Page 83 of Most Eligible
A few rows ahead, past the filmy curtain separating us andthem, Rhett sits back down, his boot propped on the seat in front of him. He pulls something out of his pocket and reaches up to his ear, then leans back in his seat. I put the Bluetooth earbud in my ear and let my hair down to hide it. At first, I think it’s not working, but then I see Rhett pull a device out of his pocket, and music starts up in my right ear.
It feels lopsided, the way listening to music in one ear always does, but I close my eyes and let it tunnel into my head. It’s like hot tea after a cold day, holding hands after isolation. I hadn’t realized how much I missed music until it was coursing through me like a drug. The instrumental acoustic intro ends, and the first verse starts up.
My eyes fly open. Is this—is Rhett seriously listening to his own music right now? His ego wouldn’t fit in the plane’s cargo hold.
But there’s something wrong with it—he keeps singing the same line over again, then starting at the beginning. When he finally gets to the chorus, I understand. I’m listening to a demo tape. I peek past the curtain again and see him run a hand over his jeans-clad knee, fingers flexing on the fabric.
I shudder as his voice reaches an all-time sad-boy pitch before spiraling down into his lowest register, gravelly and deep.
The first demo ends, and the next track is a complete song, no pauses or do-overs. Again, it’s acoustic, just Rhett and his guitar. My eyelids get heavier, fluttering closed. I want to stay awake and listen to everything, but before I can fight it, I feel a heavy pull behind my eyes and exhaustion drags me into darkness.
Sailboats flit in and out of view from my windowsill perch. I stretch my arms and climb down to explore the goody bag I was too tired to look at when we arrived yesterday.
The final flight from Rome to Palermo was a harrowing sixty-seven minutes in whichturbolenza!was shouted over the loudspeakers almost as many times.
The logo of the luxury hotel we’re staying at is printed on the side of the large paper bag on my bed. Mint-green tissue paper crinkles as I pull out an expensive-looking set of Italian lingerie. I wrinkle my nose at the thought of the producers picking it out for me. Next up is a bottle of fancy Italian wine that I set on top of the dresser.
After enlisting Jules’s help, I manage to get into the dress that the wardrobe crew has left in my closet; at this stage in the game, they can’t afford to trust contestants’ own fashion instincts. The dress is a form-fitting burgundy number with thin straps and an open back—and a devilish built-in underwire bra that feels like a personal affront.
The sun is just beginning to set as we gather on the hotel’s patio, producers flitting around us like birds. Snippets of Italian from the local crew hit my ears. I see a hotel employee pointing at me, and with a jolt, I remember that our pictures were released a few days ago, along with the full cast list for this season. Any hope of anonymity I’d clung to is officially gone.
The woman steps closer, wielding her phone like a saber.
“Over here.” An arm appears around my shoulders, and Rhett steers me away from the gawking woman with ease.
“Thanks,” I say, ducking out from under his arm. “And…” I glance around, crossing my arms. “Thanks for the in-flight radio show.”
His mouth ticks up as he tugs on the collar of his bright floral-print shirt.
“That’s… quite a shirt,” I say. It’s green and orange and white with huge flowers festooning every inch. The man doesnotlook comfortable in floral print.
He scowls and grumbles, “Lainey,” before walking away.
Monica, Addison, and I line up beside the fire pit, backs ramrod straight and our hair falling in loose, almost identical curls.
I stare after Rhett as he heads to the producer’s table. He straps into his body mic and ruffles up his hair, catching my eye underneath his arm. A smile lights his face before the cameras start rolling, and I have no idea if it was for me or for the masses. Or both? I grimace at the thought that reality TV is becoming just that: reality. And not one I want to live in.
“Ladies, welcome to Palermo, Italy,” Rhett begins. “You have a monumental two weeks ahead of you while you’re here. This week, Roland will meet your families.”
Inwardly, I groan. It’s been fifteen years since their divorce, but having my parents in the same room still makes me jittery—add Lainey, Roland, and my mom’s bad response to jet lag, and I’ll be an absolute wreck.
“Then,” Rhett continues, “next week, there will be overnight dates where you’ll have time with him off-camera.”
My gaze shifts incrementally to Addison. She already had off-camera time with Roland. If Olie were here, she’d bare her teeth and growl. But me? I just purse my lips and stare at Rhett like Addison means nothing to me.
“Now, at this stage in the process, big feelings are starting to get involved,” Rhett says.
I mean, sure. If “big feelings” include fearing for your life during a paintball game.
“Some of you may have even told Roland that you’re falling for him.”
The sarcasm-track in my head screeches to a halt.Fallingforhim? It’s only week four. Shit. I try to remember what theLove Shackprep book said about admitting your feelings to the lead, but I could’ve sworn it was supposed to be later. Unless I’m mixing it up with when you’re supposed to reveal any serious hereditary illnesses.
“And I know he has strong feelings for all three of you,” Rhett continues. “Which only makes these two weeks more important. When I was on my own season a few years ago, the overnight dates were quite revealing. Getting to talk to someone off-camera is essential to building a good relationship, so I urge you to make the most of that time.” He smiles stiffly, successfully skirting around the fact that the main purpose of overnight dates is sex.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Addison giggles. “We’ll make the most of it.”
“Monica,” Rhett says, ignoring Addison. “You’ll go first. Roland will meet your family tomorrow. Addison, you’ll be second. And Georgia”—he fixes his gaze on me—“you’ll be last.”
