“NIKO’S OUT!” Vivian shouted. “WHICH MEANS NIKO AND AMY ARE IN THE BOTTOM TWO AT THE NEXT SENDING.”
By the time Adrienne made it back to the beach, the Downward Press had taken out Sienna as well. Although more elegantly than anyone else. She walked out of the water in a one-piece Hunza G like aBaywatchbabe. The only ones remaining were Valerie, Isla, and Tamera. If any one of them were to succumb to the rising tide, they’d be on the chopping block alongside Niko and Amy.
Which was why Adrienne was literally biting her nails. What felt like an hour had only been fifteen minutes, according to Vivian. Adrienne had asked for the umpteenth time whether all three women had survived the third drop, and somehow, they had. Then she spotted a swell rolling in from the deep blue. “Ihope you have gills, Val,” she muttered under her breath. “Oh, please have gills.”
Seconds later, her prayers were answered. Tamera’s head popped up behind the frame, gasping for air. Which meant...
“AND THAT’S IT!” Vivian called. “SIENNA AND TAMERA WILL JOIN NIKO AND AMY IN THE BOTTOM TWO AT THE NEXT SENDING!”
ADRIENNE WAS STILLshaking. She didn’t think she’d ever stop shaking. The walk back from the challenge felt more tedious than usual, and she furiously smoothed her hands up and down her bare arms, trying to friction-burn some warmth back into her goosebump-covered skin. It wasn’t so much that the air was cold. In fact, it was deliciously warm. The goosebumps were from the near-death experience she’d had earlier. As far as she knew, seeing your life flash in front of your eyes meant one was on the verge of death. Death. Adrienne Vale had nearly died.
She was just about to ask if anyone else had nearly lost their life today in that challenge, but then Sienna stopped abruptly in her tracks. “Did we go the wrong way?”
“What do you mean?” Niko asked. She was sulking at the back of the line, feeling terribly sorry for herself. Adrienne would’ve acknowledged just how little sympathy she had for the hairdresser, but frankly, she was too bent out of shape after that challenge. “Why? Can’t you see our camp? We should be close.”
“I don’t know what I see,” Sienna replied. Then, in almost the same breath, she gasped so loudly that everyone’s heads snapped up in her direction. Adrienne was at her shoulder in seconds, and then she too gasped because how could she not?
Right in the center of camp, beside the fire pit, which had been cleaned up, production had laid down a massive jute rugtopped with thick Moroccan Berber rugs. Scattered across them was a sea of oversized linen floor cushions in a dreamy palette of washed primrose pink, sage, and pale terracotta, all bordered by plush ivory shearling poufs that were begging to be collapsed into.
But it was the low-slung bamboo tables flanking the rugs that caught Adrienne’s attention. Atop the tables were crystal bowls of glistening purple Mission figs, clusters of grapes, and thin ribbons of prosciutto draped over what looked like rosemary-infused focaccia. At one side of the table was a tiered tower of macarons, and on the other there was a silver ice bucket holding three sweating bottles of Veuve Clicquot Rosé.
“Did I die?” Adrienne asked, her eyes catching onto the canopy of warm, twinkling fairy lights that had been woven through the low branches of trees at the edge of camp. “Did I drown in that challenge? Am I in heaven?”
Valerie laughed. Her voice was a melody. “You’re as alive as the rest of us.”
But Adrienne had a hard time believing her. The next minute, two production assistants in crisp white linen shirts stepped forward. They carried neat, stacked bundles held together with white ribbons. Adrienne held her breath. Were those slippers? It appeared they were. The production assistants laid out cloud-white waffle-weave spa robes with a matching pair of faux fur slippers and a sealed packet of hydrating sheet masks for each of them on the jute rug.
“I think this is the best moment of my life,” Safiya said, already helping herself to a prosciutto-draped slice of focaccia. “It even beats my wedding.”
Niko headed straight for the silver ice bucket. “Didn’t you get divorced?”
Safiya laughed, and then everyone else did too. But not Valerie. She turned to face Adrienne and stuck out her hand. “Come. Forget the challenge and let’s enjoy ourselves,” she said.
Adrienne looked at Valerie’s hand for half a second before taking it. Valerie was right. They should enjoy themselves.
Chapter Seventeen
Valerie had broken her golden rule. Do not lose your mind. But she was losing it.
Luckily, so was everyone else. The bamboo tables had been completely ravaged. Empty wine bottles were stuck upside down in the sand. Across the rugs, Sienna and Isla were barefoot and slow-dancing to the sultry music of Smokey Robinson coming from a palm-sized speaker perched in the crook of an olive tree. Sitting cross-legged on a cushion, Safiya popped the last of the glistening purple Mission figs into her mouth and cheered them on. Niko passed a bottle of wine to Amy, who, instead of taking it like a normal, sane person, tipped her head back. Pink-colored wine flowed out of the sides of her mouth, earning an entire chorus of cheers. Valerie clapped her hands so hard her palms stung.
“Listen up, you beautiful people,” Tamera shouted a moment later. She stumbled slightly as she climbed onto a plush shearling pouf, then unrolled the parchment paper she’d swiped earlier from the table. “Dear contestants,” she read again. They’d already dissected the note three hours ago when the sun was still blazing in the sky. “TheOutlast Hergods are fickle, but they are not entirely heartless. We couldn’t make you suffer and then expect you to survive on rice. Please enjoy this feast. P.S. Drink the rosé before it warms.”
“Thank you,Outlast Hergods,” Niko said sloppily, raising her glass high enough to spill a few drops of wine onto her bare feet. “May your editing cuts be kind to our double chins.”
Safiya pushed herself up. “I love you guys,” she said. “And when this game ends, I want to be friends with all of you. Please accept my follow requests on Instagram. Even you, Adrienne Vale, with all your trillions of followers.”
Valerie laughed, then threw herself back onto a pouf. When she got back to civilization, she would promptly delete her social media accounts. She had no need for them anymore. After all, she’d only re-downloaded Instagram to stalk Adrienne, and now she was quite sure she wouldn’t need to after this. She also couldn’t believe how silly she’d been. She had actually thought that the unsmiling woman in those oversized Celine sunglasses reflecting the Eiffel Tower, wearing a camel Max Mara coat draped over her shoulders, was the real Adrienne. But it wasn’t even close. The real Adrienne was the one who whistled in her sleep, whose hair looked like a bird’s nest come morning, who had nearly lost a limb from an axe the other day because she was trying to prove a point. The real Adrienne was the one who, just yesterday morning, had laughed so hard she’d farted, and then laughed even harder.
The Adrienne who was currently walking toward Valerie with a goofy smile on her face and two macarons displayed proudly on her palm. That was the Adrienne Valerie couldn’t stop thinking about.
Adrienne spun around and stood in front of Valerie. “The best macarons I’ve ever had were at Ladurée on the Champs-Élysées in Paris. They’re legendary.”
“I’ve never liked macarons,” Valerie said. “It’s like chewing on flavored chalk.”
“Really?” Adrienne asked, looking utterly flabbergasted. “I promise you’ll like the ones at Ladurée. They age them for twenty-four hours, so the ganache infuses into the meringue.”
Valerie just smiled.
