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Liam opens the door, and they pour in like a fisherman’s catch of sardines.
Boxes are plonked to the floor and two women start unpacking and decorating the living area. One places several scented candles on the coffee table and lights them one by one. Soon the place smells of cinnamon and orange peel.
Nicholas approaches Liam and me, placing a hand on each of our shoulders. “We’ll make this as quick as possible and be out of your hair in no time.”
Yes. It would be nice to get the parasites out of our hair. When do we get a minute to breathe our own oxygen?
Nicholas must sense my frustration. “I know it’s been a long day. We only need two minutes of you eating a romantic first meal together, then a slow dance in the living room. We need to show you two connecting like the other four couples you’re competing against.”
I snap my neck backward. “What? We’re competing against others?” I turn to Liam. “Did you know about this?”
He nods. “It’s in the contract on how the show works. Didn’t you read it?”
I shift on my feet. People bustle in and out of the door with boxes. I shake my head at Nicholas, wading through the fog in my brain. “What’s the short version?”
“The network earns money from airing the show through commercials, but we also make money on the voting system. Each week, viewers call the voting line to choose their favorite couple. The fifty-five cents per call adds up to ... a lot. As in 100,000 votes equals $55K. The winning couple gets a nice bonus at the end.” He rubs his thumb against his fingers, enticing us with money, money, money.
Does money motivate Liam? His expression is flat. Perhaps he has enough, and he’s not worried about a popularity contest. But me, I’m not rolling in cash. I could do with paying off my mortgage. Plus, I have a severe case of competitive-itis. When it comes to competitions, I need to win.
I turn to Nicholas. “How do we gain votes?”
Nicholas grins wide. “Now you’re asking the right questions, Trina. Convince the viewers you two have chemistry. Have a lover’s quarrel now and then but quickly make up. On the journal videos, pour your heart out.”
I lift my hand like a stop sign. “The what?”
Liam wears a scowl, crosses his arms, and gives a dramatic sigh. What’s his problem? “Every day, we have to enter a video booth alone and confess our true feelings about our spouse.”
Nicholas nods. “That’s right. Show the progress of the arranged marriage developing. In those moments, you can gain favor with the viewers if you’re opening up and telling a story.”
“A story?” My jaw hangs open. Did I land myself inThe Hunger Gamesor something? Where contestants battle it out for matrimonial survival.
“Yes. You can create a story if you like. Only make it believable. People know it’s reality TV and a lot of it’s a setup. They put aside their disbelief and get sucked into the story. Escape their routine life and experience excitement through yours.”
My eyes go wide. Wow. Half of America wants to live my life? Well, I’m more than happy to trade places. This one’s too crazy.
“Think of the bonus money, Trina.” Nicholas grabs my focus again. “And the thrill of winning in front of your family, friends, and the nation.”
I missed out on a national competition due to my injury years ago. Sports reporting is now my go-to income, but if I could play state hockey, that’s where I’d be right now.
Liam studies me. Judgment blazes in his eyes. Like, he’s not all about competition? He’s doing this for his team and sponsorship. The pot calling the kettle black
Nicholas pats our arms and turns away, giving direction to his crew of Martha Stewarts. They’re hanging a picture of flamingo heads in the shape of a heart. Puke. Within ten minutes the table is set for two, complete with linen and candles. A fluffy burgundy rug and fake fireplace with glowing coals create a cozy atmosphere. The fireplace looks so real, like it was here the whole time.
Liam holds out his basketball hands to the fire and rubs them together. “Nice and cozy in here.”
“Hmph.” It’s about as cozy we’ll get tonight. I hope he assumes that. Fake fire. Fake marriage.
He gestures to the table where a waiter stands, all-decked out with a cloth napkin draped over his arm. I follow Liam and when he pulls out my chair for me, instead of a dramatic eye roll, I flutter my lashes like I’ve got sand in my eyes. Liam gives a subtle shake of his head and smirks at my sarcasm.
Cameras swarm around us like bees in a hive. Overhead, soft lighting glows from the stands on the right, and reflector circles provide filler light from the left. TV viewers will only see the waiter and a married couple having a quiet intimate dinner. But in reality, nine people remain in the room. The interior decorators have left, but it still feels overcrowded.
Liam reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “Ready to show America we’re making a connection?” He delivers that sexy smile again.
I pull my hand away. “Yes. Give me a minute to get into acting mode.” I sit taller and smooth the napkin over my lap. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. I face Nicholas. “Ready for action.”
He gives me a thumbs up and nods to the cameramen. Red lights blink on. Apparently, they only need two minutes of good dining footage, then we get a break. I can be nice to Liam for two minutes, no sweat.
I reach over and take Liam’s hand. “Such a romantic dinner, isn’t it?” I’m a writer. I know how to use words to set a mood. Using the word ‘romantic,’ will encourage viewers to believe we’re for real. Hopefully. Perhaps I’ll even convince myself. It’s what I need to do—not merely play a role but become the character.
