“You owe this to Dad,” Morgan said and placed her hand on Sabrina’s knee. “You owe this to Mom.” She dug her nails into her sister’s skin until Sabrina squirmed.
Sabrina’s mom, back when she was alive, had plans for her daughters. The woman harbored an obsession with new-age miracles and therefore frequented the local occult stores, making friends with the crystal healers and tarot card readers there. While pregnant with Morgan, her spiritual intention was to bestow the girl with brains, but she regretted her decision after Morgan failed to blossom physically. So, when pregnant with Sabrina, she set her intention for beauty. She used to brush Sabrina’s soft, curly hair and tell her that she’d never have to worry. With looks like hers, fame would find her. As a child, Sabrina’s mom enrolled her in acting school. Sabrina didn’t take to it, though, and in her elementary school play, the school cast her as a cactus. Her mom died before seeing her failure.
“Fine,” Sabrina said, yanking her hand out from beneath Morgan’s nails. Blood beaded in the scratch marks left behind. “I’ll do it.”
• • •
At the altar, Tristan swept Sabrina into his arms and dipped her to the ground as the priest intoned, “I now pronounce you…committed to the journey of finding love!”
As Tristan peered into Sabrina’s eyes, he breathed the words she was born to hear. “How are you so pretty anyhow?”
Sabrina’s face warmed at the compliment, then remembered the work it took to get here. Morgan had been poking and prodding at her since the time of her first pimple. When Sabrina was thirteen, Morgan enrolled her in a weight loss program; when she was fourteen, she plucked her eyebrows nightly; at fifteen, she highlighted Sabrina’s hair; at sixteen, she bleached her teeth; at seventeen, she waxed her legs and bikini; and, finally, when Sabrina turned eighteen, Morgan took her shopping for the priciest lingerie. All for the sake of Sabrina’s destiny. The girl would one day shine her light upon their family and deliver them from darkness.
“I was born this way,” Sabrina whispered up to Tristan, and he engaged her in a kiss that made her head spin.
• • •
Back at the mansion, Sabrina settled into the comfiest chair in the living room and ate her dinner—a single protein puck and a diet soda. As the other women grabbed their food from the kitchen, variations on the same meal, Sabrina judged their every move. Charity would never win. She was too tall, too aggressive. Tristan needed a woman who let him win on occasion, and Charity rode each fight to its worst conclusion. Amy had a fair shot. She was quiet but gorgeous and when she moved, her body’s sultry walk seduced the room. Marion was a shoo-in for the final three. A southern girl, she slid easily into Tristan’s arms. Sabrina was the less safe pick but still an acceptable choice. Like Tristan, she appreciated tradition. She was raised in the south, albeit on the other side of the tracks: the tired outskirts of Atlanta. Still, she was willing to cook for the man and charm him with the drawl that came out when she cussed.
Sabrina’s gaze landed on Linda. Since their first night, they’d bonded over a mutual distaste for Marion’s clinging and a shared appreciation for black coffee at any hour. In the mansion, friendships had been formed from less. As Linda stood over the sink and bit into a peach, letting the juice dribble down her chin, Sabrina frowned. Linda was a dark horse. Sabrina shared a room with the woman, and in her sleep, she moaned slowly, steadily, as though experiencing a great pain—or pleasure. Sabrina had asked her about it during their first week, and Linda had confessed to nightmares. Sabrina thought little of it at first, but as the weeks wore on, she understood less and less Linda’s reasons for coming here. The woman was divorced and unemployed, coming off a job working for her ex-husband’s landscaping company. They’d listed her job as influencer, on account of the landscaping company’s social media profile she’d commandeered out of spite. Without being allowed her phone, Sabrina couldn’t look up Linda’s page, but Marion claimed to have sneaked a peak from a cameraperson and said it was all close-ups of Linda snipping red buds off plants, slow-mo visions of the dead leaves falling to the floor, and gardening tips delivered in monotone as Linda walked, dressed in a designer dress and stilettos, through her garden. Linda claimed that she was here because she wanted to start a family, but even mentioning the word family made her eyes darken. But opposites attract, and Tristan had thus far seemed fascinated by the woman.
“Deep thoughts?” Linda said as she leaned on the arm of Sabrina’s chair.
Sabrina forced herself to smile. “Just wondering who’s getting cut next.”
“We’ll find out soon enough.” Linda pursed her lips. “It’s not you, by the way. It’s anyone but you.”
“And Marion.”
“Yeah, and Marion.”
Linda glanced across the room at Amy, then Charity. A jealous twinge twisted in Sabrina’s belly, but she pushed it away. Sometimes, Linda looked at Charity like she’d rather be by her side than Sabrina’s. “It’ll be her over you,” Sabrina said. “I promise you.”
Linda chewed her lip, but before she could respond, Deja swept into the room in her nice pair of black slacks and black button-up blouse, the outfit that signaled to the contestants that they were about to film a formal event.
“Ladies, the ceremony starts in an hour,” she said. “Time to put on your faces.”
Marion squealed and dropped her protein-puck wrapper, then darted up the stairs while the rest of the women cleaned up after themselves and ascended calmly, even if inside their chests, their hearts pounded like war drums. At least, that was what Sabrina’s heart felt like. She thought of her sister waiting by the television, skipping from show to show, waiting for Sabrina to return either empty-handed or with a blazing ring on her finger. Sabrina couldn’t let her down.
• • •
Dressed in their sparkling ball gowns, the five remaining contestants stood in a line in the mansion’s living room. In front of them stood a shelf with all their photos displayed. Flickering candles cast shadows across the images of their grinning, airbrushed faces. Sabrina tried to keep her eyes away from the photographs ruined with giant red “X”s. She smoothed the belly of her dress and hoped that the cameras missed the spot where several beads had fallen off. The contestants had to supply their clothes, and she’d found hers in a local thrift store. It had been some teenager’s prom dress, once upon a time.
Brandon Fuller, the show’s host, strode through the front door. Marion shrieked when she saw him, running to throw herself into his arms. Brandon’s hair was streaked with insistent highlights, his face thick with Botox, and when he smiled down at Marion, Sabrina could hardly see the shift in his lips.
“Darling girl!” Brandon cooed as he spun her around by one hand. “Oh, what a delicious gown. And I came hungry!”
Marion swatted his hand playfully. “I’m here for Tristan, and you know it.”
Tristan stepped in the door behind Brandon. “My ears are burning.” He clapped a hand on Brandon’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, bud. I’ll introduce you to my sisters soon as I get the chance.”
Unfazed, Marion threw her arms around Tristan next.
“What a welcome!” he drawled. As they let go, he stepped down into the room. He wore his Wranglers and a dress shirt, while Brandon donned his token white suit, with its hint of pink lining peeking through. “Ladies, are we ready for the ceremony?”
As one, they all answered: “Yes!”
Sabrina shivered at the chorus.
“Well, well, well, don’t y’all look fancy tonight?” Tristan paced back and forth in front of the line of women while the cameras tracked him. “Making my job hard, you know.”
Marion fell into line with the others, waiting her turn for an inspection. When Tristan said nothing specific to her, she pouted. Sabrina tried not to roll her eyes. As Tristan passed her by, he winked. Her stomach flip-flopped.
“Tonight’s a big night,” Tristan said. “Tomorrow, we’ve got a little road trip ahead of us. But there are only four seats on the bus.”
He stopped pacing and crossed his arms across his chest. “Unfortunately, I can’t take all of you with me. I’ve got to pick. And that’s what we’re gathered here for. To pick.”
Brandon stepped next to Tristan with a basket of red ribbons. “Here you are, Tristan. Give a ribbon to the four women who you want to accompany you on this next stage of your journey.”
Tristan took the basket and set it on the podium beside him. “Thank you kindly.” He paused for effect as he ran a ribbon through his thick fingers. “The first name I’m going to call is…” He held the ribbon out as if in offering. “Marion.”
Marion shrieked as she ran forward.
“Will you accept this ribbon?” Tristan asked.
“I will!”
He tied it onto her wrist, and she stood behind him, facing the other women.
