Page 36 of Forsaking All Others

I nod as she walks in and sits on my lap facing me, her skirt hiked up to reveal her bare pussy. But it’s not her I think about as I fuck out all the tension before my date.

It’s a woman with secrets who’s missing her secret-keeper. And here and there, the woman I’m about to meet — a little Italian with a vengeful heart and blood that tastes like ambrosia.

29

The cocktail party is progressing much the same as the opening night party, and I wish I could just slip away without anyone noticing, but that’s not how this Game’s played.

When we’d been advised this morning that there was to be another party, we’d all been surprised. A challenge was due now that we were in another country, yet so far we’d only had the one back in Denver.

It’s frustrating, because challenges inevitably reduce the competition, and confusing, because most of the competitors had studied the game as I had year after year in order to learn how to best play. There were changes here and there, particularly after Lord Falcon Dragonspur’s two appearances, but generally speaking, the cadence of the game was familiar — and anticipated for that reason. Every new country must have a new challenge. In between challenges there could be one-on-one dates with others the bachelor might fancy, and again, some inevitably didn’t return from those dates.

But to call for another cocktail party?

Some of the girls had suggested he was going to make up for lost time by dispensing with a whole heap of us tonight. After all, he hadn’t killed anyone on opening night. It seemed like the most logical explanation for why he’d insisted upon meeting us all again in the face of no other information or warning. The director had merely appeared this afternoon with the make-up and hair crew and dozens of beautiful dresses on racks. For the first time, we’d been allowed to choose what dress we’d wear, although the selection was limited. Again, this little perk made us all suspicious. Would we get to choose the gown we died in?

I’d chosen a black satin sheath with bell sleeves that reminded me a little of the dresses worn by the mother on The Adams Family. It seemed fitting since I’m absolutely convinced I’m going to be in a coffin by the end of the night. The dress had a plunging neckline, but nearly all of them did, so there was nothing I could do about that. The hair crew had brushed my hair over the wounds on my throat to try to hide them. Unlike other girls with their neat little puncture marks, I look like I’ve been savaged by a small shark. My neck is bruised black all down one side. Ideally I’d like to have kept the bandage on, but the beauty crew had refused to allow it. They’d tried to hide the damage with a broad, bejewelled choker, but it had hurt too much and I’d removed it the moment they left.

Consequently I’d been the subject of whispered speculation from the other contestants all night. Fuelled too, by Evelyn and her snide remarks. But then, that’s the thing in this game: if people aren’t talking to you, they’re talking about you. From what I could gather the gist of most of the whispered conversations was the concern that the bachelor wasn’t the sweet gentleman they all thought if he was going to be violent towards a competitor. Others thought maybe he’d hurt me because I’d done something to piss him off, and he’d lashed out. Either way, it didn’t reflect well on either of us.

The Portuguese contestant, Daniela, swans into the room grinning now, and immediately the Iranian, Mahsa, rises and rushes outside to where the bachelor sits before anyone else can claim him.

Bitching about Mahsa begins immediately.

“She’s so desperate,” Cherry snipes, “I mean, if he wants to see you, he’ll see you.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” the Scottish contestant, Claire, retorts, “you’ve had a one-on-one date with him.”

“And kissed him,” Silke, the German contestant, chimes in.

“I can’t help it if he’s attracted to me,” Cherry shrugs, “maybe Mahsa should take a leaf out of my book and play a little hard to get.”

I almost choke on my drink, and turn my attention to the others now surrounding Daniela to interrogate her. It’s been the same all night. They all want to know why he’s called another cocktail party, what questions he asked, and what answers they’d given.

‘Whether he’d bitten them.’

“All I know is that he kissed me and we connected in a very real, spiritual way,” Daniela gushes.

“You’re not the only one he’s kissed tonight,” Cherry snipes. “His connection to you can’t be that strong.”

“It’s like our hearts were just waiting to meet each other,” Daniela murmurs, her face aglow.

“My body wants to meet with his,” Sona sighs dreamily.

“Ugh,” I snort and take a sip of my drink.

“Have you spoken to him yet?” The Ethiopian, Dinkinesh, asks saccharinely sweetly as she sits down beside me, her thigh against mine.

It’s the first time she’s asked me a direct question, and unsettling to have her sit so close.

“You know I haven’t,” I give her a sharp look as I move slightly away, “you’ve been watching me like a hawk all night.”

Dinkinesh laughs, although it has a false ring to it, just as everything she says and does from what I gather, having also watched her for some time.

“What a thing to say! If I look at you it’s only because you’re so beautiful. Although sadly, I don’t think he’ll want to talk to you tonight, since you dated last night,” she meets my glare with wide, fake-innocent eyes.

‘In other words, if I try to get out there to see him I’ll be putting a huge target on my back. Never fear, bitch, I have NO intention of going anywhere near that predator tonight.’

I’d like to call her out, tell her I don’t think she’s as ditzy or sweet as she pretends. But what’s the point? As long as I know the truth, I’m wary of her. Let her think I’ve fallen for her act as the others have.