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My heart is doing gymnastics in my chest. “This is dangerous territory. If the other women find out we have history—”
“They’ll eat me alive,” she says. “I know the risks. I’ve written enough drama to recognize it when I’m living it.”
“Your career—don’t you have deadlines?”
She nods. “Season two ofHallucination AIis due two days after filming ends. I’m putting a lot on the line to be here.”
The realization of what she’s risking hits.
My mind spins as I fight to figure out what to say to her. I’m flattered, I’m excited, but I’m also extremely nervous. Before I can respond, we hear women’s voices approaching, so I say, “Let’s talk later,” before we make a hasty exit.
Back at the party, I’m forced to put Brielle aside as I focus on one conversation after another, working to maneuver my way through this purposefully tricky situation. When I overhear Annabelle telling another contestant about Brielle’s writing career and the deadline she’s pushing to be here, it reminds me—Brielle isn’t here for Instagram followers or to launch a podcast. She’s here for me, at considerable personal cost.
I should send her home. For her protection. To spare her from the drama that will inevitably explode if our tryst is exposed to the others. Plus, we had our moment, and neither of us reached out afterward. What if we’re doing the square peg-round hole thing?
But I can’t send her home on the first night—not when she took such a risk. Not when seeing her again made everything else fade into background noise.
When it comes time for the first impression key, our show’s version of a first impression rose, I make the strategic choice to give it to Luna. She’s beautiful, smart, made me laugh, and honestly, the Khaleesi costume was impressive. Plus, giving it to Brielle would put a target on her back I’m not ready to paint.
As I hand Luna the ornate key, she beams. Across the room, Brielle gives me a subtle nod of understanding. She knows the game we’re playing. Knows why I couldn’t choose her tonight.
But there will be other nights. Other chances. And a chance to explore the connection that brought her back into my orbit against all odds.
In the background, I hear some woman say, “This issounfair. I got no time with Hayes because I didn’t want to jump in the pool in this gown I had to buy with myownmoney. Sorry I didn’t come dressed like Miss Dental Floss Bikini.” More tears from someone, I don’t remember her name.
“You’re just jealous I pulled it off.” Gabby has mascara running down her cheeks from the pool, and she makes a fist as she gets up in the other woman’s face.
There’s zero chance I’m going to let a fight break out.
I step in between the two and let them know that they’ll each have more time with me tomorrow.
Now they know they’re not getting sent home tonight. They’ll be staying because the producers want as much drama as possible.
But I vowed to give every woman a chance, and I will. I just have to navigate thirty women, an executive producer with ratings on his mind, and a reconnection I wasn’t expecting—all while trying to figure out if any of these women fit into the carefully constructed life I’ve built for August and myself.
No pressure, right?
3
Pissy Party
BRIELLE
The mansion lights are too bright, my Vulcan ears are making me itchy, and Gabby—Miss Corn Queen—just rolled her eyes at me for the fifteenth time tonight. Welcome to the catfight where thirty women compete for one man’s heart while pretending they’re not secretly planning each other’s demise. And here I am, Brielle Wilson, a member of Mensa, dressed as a Vulcan, wondering exactly how my life choices led me here.
I tug at the pointy ear tips, trying to make them less noticeable while attempting to blend into the gaudy wallpaper. The champagne in my glass has gone flat, much like my enthusiasm. Across the room, a woman in what appears to bea wedding dress laughs at something Hayes says. He smiles politely but looks majorly uncomfortable.
Skye would tell me to stop hiding and go talk to him. But Skye isn’t here right now—she’s busy hosting the madness, flitting around with her boom mic operators and camera crew, shooting me meaningful glances wherever our paths cross.
At first, I wasn’t going to apply to be on the show—afraid of the backlash. But I couldn’t stop thinking about Hayes, and I know what we shared was Instalust, but at the same time, it felt like there was more to it than that—something I felt was worth exploring. So I filled out my application forGroomsman to Groom, not sure if I should send it.
After I’d called Skye for advice, she came barging into my apartment with a green smoothie that smelled like lawn clippings and regret. She took the application from me, saying I had to try, going in with the nuclear option.Your mom would have wanted you to take a chance.
Unfortunately, she was right—Mom would’ve.
I snap back to the present as Gabby sashays past me, champagne flute in hand. “Cute costume,” she says with a sugary smile. “Very... high school drama club.”
“Thanks. I was going for authentic Vulcan.”