong voices.
“Jenny, are you okay?” he asks.
She nods pitifully.
“Took a real spill, there. I think you might be tougher than some of the guys on my college lacrosse team,” he says.
“We’ve been taking very good care of our sweet Jenny,” Addison says. She moves to stand right next to Jenny, practically elbowing Stacy out of the way. “Girls gotta look out for each other.”
Henry nods. “I couldn’t agree more.” He laughs quietly. “You know, I’ve got to be honest with you. The whole concept of this show is a little bizarre to me.”
I notice a cameraman look over to Mallory, but she waves him on to keep filming.
“And I know that the risk is on you ladies. You’re all here, putting yourselves out there with no guarantees,” Henry continues. “And it’s just really nice to see you all helping one another out. I know this is technically a competition, but for me, it’s more about finding the right connection. That’s not some kind of sport. So thank you, Addison. I really appreciate seeing you be kind to the other women.”
My blood boils and my lip curls. What kind of patronizing crap speech was that? There was some truth to what he said, sure, but playing right into Addison’s deceitful games? Could he be more clueless?
Addison smiles and shrugs innocently. “You think I could steal you away for just a few?”
Henry holds his arm out to her. “Gladly.”
She drapes her arm through his, and we all watch them walk off together to the gazebo a few yards past the pool.
A petite brunette with freckles sprinkling the bridge of her nose sighs. “It’s not fair how good they look together.”
Jenny sighs in agreement. “It’s totally criminal.”
“Bless her heart,” Sara Claire mutters.
I turn to her and find her frowning, shoulders slumped. “You look like you could use a drink,” I say.
She holds a hand out for me, and we stomp to the bar. “Bless you,” she says.
We each get a glass of rosé, and I ask, “How was your one-on-one?”
She eyes me, her lip twitching with uncertainty. I guess in some sort of primal sense we’re all competing for love in the real world, but this show is much more direct than people just trying to meet at a bar or on an app. Figuring out how to communicate with the other women and even befriend them is confusing, and there’s no rule book for how to navigate it.
“I think I like him,” she finally says. “I know that the cameras want to see me swooning and losing it for him. He’s the one who decides who goes home, but I need to know if I want to stay here and fight for a chance with him too, ya know? I have a whole career back home.”
“That’s a lot to leave behind,” I say, suddenly feeling like I have nothing to offer—no career, no real family, and not even a home, technically.
“Look at Addison. One thing goes on the internet or TV and no matter how hard you work, it’s all you’re known for. I don’t want to make that same mistake here.”
I nod feverishly, because this is a concern I’m familiar with. The decision to be here at all is a gamble.
“He seems like a sort of normal guy, though.”
Thinking back to the guy I met on the plane, it’s hard to imagine that he would ever sign up for something like this show, but I’m sure he thinks the same about me.
“He’s got to know that any woman who’s saying he’s the one for her after just one night is totally full of it. Surely he has that much—”
She’s interrupted by a loud boom and then everything goes black, and the only sound echoing through the mountains is the shrieking of twenty-five women and the curses of a handful of crew members.
“We’re dark!” someone shouts.
“What about the backup generators?” another person yells back.
“Sara Claire?” I ask, trying my best not to sound like I’m scared of the dark. I’m not, but it’s also really unsettling to not even be able to see your own hand in front of you, especially in a place you don’t know that well to begin with.
I gasp as fingers wrap around my wrist and tug.
“Who is that?” I whisper as I trip over my feet, barely able to keep up in my heels. “Anna? Drew?”
I falter as I accidentally veer off the pathway into the grass, my heel immediately sinking.
The hand pats up my arm, steadying me. “Careful,” says a voice. But this voice is deeper than I was expecting.
“Henry?” I ask.
“We only have a few minutes,” he says as we take a few more careful steps.
I can hear him fumbling with something and then the clicking of a doorknob.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“Watch your step,” he says, grasping my forearm now.
My eyes have begun to adjust, and there’s just enough moonlight that I can make out a bed or a couch and his silhouette.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, which is not what I expected to come out of his mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that…I’m just shocked to see you. That’s all.”
“Shocked in a bad way?” I dare to ask as I look up to him, searching for the reflection of his eyes. “I guess the better question is what are you doing here?”
“Well,” he says, “I guess I’m here to meet my future fiancée.”
I cover my mouth to stop myself from spitting on him as I sputter with laughter.
“I’m serious,” he says with a lilt in his voice. “I, um, meant to ask for your number, though, so I guess this is convenient.”
“So you came here to find your wife, but you meant to get my number at the airport?” I can’t tell if he’s just not taking this show seriously or if he’s actually a total playboy, and then I remember what Sara Claire said about him likely trying to rehab his image. He can be as charming as he wants, but I have no plans to be a pawn in his publicity stunt.
He shakes his head. “Honestly, I don’t know why I came here. I almost didn’t.” He sighs, and I can smell the sweet wine on his breath. “I’m just trying to do right by my mom.”
“Your mom?” I ask. “What are you talking about?”
The lights flicker back on and off and then on again. We both blink wildly as our eyes adjust to the light cascading from the ornate chandelier overhead.
I can see now that he appears a little more distraught than he sounded. His forehead is creased with worry, and his bee-stung lower lip is turned downward into a frown. But then I remember from the plane how his almost relaxed, eternal expression seemed to be a slight frown, and I can’t help but find that to be just a little bit sexy. I’ve got a soft spot for the sad ones. The thoughtful ones.