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Chapter Three
Alice
I’m seated on a chair, facing a camera, with the other three ladies in chairs beside me, probably about ten feet apart. We’re on a platform, and a large wall is situated right behind us. We’ve been told not to say anything because the men are on the other side of the wall, and since it’s only as wide as our platform, they can definitely hear us.
About fifteen minutes ago, in a different room, we had individual interviews about our goals and expectations with this show. I felt silly, but as soon as I started talking, my hopes and dreams poured out, pushing away the dread that I was feeling and leaving only excitement in its place.
I push my palms down on my knees to still my legs from bouncing—a nervous habit I’ve always had—the skirt they dressed me in bunching and getting a little damp from my clammy hands. Any second now, we will each meet a perfect stranger and be expected to form a connection with them to advance to the next stage. Part of me wonders if I’ll recognize my match. Sunnyville isn’t huge, and I know they only interviewed residents from Sunnyville and the surrounding four towns, so that’s not a large pool to pick from.
“Okay, ladies. Smile! You’ll be meeting your Prince Charming in less than one minute.” The man from the dressing room is back, grinning and clapping his hands together as he eyes us.
I squirm a little under his scrutiny, remembering how he pulled me in earlier, a little too close for comfort. A camera pans across the floor in front of us, and I put on my most relaxed and cheerful expression, even when I feel the man’s eyes still on me.
Creep.
The platform underneath me gives a groan, humming to life, and my eyes widen in shock. I didn’t know the platform moved. This is happening so fast, and I don’t even know exactly what is happening.
“Three, two”—the cameraman counts down and then points to us—“one.”
Suddenly, I’m being turned, my chair rotating, and out of the corner of my eye, I see the partition behind me rising up. I notice the loafers first—nice leather, not a scuff on them. Work my way up the no-nonsense socks and the hem of charcoal suit pants. I let my eyes roam leisurely, almost too afraid to look at the face of the man I’ll be with for six weeks.
God, I really hope they vetted these people well.
He’s trim, and his suit fits him well in all the right places. When I get to his chest, my eyes focus on the bright pink tie he’s wearing. I like it.
I take a deep breath and finally raise my eyes to his face, gasping when I find his dark expression on me.
No.
“No,” I echo out loud and then slap a hand over my mouth, hoping no one heard it.
His eyebrows dip down as he scowls further, letting me know he did. His thick brown hair is styled to perfection, not a strand out of place, framing his handsome face. His brown eyes glitter at me, the expression unreadable in them, as he still hasn’t said anything to me since we turned around.
I worry my bottom lip. My hands clammier than ever, I try to discreetly brush them off on my skirt again. I know I need to say something, as there’s a camera trained on both of us right now.
“Hello, Miss Whitman.” His deep voice jolts me, and I stare at his mouth.
He’s talking. To me. I shake my head slightly, clearing the fog in my brain.
“Dr. Morrow.” I can’t help the sarcasm sneaking out as I give him a slight nod and then fidget some more.
This is way out of my wheelhouse. I’m very uncomfortable, and situations like this always cause me to laugh nervously and then tuck tail and run. I like happy things, people who get along, and no drama. This is drama.
Oh, the show is going to love us.“How is Ivy?”
There. A safe space. Let’s talk about his daughter.
“She’s fine. Thanks for asking.”
This stilted conversation is giving me hives. I need to salvage this—and soon.
“She was such a doll to have in my classroom,” I say, picking at a crease in my skirt as I find his eyes again. I remember the first time I saw them, how they pulled me in like a vacuum and kept me in place. I was lost in the richness of them—acting like an idiot, I’m sure. But the worst part came after. The brush-off, as if he couldn’t even be bothered to make small talk with me. Down to business, and then he left.
“Welcome, Mr. …”I said as soon as I quit staring at him in that delectable suit.
I held my hand out for him to shake. It was a curt one, his grip warm, as he gave it one pump and then released me as if I’d burned him.
“Dr. Morrow,” he corrected.
