Page 7 of Most Eligible
I bite my tongue as a sour response pops up:Really? Your whole life? Even when you were a baby?
As he talks, I zone out, wondering how many times he’ll say these exact words tonight. I try to look interested. He’s delivering the hell out of the lines, even if they are scripted. I wonder which shot of his speech they’ll use—if they’ll cut his delivery to me on top of his conversation with someone else: a Frankenbite confessional.
“What about you?” he finally asks. “Are your parents together?”
“I…” I don’t know why I trail off. I expected this. In fact, Serena assured me that my parents’ divorce was probably one ofthe main reasons I’d been cast.You have trauma, she’d said, like it was something to covet.
“They’re divorced,” I tell Roland. “They split up when I was in middle school.”
He nods, his mouth pulled into a tight, empathic frown.
“They fought a lot,” I continue, slipping into the script ingrained in my memory. “It was really hard for me when they divorced—but I know I want a better relationship for myself.”
I should lay it on thicker, maybe shed a tear or two, but being in front of the cameras is more intimidating than I anticipated. And it’s not my style to press on the bruises of my past. Itwashard when my parents split up. Idowant a better relationship for myself. But talking about it here feels more like exploitation than honesty.
Besides, all theLove Shackprep books and guide blogs suggest keeping some secrets on the first night. Then you can do an emotional reveal on a later date or in an interview. They say it’s more similar to a “real relationship” that way, but I’ve never heard of a real relationship that started with a twelve-page questionnaire.
“Have you ever had your heart broken?” Roland asks.
My breath quickens, pulse leaping so fast that I pull my hand away so he can’t feel it. To cover the awkward moment, I tuck my hair behind my ears, hoping no one can see the blush creeping up my neck.
“Once,” I say quietly. No point denying it. Especially when tragedy is the quickest IV to viewers’ hearts.
Roland studies me carefully. “How long were you together?”
One night.
“Long enough.” I press a manicured nail to the corner of my eye, catching a nonexistent tear, then plunge on. “Sometimes it’s not about the length of a relationship. Sometimes it’s short but… when you know, you know.”
Footsteps shuffle in the huddle of producers. I wonder if it’s Rhett. If he knows I’m talking about him. I hope it cuts deep.
Roland is staring so deeply into my eyes that I wouldn’t be surprised if he could read every lie etched on the back of my skull. Everything on my application form, from my overly cheery personality at my interview to the Fun Barbie aesthetic I’d cultivated in my introduction video. The shelter cat Serena had “borrowed” because Presley was having a bad hair day. The heaps of records I’d shoved under my bed during our photo shoot becauseno one wants to marry a hoarder, Georgia. I’d done cartwheels in the sand for goodness’ sake.
The woman with the ancient cat and vintage tapestries could get cast as an oddity, sure. But the woman Serena made me into couldwin.
“When you know, you know,” Roland murmurs, a ghost of a smile lifting his lips. “I totally know—what you mean, that is.” He chuckles and takes my hand again, runs his thumb over my palm. It’s a gesture so small that the cameras would never catch it, and that makes me pause. I look down at our hands, then back up at him, wondering if he feels something, if I should too.
“Thanks,” I say quietly.
“Louder!” Lainey shouts.
“Thanks,” I repeat. Don’t I have a microphone strapped to my boobs for a reason? I take a deep breath and plunge on. “I’m looking for love. I just hope this time, unlike the last time I put myself out there, I don’t get my heart broken.” My voice catches and Roland brushes an all-too-genuine tear from the corner of my eye.
The room is silent except for the hum of the mansion’s huge generator. After a few seconds, footsteps echo off the vaulted ceiling. Through the crowd, I see the back of Rhett’s head disappear.
I guess even on camera, I’m uninteresting to him.
A woman in red satin approaches and taps Roland on the shoulder, not sparing me a glance. “Roland, can I steal you for a minute?” She says it better than I did.
It’s all I can do to keep my face impassive.
“Addison, right?” he asks. A spark of pride lights in me—she doesn’t have a nickname. He wasn’t even sure of her real name. But it’s squashed when he turns to me, tells me he’ll see me later, and Addison takes my spot on the love seat.
I can’t help feeling a tiny seed of jealousy. Not so much over Roland himself, though he’s certainly more three-dimensional than I expected. But his attention is the only thing that will allow me to stay, and seeing him turn it on another woman doesn’t ease my nerves. If I don’t even make it through the first night, there’s no way Serena will hold up her end of our bargain.
I’ll do whatever it takes.
On TV, each elimination ceremony won’t be more than ten minutes, but filming them can take hours. Especially on the first night, be prepared to stand in that rose garden for upward of six hours and don’t let your smile slip once.
