Royal Chase (3 page)

“We could just do it with twenty-four women,” said one of the executives.

Another executive, a woman with a severe silver bob, shook her head. “But we always have twenty-five! Always! Not only will it upset the viewing audience, but the other girls will wonder why we’re one short. It will tip them off that something’s going on. We can’t risk it.”

“We’re filming the first episode tonight,” said a heavyset man with a baseball cap. “Everything’s been set up and ready to go, the permits have been pulled, and if we delay things even a day, it will mess up the entire schedule.”

“We can’t afford that,” someone else said, and several people nodded their heads.

“Matthew is going to kill us if we mess this up,” said a small, accountant-looking man in a three-piece suit.

Matthew Burdette was an executive producer. He owned a massive conglomerate with a very famous production company, and he had his fingers in television and movies and owned a crapload of radio stations. His wife, Stephanie, was a former A-list movie star turned talk show host. Together they ruled Hollywood. He was not a man you would ever dare cross, especially in my line of work. He could effectively keep me from working with any TV or radio show ever again if I made him mad.

And he had a temper.

“Who’s going to call him?”

The room fell silent. Nobody was willing to risk professional suicide.

“What about Lemon?” Dante had been standing quietly in the corner, observing the chaos.

“What about Lemon?” I repeated shrilly. He wouldn’t, would he?

“Lemon could fill the empty slot,” he said. He didn’t look at me. Which was smart, because if looks could kill, he’d be lying in a white chalk outline.

Taylor jumped to her feet. “That’s perfect. Lemon is the right age, she’s gorgeous, and since Dante’s her client, she’s not going to tell anyone about him being a prince.”

Taylor had been promoted to field producer from director’s assistant when I reached out to her with an actual prince for the show. She got the credit and the glory, which was fine. I was just happy that part of my plan to promote Monterra via its crazily attractive royal family was coming together. Matthew Burdette was thrilled by the idea of having a member of a reigning royal family on the show. He loved the idea of capturing the contestants’ reactions when they eventually found out, and he didn’t want anyone to know beforehand. The audience would know in advance, but the show sequestered the women while they were promoting the twist. They wanted that huge shock, that massive surprise that would make all of America tune in to see what would happen when the show stopped being about landing a husband and started being about becoming a real-life princess.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m engaged,” I reminded her. Sterling would be upset. So would my family.

“So? No one needs to know that. You’re not even wearing a ring,” she said. That made me think of a not-too-long-ago conversation I’d had with Dante about my missing ring, and my eyes flicked to his. I could see that he remembered it too, and I felt humiliated. Which made me get angry.

A man wearing thick glasses cleared his throat and pointed out, “She hasn’t taken any of the tests. Like the psychological ones.”

I’d heard about those. They were like eight hundred questions long to weed out the crazies. I didn’t know why it mattered. Every year some Looney Tunes girl always made her way onto the show. The one you worried might start boiling rabbits and stabbing people through shower curtains. It wasn’t like they were great at screening.

“Or the STD tests.” That felt really invasive. But with some of the activities that had happened on this show in the past, it was probably necessary.

Dante walked over to me and held up a hand, which made the room fall quiet. “Are you crazy?”

“No, but . . .”

“Do you have an STD?”

So inappropriate. “No!”

“There. Her word’s good enough for me.”

Everyone exploded, and I couldn’t make out what anyone was saying.

“I am not going on this show,” I hissed at him, poking his chest. “I’m supposed to be here to make sure they’re not portraying you or Monterra in a negative light. I can’t do my job if I’m on the show.”

Taylor made her way over to us. “Lemon, I need you to do this. I will lose my job if you don’t.”

Guilt trip successful. I knew how hard she had worked to become one of the youngest field producers ever on the show. I also knew how much her job mattered to her. As much as mine meant to me. “You should just find someone else,” I protested weakly.

“There is no one else. There’s no time. All our eggs are in this basket. You’re the only one I can trust, and I know you’ll protect Dante and the show. Please. From one Zeta Beta Gamma to another.”

She’d played the sorority card. I couldn’t say no to a sister.

“Okay, but on one condition. Dante sends me home tonight in the first round.”

The room erupted in cheers, and Taylor hugged me tightly. “Yes, he’ll send you home first. Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She ran back to the conference table to strategize.

“Dante? Tonight, you’ll send me home?”

He smiled at me, which I took as a yes.

I quickly sent texts to Kat, my mother, and Sterling, letting them know what had happened. I didn’t want to call because I could predict how each would react. Kat would be thrilled, because she had been pushing me toward Dante since our time in Monterra. My mother and father would be disappointed in me for the millionth time and would probably put Grandma Lemon on the phone, and she would be shocked that I would besmirch the Beauchamp name by appearing on something as lowbrow as reality television, even for one episode. Sterling would again tell me that I didn’t need to do any of this, that he could provide for me, and I should just come home.

I was already stressed enough.

And it was just for one night. One episode. I would say what I had to say, do what they wanted me to do, and then I would be done.

So why did I suddenly feel so nervous?

Chapter 3

I think I suffer from amnesia. Do I come here often?

I signed what they called a “standard contract” for the contestants on the show. They made me turn over my cell phone and laptop and checked my luggage. I asked the production assistant what they were looking for, thinking I could help speed up the process, and she said any magazines, music devices, books, or tablets.

“I seriously can’t take any of that with me to the house?”

“You seriously can’t,” she replied, once she’d done a thorough inspection. I already knew the mansion we were staying in didn’t have any televisions or computers available, but I thought at least I’d be able to keep my personal devices. Losing my phone was sort of like losing a hand.

“What do you expect everyone here to do?”

“Drink heavily and ‘interact’ with the other competitors. That’s all you can do.”

She left with my confiscated items. Thank heavens I’d only be here for one night. I already hated everything about it.

I walked over to my window, pressing my forehead against the glass. I could see the ocean from the hotel, and so far it was my favorite thing about California. I had invited Kat to come out and visit me for a little while during the filming, but she’d declined. I had arranged a press tour for her and Nico because they had officially announced their engagement, and she wanted to have some downtime with him before they started flying all over the world.

She also ordered me to not go all California on her. Said that if I started drinking kale smoothies, we could no longer be friends.

There wasn’t much danger of that.

I had been instructed, by another assistant, on what I needed to do that night when I “met” Dante. I had to pretend like I didn’t know him, and he would do the same. It was expected that I would do something memorable to catch Dante’s attention, because that’s what all the other competitors would be doing. No one wanted to go home first.

Except for me.

I didn’t have anything appropriate to wear for this show. The women tended to dress formally for Heart Celebrations and had cocktail dresses for the parties and other get-togethers. I had packed only business attire as I’d never imagined I might end up a contestant.

What I didn’t tell anyone was that I had watched
Marry Me
obsessively for years. The girls in my sorority had been addicted, and they got me hooked too. I watched every incarnation—like when a woman was at the center and the men competed, or when former contestants were sent to an island location to fall in love with each other—and I ate it up. At first I pretended to watch ironically, but I soon fell under the spell. Even though I knew the couple wouldn’t actually end up together, I still loved it.

I had just never wanted to be on it.

Not knowing what else to do, I threw on an Atlanta Braves jersey that was worn and comfy and a pair of jeans. That was different and unusual, right? Everybody else would be dressed like they were ready for the Miss America pageant, so I would definitely stand out.

An assistant offered me the use of a stylist and a team of hair and makeup people, but I’d been doing my own hair and makeup since I was knee-high to a grasshopper. And I didn’t need a dress.

I ordered room service and flipped through television channels until it turned dark outside. A knock on my door let me know it was time to go, and a different production assistant with a headset on came in to mike me. That consisted of clipping a pack to the back of my bra, although I insisted on attaching the small microphone to the front of my bra by myself. After the assistant confirmed it was working, he directed me to a waiting limousine.

The hotel was minutes from the mansion. There were several cars lined up in front of mine, and at a distance I could just make out Dante, standing in front of the mansion and greeting each girl as she exited her limo.

My driver settled into position, and when I was only one car away, I got my first good look at Dante. In a perfectly tailored tuxedo. I sucked in a deep breath. It had been a while since I’d seen him in formal wear. I forgot how sexy he looked in it.

My view was obscured by a skinny blonde in a long, hot-pink dress. She walked up to Dante and, in his typical Monterran style, he kissed her hello on each cheek.

“I’m Dante. Pleasure to meet you.”

“I’m Annie. As in, Annie time you want.”

I couldn’t see her face, but I could definitely see his. There was a moment of shock, and then he tried desperately not to laugh. I didn’t think that line worked the way she wanted it to. Annie walked away, not letting the conversation continue.

Then it was my turn, and I climbed out of the limo. Dante stood there, waiting for me with a giant smile. I had a momentary lapse where I imagined myself in a wedding gown and Dante waiting for me as I walked down the aisle. If there hadn’t been three cameras pointed at me, I would have slapped myself.
You are engaged
, I reminded myself for the three thousandth time. I took a deep breath to calm my dancing nerves.

He leaned down to kiss me hello, his eyes lit up with delight. First he kissed my left cheek, and then the right. My skin tingled beneath his lips. I couldn’t be sure, but it seemed like Dante lingered in those kisses for a beat longer than he did with anyone else. Maybe I was imagining it.

“Hold on,” somebody yelled out from behind a camera. “Technical difficulties. Give us a minute.”

A makeup artist walked over to put some powder on Dante’s face, which made me giggle. He grimaced. “Please don’t tell my siblings. I will never, ever live this down.”

“Oh, this is so going in the blackmail folder,” I responded, trying to hide my smile.

“You know you don’t have to blackmail me. Just ask, and I’ll do it.”

My heart got a little twinge, because I knew he was telling the truth. That’s just how he was. Whatever I’d wanted to do in Monterra, he always found a way to make it happen. If I asked him to get me the moon, I was pretty sure he’d have a plan within the hour for how he would accomplish it.

Which was both super sweet and disconcerting.

“Go ahead and set up; let us make sure we have the lighting and angles right,” a director called out. I moved back to my spot. “Pretend like you’re meeting for the first time.”

“I’m Dante Fiorelli, by the way. In case I hadn’t mentioned it.” Another woman had come over to fix his hair. This, thankfully, kept him from kissing me hello again.

“Fiorelli? I thought you didn’t use a last name.”

The stylists finished messing with him and walked back over to the other crew members. “We don’t, but it’d be a little suspicious if I showed up with only one name. Like Cher or Madonna.”

“We need to have a serious conversation about your taste in music if that’s your frame of reference for one-name singers.”

“I have excellent taste in music, thank you very much. I was only trying to use singers I thought you would be familiar with. We all know your taste in music is a bit questionable.”

“You leave Taylor Swift alone.”

His gave me a half smile, but before he could respond the director said, “All right, ready to roll. Meet again, please!”

This time I held out my hand so that he couldn’t kiss me. “Hi, I’m Lemon, from—”

“Atlanta?” Dante finished as he took my hand. I tried not to gasp when he leaned down and kissed my hand. My pulse exploded as my lungs deflated. The smirk on his face told me he knew exactly the effect he had on me. Sneaky jerk. I yanked my hand free.

“How did you know I’m from Atlanta?” He was supposed to pretend that he’d never met me.

“Your jersey,” he said. “It says Atlanta on it.”

Oh. “Yep, that’s me. From Atlanta. Go Braves!” I should have said something clever or funny, or kicked him in the shin for making me all weak-kneed again. Instead, I sounded like an idiot.

I really wanted to wipe that all-knowing smile off of his face, but I couldn’t think clearly. His cologne had invaded my senses, and I wanted to grab the lapels of his jacket and pull him closer.

He spoke and I balled up my hands at my side, ordering them to stay still. “I love your accent. I’m Dante.”

“Okay.”

And I walked away. I was going to look like a total fool on national television. Maybe they’d edit me out for hitting below the stupidity threshold. Although given the sorts of things that happened on this show, that bar was pretty low.

Nobody stopped me to do it over, and I let out a sigh of relief when I reached the front door. When I stepped inside, I was struck by the overwhelming smell of melted wax. I could only imagine how many candles had given their lives in service of the show. An assistant directed me to the Mixer Room, where all the parties and ceremonies would be held.

The room was full of women who were pretty in a generic way—everyone had long hair (mostly extensions) with beachy waves. They all sported fake eyelashes, too-white teeth, and perfect makeup. They wore tight, formal dresses that fit courtesy of Spanx, and heels so high I worried for their safety. Especially since most of the women in here were already half drunk.

“Wow!” someone said over my shoulder. “I was in the car behind you, and I have to say, you two have the kind of sparks where you need a welder’s helmet. Yikes. The rest of us won’t stand a chance!”

I turned to see a tall and very pretty redhead with dark green eyes. Her hair was a deep, fiery color. Normally you’d expect to see a lot of freckles on a girl like that, but her porcelain skin was clear and smooth. She had a genuine smile on her face, and I felt drawn to her. It reminded me of the first time I met Kat. Where it had felt like I had known her in another life and that we would be the best of friends in this one.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be surprised if I last beyond tonight.” I wanted to reassure her because she seemed wired and nervous.

“I’m Genesis. Which I know is a weird name, but you get used to it after a while.”

“Were your parents religious?”

“My mom, fanatically so. Hence the name. And you are?”

“I’m Lemon.”

She laughed. “So you get it.”

The other women stared at us like old cows looking at a new gate. I could see that they dismissed us immediately as possible competition. Ordinarily that would have gotten my dander up—but since I wasn’t competing for Dante’s heart, it didn’t matter. I would have to tell him about Genesis, though. She seemed very sweet.

I heard Annie talking to the other girls about her arrival. “He couldn’t take his eyes off of me. We had such a connection. I bet I get the ‘First Sight Heart.’ You should have seen our crazy chemistry.”

“I certainly saw the crazy part of it,” I whispered to Genesis, and she laughed, which caused the women to turn as one toward us, like a bunch of hormone-addled meerkats. Annie glared at me, and I just smiled at her. Because that’s what you did with crazy people. Another limo arrived and everyone turned back to the window.

An angry-sounding dark-haired girl in a purple dress said, “I told him that my last boyfriend wanted me to lose twenty pounds, so I decided to lose two hundred pounds in the form of my loser ex-boyfriend instead. If Dante can’t like me how I am, then I don’t want him, either.”

That must have terrified him. I tried not to laugh.

Everyone started talking at once and trying to one-up each other on who had the best line when they met Dante. Nobody listened to anyone else and nobody stopped talking, either.

“I’m a little afraid,” Genesis whispered. “What’s going on with all of these women?”

“Dropped on their heads as babies?”

She giggled, and we walked over to a couch to wait for everyone else to arrive and to chat without the harpies at the window judging us.

“You look so comfortable. I’m so jealous.”

I had actually been feeling a bit out of place in my jeans and jersey, but Genesis was right. I was comfortable. “But your dress is so pretty.”

She was wearing a dark green dress with princess cap sleeves and a poufy skirt. “It isn’t mine. The stylist had to sew me into it. I just want to take it off and put on some sweats. Same for these stupid fake eyelashes. I feel like somebody glued spiders to my face.”

“You’ve never worn them before?”

She shook her head. “That’s not really me.”

Another new arrival walked in the room, and every eye went to her. She had honey-blonde Disney princess hair—the kind that fell in perfect waves down to the middle of her back—and soft brown doe eyes. She wore a skirt so tight and short I could see her religion. I felt like I should scour my eyeballs.

“I know her!” Genesis whispered to me in shock. “She’s a British actress on that soap opera,
East and West
, which is one of my favorite shows ever. I used to follow her on Twitter!”

“Used to?” The actress seemed to glide across the room to the bar, pouring herself a drink while looking both refined and flawless. I wondered who did her PR. Since I had a grand total of one client so far, this might be my chance to network with her before I got kicked off at the Heart Celebration.

Genesis’s voice broke into my train of thought. “She totally blocked me! She took over this longstanding role and started misspelling her character’s nickname on purpose, and I corrected her to help her out because it was making people upset on this message board I belong to, and she publicly called me out and said something about people changing and reinventing themselves as they grew and having the freedom to be whoever they wanted, and then she blocked me. Then a bunch of her other followers started ganging up on me. It was not fun.”