Page 7 of Forsaking All Others

“Of course,” Falcon says indignantly, “it’s entirely up to you. They’re your women to dispose of as you will. Did you lose any in this incident?”

“No one was killed. I’m waiting to review the footage from inside the vehicle, but from what I can ascertain, the shots were aimed at the driver. Most of the contestants were a little shaken. One had a small nick on her chin.”

‘And one who, despite her dress being blood and paint-splattered and crumpled to buggery, seemed completely unruffled.’

I frown as I think of the curvaceous Italian with the big, dark, haunted eyes and expressive hand gestures. I’d stiffened and leant away as she approached, the smell of the blood all over her making me hungry. Fortunately, she hadn’t wanted to get too close anyway. She’d come out last from the limo, giving the others plenty of opportunity to fall into my arms, feigning relief at their survival. Some had played the tears card, others the; ‘fate allowed me to live because we’re destined,’ card. They’d all obviously been ordered not to reveal what had happened. The only one to break the rules straight away and not use the attack to their advantage was the Italian.

“Anyway,” I frown into the line, “look into it, will you? You know my hands are tied for the next few months while I take part in this charade. I’d like to know who’s trying to knock off my potential brides.”

“Potential brides,” Falcon says, his tone now serious. “I never thought I’d hear those words from your lips.”

“You forced my hand,” I mutter, “you knew I’d say it sooner or later.”

“Twenty-eight years since I gave that ultimatum,” Falcon grunts. “I’d call it later, wouldn’t you? Anyhow, let’s not reopen old wounds. I’ll look into the attack. You just concentrate on finding yourself a wife.”

“Shouldn’t be too difficult,” I snap.

“Brother,” Falcon sighs, “I know you don’t trust The Game. Christ, I understand, believe me, I do. But let yourself relax into the process and you might be surprised. You wouldn’t be the first to find the love of your life on a reality TV show.”

“If you, or anyone else, tells me one more time to ‘trust the process’ or ‘enjoy the journey,’ I’ll make your first season look like a fucking fairy-princess tea party — vow be damned!” I snarl.

His laughter booms out across the line as I hang up.

5

I step into the mansion last, all eyes upon me.

Predictably, the room is open plan, the mansion having been designed in the neo-eclectic style that Americans seemed to favour in the late 2000s. A classic, ugly McMansion.

‘No quiet corners to sit tight and observe.’

Raising my chin, I head straight to the bar, ignoring the titters and gasps, feigned or otherwise, of the other competitors as they see my destroyed dress.

No one approaches, though. Most continue discussing in hushed whispers with those who had come in before me what had happened on the way over. Apparently, keeping secrets doesn’t count with those you’re competing against, just the man you plan to marry.

Shaking my head at overheard snatches of conversation, I peruse the alcohol on offer. I know, not just because of what the director said, but because of The Game’s rules, that at least two of the women in this room will not survive tonight, so I’m reluctant to speak to anyone. But at the same time, I know alliances are important for the first three quarters of this show. Very few women survive as lone wolves right out of the gate.

As much as it goes against the grain, I need to ally myself with some of these people. At the very least, in the coming days I need to find one strong ‘ride or die’ who will come a fair way through the game with me. The most deadly and beautiful should be my first port of call, an obvious alpha; that way I can be assured she’ll go as far along the game as I want her to go without someone else taking her out, or the bachelor dispensing with her.

I open a fresh bottle of champagne and pour myself a glass, noting the top of the bar is littered with bottles, all newly opened. Several contestants are carrying around glasses and bottles.

‘Can’t be too careful. Poisoning is within the rules. Still, you’d be a fool to waste your one shot at eliminating a rival within the confines of the mansion so early in the game. None of us yet know who our biggest threat is, or our strongest ally.’

Taking a sip of my champagne and sticking my finger in the top of the bottle so I can carry it around easily with me, I do a circuit of the room while we all wait for the bachelor to arrive and get this, our first cocktail party, moving.

The snatches of conversation I hear make me cringe and mentally snigger as I weave among the women.

“I blacked out from love as soon as I saw him.”

“Oh, he’s such a cutie, it’s like I’m dreaming.”

“There was a connection straight away. We locked eyes, and my heart almost stopped.”

“I once knew a man with similar looks who liked to be peed on. I wonder what kinks the Viscount has. He’s so old, he must have many.”

“I’d pee on him. I’d do anything and everything on him.”

“I already feel like he’s my boyfriend. Is that weird?”