“It’s not me. It’s their goddamn loins. They get tired of the sacrifices required to work a job like this—”
“The manipulation,” Charity said, earning her a side-eye from Deja.
“And they’re not supposed to be having sex with one another, but they always do, and it always gets in the way, and then they quit together in some big, romantic gesture. It happens every season.”
“Triads run off together every season?” Charity smirked.
“No, the triad thing is new. Usually, it’s two of them. But the times, they’re changing,” Deja said.
Brandon tossed his towel into the hall and marched into the room’s center. He examined the line of women, then motioned to Marion’s bare stomach.“Tatum, I want the center of your camera on Marion here. She knows how to dress for these.” He grabbed hold of Charity’s shoulders, moving her like a poseable doll to the end of the line. “Much better. I’m ready to start now.” He turned toward Deja’s camera, and Deja squeezed her lips together as she adjusted the tripod. “What an entrance, am I right?” He paused to give the sound engineers a clean cut. “Ladies, Tristan, let’s begin.” He folded his hands at the level of his dick and faded into the background.
“I knew today would be a challenge,” Tristan said. “But I also knew that you ladies would be up for it. Some of you performed well today.” He glanced at Marion. “Others left something to be desired.” His gaze slid from Charity to Linda. “In more ways than one.”
He picked up the first corsage. “I need a woman who takes challenge head-on. Who doesn’t let the stresses of life get to her. A woman who gets along with other women.” He paused for effect. “But I also need a woman who’s honest. And there are women here who are keeping secrets from me.
He raised the corsage. “Marion, will you stay with me on this romantic adventure?” he said.
She gasped as she bounced out of line. “You bet I will!” When she held out her hand to him, he slipped the corsage on her wrist. She soothed back into line but stood forward a step from the other women.
Tristan huffed, then took another corsage off the table. “Sabrina, will you stay with me on this romantic adventure?”
Sabrina yelped as she rushed forward to snatch the corsage. She slipped it on her wrist, lifted onto her tiptoes, and whispered into Tristan’s ear. Tristan frowned as his gaze pinpointed Linda, then Charity. When Sabrina pulled away, she kissed Tristan on the cheek before retreating back into line.
Brandon stepped out of the shadows as though he were the rotting host in an old Cryptkeepers episode. “Tristan, you have one choice left,” he intoned. They were the exact words he used every time, and Linda wondered if he grew tired of them, or if they were the most comforting words he ever uttered.
Tristan picked up the final corsage. He breathed in and out, flaring his nostrils. He looked at the corsage, then up at the remaining two women. He pursed his lips. He ran a hand through his hair. He glanced from Linda to Charity, then caught Linda’s eye. “I have my suspicions about some of you not being here for the right reasons,” he said, “but I need to follow my heart. And my heart tells me…” He paused to press his hand over his chest, let his breath catch, then said, “Linda, will you remain on this romantic journey with me?”
An icy dread traveled down Linda’s throat as she opened her mouth to speak. No words came out. When she stepped forward, he lifted her arm from her side and slid on the corsage.
“Let’s reign in the temper, okay, Linda?” he said. “I know you’re not that kind of girl.”
Linda’s brain buzzed. Was she that kind of girl? The kind of girl who let a man call her girl, who wore corsages in her thirties, who stood in a line of women and let someone choose her. The kind of girl who yelled, and who enjoyed it—yelling at Marion had exhilarated her. The kind of girl who wanted to be picked and seen and loved by complete strangers behind their television sets?
“Yes,” she whispered and faded into the line.
“Charity,” Brandon said, holding back a grin. “Pack your bags. You’re going home.”
Charity crossed her arms, delivering one final smirk to Linda. Linda’s chest swelled. Ever since day one at the mansion, Charity had thrown her little fits—Linda had been the subject of them on more than one occasion—but this time, Charity had let her in on a secret: they had never been real. Just like Linda, she’d been reciting unwritten lines, playing the part her producers dreamed up for her.
“You think you’re better than me?” Charity said, her voice rising.
“You know what you did,” Tristan said.
She threw her head back and stuck out her tongue. “Do I now?” She stomped toward him, the threat of violence in each step. “You’re going to keep these bitches?”
“Don’t you dare call them that.” Tristan flexed his hand like he might make a fist, but he didn’t. He wouldn’t. It wasn’t chivalrous to make a fist in a woman’s direction.
Charity marched forward another step. “They’re a bunch of no-good rich girls.”
Linda frowned. She wouldn’t consider herself, or Sabrina, a rich girl. Charity had informed her that the fit was coming, but that didn’t mean Linda had to like the contents. As Charity’s friend, shouldn’t she now be exempt from rough words? Her stomach twisted.
“Now, that’s enough.” Brandon pressed his palm to the middle of Charity’s chest.
“What are you doing, old man? Trying to cop a feel?” Charity jerked away from him and turned, snarling, to her fellow competitors. “You’re never going to be good enough for him,” she said, then turned and ran all the way up the stairs.
With Charity gone, Linda stood, reeling, in the flickering foyer light. As her stomach sank, she felt nauseated—too much happening at once. First, she felt relief that she was chosen, followed by sadness that Charity was not. Then a strange sense of camaraderie that she might be the one chosen by Charity, not Tristan, the only woman Charity had opened up to throughout the whole experience. She felt wounded by the woman’s words even though she wanted more than anything for her to remain at the manor, just she and Linda—no one else. An impossible wish.
Once Charity returned, Brandon escorted her out of the door and into the rain, with her one packed bag in tow. Linda stood in the parlor with her gleaming glass of champagne and listened as the motorcycle drove away.
“You okay?” Sabrina rubbed her hand against Linda’s back, but her nails were strangely sharp against her dress. “I was the final choice in week two. Hurts, doesn’t it?” Her voice was silken, like an impractical bandage.
“Yeah, it sucks.” Linda sniffed her champagne. The bubbles jumped into her nose. She sneezed.
“What stick was up Charity’s ass?”
“The rough kind.” Linda drained her glass. “I can’t believe she’s gone.”
“I can. It was always going to be the three of us.”
“I guess so.” She let her gaze fall on Tristan and Marion giggling in the corner of the room. It was rude as fuck, especially as Sabrina stood within hearing distance.
“Can you believe they fucked?” Sabrina said.
Outside, the rumble of a motorcycle returned.
Linda’s shoulders straightened. “Did you hear that?”
In the corner, Tristan and Marion broke apart, and Linda set down her empty glass and ran to the foyer. Brandon panted as he dripped through the door. Behind him, Charity stood, illuminated by a single flash of lightning. She pushed forward into the room, and the cameras moved to capture her there.
