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“So? I mean—this is everything we were promised, isn’t it?”
I nodded. It was true; the island really had lived up to the pictures Baz had sent, I couldn’t deny it.
“Yes, you’re right. It’s just as beautiful as the photos. I just—”
Nico rolled his eyes.
“You just what? For God’s sake, Lyla. We’re in literal paradise. Are you never satisfied?”
“I am satisfied,” I protested. “It’s just—it’s not finished. Doesn’t that bother you? You can literally still smell the paint, and half the facilities aren’t even built yet.”
“So? I can’t imagine Baz would have got this place for free once it was up and running and taking millionaire guests every week. And we’re the first people who get to enjoy it—isn’t that something to celebrate?”
“It’s not the paint, Nico, it’s more the fact that we’re acting as guinea pigs for this place. If there are any issues with the infrastructure, we’re going to be the ones finding out. What happens if the generator gives out? Or the desalination plant breaks down?”
“Desally what?” Nico looked blank.
“The water, Nico! They have to get it from somewhere. They’re hardly going to be piping it thousands of miles from the mainland, so they must be desalinating seawater—reverse osmosis, I’d guess, which is a pretty technical process. I mean, they can’t even get the cameras working properly.” I gestured at the box on the wall. “What if something that actually matters goes—”
“Then I imagine they’ll call in an engineer from the mainland,” Nico broke in impatiently. “This is what telly’s like, Lyla. You’re the scientist, so I’m not going to argue with you about reverse whatever it was, but this is my professional area and I’m telling you, this is totally normal. You don’t get it because you only see the front of everything when you watch a show—you don’t see the unfinished woodwork behind set and the costumes held together with glue and staples. We’re backstage at the theater, honey—this is what it looks like.”
“Don’t call me honey,” I snapped.
“It’s a term of endearment,” Nico retorted, but I knew it wasn’t, not really. When Nico was feeling affectionate, he called me Lil and told me he loved me. Honey was reserved for something else—the moments when he felt I was putting him down and he wanted to hit back.
For a long moment we stood, glaring at each other, and then Nico’s face softened.
“Look,” he said, moving across to me and putting his hands on my shoulders. “Lil, I get it. This is weird for you, being in my world. But this is my world, so could you please just trust me that I know what I’m talking about? Because I do know TV, and I’m telling you, this is a hell of a lot more fancy than most of the sets I’ve been on, and I think we’re pretty lucky to be here. But more to the point, we are here. And like it or not, there’s no going back. So you might as well stop fussing about the details and enjoy the ride, because there’s nothing else you can do.”
His words were meant to be reassuring. And as he put his arms around me and hugged me close, I knew he wanted me to say that they were—that I was just stressed about my own work and taking it out on him.
But the truth was, I felt the exact opposite of reassured. Because he was right—everything he’d said was completely correct: we were here. And there was no going back. And there was nothing either of us could do about it.
02/23—09:54 a.m.
Hello, if anyone can hear us, please, please, send urgent help. My name is Lyla Santiago. I’m marooned along with six other survivors on an island about fourteen hours by motorboat, south or southwest of Jakarta. Our boat was swept away by the storm, along with the rest of our party. We have very limited food and water and are in urgent need of medical assistance. Three people have already died. I repeat, this is an SOS call. If anyone is monitoring this channel, please send help. We have no idea how long we can last. We will make the same call this time tomorrow. Over.
CHAPTER 8
THE CABANA TURNED out to be a kind of open-air bar / dining area overlooking the tip of the island. It was shaded by a roof made of palm fronds and set back from the beach on a little promontory, slightly higher than the rest of the island, and as we made our way through the trees, I could hear the voices of the other contestants rising above the sound of the waves and see the occasional flash of a dress or a colorful shirt as we converged on the meeting point.
I snuck a covert look at Nico as we walked, trying to measure both of us up against the other contestants. Nico was wearing ripped jeans and a very sheer white shirt, only held by a couple of buttons, and his hair was tousled by the breeze in a way that was definitely working, though I had seen the ten minutes of swearing and tweaking that those artless curls entailed. I had wanted to wear jeans as well, but Nico had talked me out of it, telling me that all the other girls would be in dresses—and in the end I had caved and worn a loose turquoise handkerchief dress that showed the straps of my new pink bikini, deliberately little makeup, and hair that was supposed to look tousled and beach-dried. I knew in my heart that I couldn’t hope to compete with the level of hair and makeup skills I had seen at the meet and greet. I would have to try to make a virtue out of my low-maintenance, girl-next-door charms.
In other words, I realized as we came out of the trees into a sun-drenched clearing, exactly how Baz had originally characterized me. Was I really so easy to predict? The thought was not entirely pleasant, but I didn’t have time to dwell on it because we were at the cabana—the camera crew in the corner were pointing their lenses our way—and Dan and Santana were standing up to greet us.
Dan was still shirtless, but his admittedly impressive torso was totally eclipsed by Santana, who was wearing what looked like a one-piece bathing suit that showcased her lush cleavage to a truly impressive degree. They were both at one end of a long table, spread with a mouth-watering array of cakes, pastries, and what looked like some kind of ricey porridge, all of which made my stomach rumble in a way that reminded me forcibly of the fact that I’d skipped breakfast.
“Lyla!” Santana called as we made our way up the steps, trying not to look at the camera crew hovering in the corner. “And Nico! So great to finally meet you!”
She came out from behind the table, and I saw that what I’d taken for a bathing suit was actually the fitted top part of a stunning maxi dress in tropical colors that set off her deep tan and revealed something I hadn’t noticed before on her upper arm—it looked like a little white pill box stuck onto the skin, but I was pretty sure I knew what it was. My cousin had had one growing up. It was a glucose monitor, the kind worn by diabetics.
She moved across to embrace us both in a flurry of silky hair and air-kisses, and close-up, I noticed that she was even more unbelievably pretty than I had first thought, with lashes longer than I had ever seen, and skin like something out of a moisturizer commercial, all bare and glowing. My own amateur makeup job in the villa bathroom suddenly felt more than a little inadequate.
“Nico,” Dan said, clapping him on the back in a very manly way. “Good to meet you, mate! And Lyla.” He gave me a little wink. “I feel like we’re old friends now.”
“Coucou, chéris” came from down the steps, and we turned to see Angel making her way through the trees in a diaphanous, ankle-length white dress, the lace trim just trailing on the forest floor in spite of her height. Behind her was Bayer, muscles positively bulging out of a shirt with the sleeves rolled up to a tightness that looked like they were about to give his biceps a tourniquet.
“All right,” he said as they mounted the steps, nodding around the group in a way that came across reserved, bordering on suspicious. The thought crossed my mind that he was the one who’d made the fuss about his Apple watch—when, judging by the implant on her arm, Santana had a much better reason for not wanting to give up her tech—and that maybe he was going to be the villain of the show. In spite of his looks, he had a kind of muscle-bound bullish quality that wasn’t entirely attractive. I thought he might easily be the kind of person to snap in an argument and throw the first punch.
