Chapter Six

"He's the most gorgeous man I've ever seen," a brunette says as she sips on the champagne production has so helpfully provided. "I can't wait to see him in person. I've never met a king before. Well, I met the king of our local corn parade, but Dennis Dully doesn't count. He's not like historic or anything. His dad's just rich. I'm Hannah. I like your dress."

I stand in what's serving as a green room. I'm last on the list to make my "entrance." One by one each gorgeous woman has had her name called, makeup hurry around her to ensure she's sheer perfection, and then she's led out to meet her doom/possible true love. I'm feeling the doom vibe heavily. Hannah is the first person to talk to me. She's maybe twenty-two and on at least her second glass of champagne.

"Thanks. I didn't exactly pick it out, but it's nice," I admit. When I'd first walked in, about half of the contestants had been inside, each wearing some version of formal wear. One woman had obviously taken her cue from Kate Middleton's wedding dress, complete with tiara. It was a whole bag of elegantly dressed cats. "Can I get you a water? I suspect there's going to be a lot of booze at the cocktail party. They do that on reality shows to heighten emotions."

It's predatory, and the sober ones are usually the first ones to leave the show. Despite the true love aspect of the production I'm on, the king won't be making all the decisions alone. The producers will "advise" him. They're not about to let go of a scene-chomping villain before they absolutely have to.

"She should keep drinking because it's the only fun she's going to have tonight. There's no way she makes it through."

Yes, the villain is in the house.

"That's Shelby," another voice whispers. "She's super mean. Ignore her. I'm Ashley. There are two other Ashleys, so I'm Ashley F. Did you take Brittany's place? I heard she got the call to be a corpse on the new Law and Order and grabbed it with both hands. I would have, too. I heard the corpse is a sex worker. It's the best corpse you can possibly play."

I'm torn between asking why sex workers make the best corpses—sounds a little serial killer to me—and introducing myself to Shelby. I can probably fit my painful stiletto all the way up her ass.

But I've vowed to fly under the radar. "Hannah, why don't you come over here? You've got a stray hair."

She looks like she's on the verge of tears, and that will send hair and makeup into a tizzy.

Patrick opens the door, pointedly ignoring me. "Shelby, we're ready for you on set."

The obvious villain of the group straightens up to her impressive height. She's supermodel tall, with long dark hair and a patrician face. She could be a member of royalty and she knows it. There's something cold about her blue eyes. "Time to meet my future husband. Good luck, girls."

It is plain to see she thinks we'll need it.

"Wow, she's a lot," I say because I can be charitable. When I'm working as an assistant again, I'm going to weaponize some incompetence when it comes to her. Also, I'll be in the editing room if the director keeps his promise. I'll find every time she looks constipated and make that her still shot of the day.

"Don't mind her," Hannah says, giving me a watery smile. She sips her champagne like a champ. "She's nothing more than another mean girl."

Ashley F shakes her head. "Nah. She's like all the mean girls rolled into one skinny designer bag with supermodel legs. Everyone thinks she's going to win. She's nice to all the men on the production crew. She'll be sweet to the king, and he won't see what a massive bitch she is until it's far too late. It's a tale as old as time. She's practically got the tiara on her head."

"Like you care," Hannah shoots back.

"I do," Ashley insists. "Look, I won't turn the guy down. He's gorgeous and all, but I'm more of a rock star kind of girl. I'm mostly here because my agent told me it's a good way to get on people's radars. Hannah here is a true love kind of girl. How about you? Sorry, I didn't hear your name when they brought you in."

Because Christy had shoved me into this dress and dropped me off here without a word beyond "don't fuck up."

The trouble is I can fuck up easily. I'd almost snatched Shelby's sure-to-be-fake hair off her head. No real hair sits that perfectly. "I'm Anika." I realize I'm not sure how to explain my presence. Although, unless they're going to fire me, the women will figure it out very quickly. "I'm a production assistant. When the other girl decided to be a corpse, they pulled me in because I fit into her dress. Except I don't. I won't be bending over anytime soon, if you know what I mean."

"That dress is perfect on you," Ashley F promises. Her dark skin contrasts beautifully with the yellow of her cocktail dress. She's stunning, with close cropped hair that shows off the definition of her face. She's slender and tall.

In comparison, Hannah is maybe five foot four and looks like she just came out of the cornfield. Not that she's not pretty. She's lovely, but she's got an air of middle America about her, from her staid, almost matronly dress to the somber bun at the back of her head.

"Did production pick out that dress for you?" I ask.

Hannah smooths down the black dress. "My original dress had a big stain on it. I never noticed it before. They said this will be better anyway. It will show up better on camera or something."

"Colors show up better," Ashley F replies. "Not that black doesn't look good on you, but I would put you in jewel tones, and definitely a shorter skirt. When you have short legs there are ways to cheat the camera. Why wouldn't they let her wear what she wants? Sorry, this is my first show like this."

"They're playing to stereotypes. I would bet Hannah here is from the Midwest. With a degree in something like business or marketing." I turn to Ashley F. "You're in the business. They'll give you some leeway. She's not, so they'll mold her image to better fit the character they want her to play."

"But I'm me," Hannah says. "I'm not a character."

"You are to them." And likely to most people who would watch the show. On a show like this, they don't see you as a human being. You're a character on a show. Some people can handle that. I would bet it's not going to bother Shelby at all. But I'm worried about Hannah, and I've only recently met her. "They want to put a bunch of different people into a room and see what chaos they can create. You'll be an excellent target for someone like Shelby. So here's the key. Don't let her push you around."

"I'm scared of her," Hannah admits. "I think I'll stay out of her way."

"Good luck with that," Ashley F replies.

The door opens again. "Ashley F," Patrick calls out.

Ashley straightens her skirt and walks for the door. "See you out there, ladies. When I get to the cocktail party, I'll save you a place to sit."

The door closes behind her, and Hannah takes another long drag off her glass. "She's nice. There are a couple of others that are too, but a lot of them are super bitchy. We have to share rooms in the mansion, and I got kicked out twice before I found someone who would let me stay with her. I thought I looked good in this dress."

I turn to my new friend. "You look spectacular in that dress, but maybe the next time they try to put you in black, insist on jewel tones. You're not a doll for them to dress. You're Hannah, and you're here to meet a king and fall in love in a very short period of time. While he's dating a whole bunch of other women."

Her laugh spills through the now almost empty room. "Put like that it does sound crazy." She sets her glass down and sighs. "I think I might be the only person here who thinks it really might work. I thought everyone else sent in an application like I did, but from what I can tell everyone's got an agent or someone they know who got them on the show."

I don't want to burst her bubble, but I also don't want her to think this is a fantasy come true. "You have to remember that this is a television show. It's for entertainment, and sometimes the production team will manipulate things to create drama. Don't worry about it. I'll be around after tonight."

"You'll be at the mansion?" Hannah asks.

I'll be doing whatever job Patrick decides is the worst, most humiliating he can find. "Probably not, but I'll be around."

Hannah looks confused. "Well, how can you say that? What if he picks you?"

That is my biggest fear. If I ever see Luca again, I'll have to let him know that getting picked by this dude totally outranks turning into my mom.

It's not going to happen though. I'm going to walk out there, shake hands with that handsome king, and try not to make a fool of myself. I'm going to then stay away from him so he has the reasonable excuse of "I didn't get good time with you, you glowing ball of sunshine. Good-bye." Then we'll part and Cinderella can go back to mucking the stables. Yes. That's how the night is going to go. When this airs, Harper and Ivy are going to make so much fun of me, but I might look pathetic enough that Heath's grandma makes me a lasagna all of my own, and I will not share that sucker. That can be my prize for getting through all of this. "He won't."

"You can't know that," Hannah says sagely, then frowns. "You know what? I like my hair down."

I nod. "Then go for it."

She seems to brace herself. "I am not their doll."

"You are your own doll." If I can impart a bit of feminist wisdom before I fade into the background, I'm going to do it. Tonight I'm a shiny fairy here to help those in need.

Her hands go to the back of her head and suddenly the neat bun tumbles around her shoulders, softening her face. Her dark hair is slightly wavy and the tiniest bit messy, and it makes all the difference.

"Are you in love with that jacket?" I ask. It's a sparkly bolero, but it's a little too long on her short frame and hides her waist. I have to wonder if production is trying to point a big old finger at who to kick off. If that man lets her go, I'll take her straight back to my place and we will order Thai and talk about our narrow escape.

I won't let her be alone because she seems to believe this is real. So I want to give her the best chance I can. I am Katniss, and the belt around my waist is my bow and arrow.

"I hate it," she admits, "but the whole thing is a bit big on me so I thought it balanced the dress out."

I slide the gold, glittery belt from around my waist. This dress doesn't need a belt. It's plastered to my body and not coming off anytime soon. On me that belt is a decoration. On her it's going to change the whole shape of her outfit. I bring it around her waist and fluff it up so it shows off her hourglass figure. With her hair down and that fussy jacket off, she looks sexy and sweet. She only needs one more thing. I pull the necklace from around my neck. Christy had told me I needed some bling, but the dress itself is one big ball of bling. I have too much and Hannah not enough. Together, we can balance each other out and be better versions of ourselves.

"I can't take your necklace. It's beautiful."

I shake my head. "Honey, this is not mine. If it was mine, it would turn your neck green. I could never afford this. If I'm right this in an actual emerald, and it's going to look so good against your skin. It should draw his eyes exactly where we want them. You have nice breasts."

She flushes but lets me clasp the necklace around her.

The door opens as I'm fixing her hair.

"Hannah." Patrick frowns my way. I'm fairly certain he thinks I'm causing trouble. And then he smiles my friend's way. "We're ready for you. You look perfect."

So he isn't the worst. It appears to be only me he doesn't like.

She takes a deep breath. "I'm so nervous."

I give her my brightest smile. This is the part I'm good at. I'm an excellent wingman and will always have all the right words for my friends. "You have nothing to be nervous about. You look gorgeous, and he would be lucky to have you. Now go out there and show the world how amazing you are."

Her shoulders are thrown back as she walks away with Patrick.

And I'm left alone.

I wish there was something beyond booze here because I could use one of those breaks the director apparently isn't fond of. I walk over to the bar and sure enough, there is only expensive vodka and fairly cheap champagne, the two ingredients almost guaranteed to lead to someone crying in the bathroom or flipping the aforementioned table. Now that's a tale as old as time. Put a group of women who don't necessarily eat in an orderly way in a room with vodka and a man for them to fight over. Who wouldn't want to watch that?

I stare at the mirror over the bar, and I have to admit, I look surprisingly cute. But in an entirely relatable way. In a best friend of the main character way. Attractive. Non-threatening.

I need more cool scars. People don't take me seriously. They see me and think "Hello, girl next door. You won't mind being a doormat."

I'm going to have to do something about the Shelby situation. She's going to make everyone miserable. I can only hope that she gets cut tonight, but history tells me that one will hold on to the end. The producers will likely want her to stay around for the drama of it all. Unfortunately, no one wants to watch a bunch of women happily dating one guy. It's not like that would happen, but if it did it would likely bring in super-low ratings and not make it to a second season. However, there are ways to create drama that don't hurt the people around you. Shelby went for the easy target, so I needed to find a way to make Hannah harder.

Not that I will be there or have any power to fix the problem since I'll be picking up the poo of any animal we have on set. Patrick will likely find a couple if we're petless.

My brain is frazzled. It was easier to not panic when I had someone else to focus on.

What the hell am I going to say to this dude who's just trying to save his country?

That's it. Concentrate, Anika. This is a performance, so practice.

I draw myself up to my full height and try my friendliest expression. "Good evening, King Reginald. Welcome to America. I hope you find a lovely, if temporary, bride here."

No.

"Hi, I'm Anika. I'm here because playing a dead hooker was more interesting to the last girl than meeting you."

Too harsh.

"Such a pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty." I try a deep curtsey that nearly sends me rolling on the floor. Seriously. Don't try that in heels.

"Well, that'll flash your boobs his way." Patrick is standing in the doorway. "I suppose that's a choice."

I frown at the man. We have not gotten off on the right foot, but that hadn't been my fault. I've found in my business—in all businesses, I suppose—that if you start apologizing for things you didn't do, some jerk will try to pin everything on you. "Are we ready?"

"Yes. Hannah's carriage left two minutes ago. They'll check her lighting and then do a quick live stream. Please don't forget this is live. Don't make small talk with the king. All you need to do is introduce yourself. Tell him how happy you are to meet him, and then hustle into the mansion for the cocktail party where you'll hide in the corner until it's time for the king to cut you." Patrick holds the door open for me, and I walk down the short hallway and onto the street.

If we were in LA, there would be crowds of people where the police had blocked off the street. It's one good thing about filming in New York. No one cares. Like no one. New York City is a place where celebrities come to be utterly ignored by normal people who are simply trying to get through a damn day. Sure enough, I can see people walking at the end of the street, but none of them are gawking.

"Do you understand the plan, Fox?" Patrick is looking at me like I'm an idiot.

"Blend into the wall, get cut on live TV, try to cry on cue and look pathetic." I manage to make it down the steps without tripping and mentally add don't let the shoes killyou to my list.

The carriage is like something out of Cinderella. To the viewer it will look like we're at a distance from where the dark-haired man stands, his hand out to shake Hannah's. We're roughly a block away. I can see them standing, bathed in golden light, but I can't make out more than he's got dark hair and is really tall. He's got a good half foot on Hannah in her ridiculously high heels.

I hope he's being nice to her.

"Time to go." Patrick holds a hand out to help me up in the carriage.

I'm a bit worried he's going to do something to make me fall, but he's a steady balance, and I manage to get myself into the luxurious-looking seat. I say looking because it's actually stiff and uncomfortable, but that's the way it goes.

"Sit up straight, Fox. You look like a glitterfied Marie Antoinette being driven to her execution," Patrick grouses.

Well, that sums up how I feel except no one offered me cake.

There are production assistants and hair and makeup people all over, like a swarm of productive bees, ensuring everything—including me—looks perfect. The horse handler offers the gorgeous white horse who will pull my carriage a carrot.

No one offers me a carrot. If I'd been nothing more than a production assistant, I could have raided craft services by now. My friend Ivy knows where all the good food carts are. I could use one of her favorite cheap tacos right now. I wonder how His Majesty would feel if I showed up two-fisting tacos. Or hot dogs. Falafels.

I'm extremely hungry and doing this thing where I let my brain float while my body does something it doesn't want to do. Like when I used to have to jog to prove I wasn't unhealthy in high school gym class. Or when I had to hold a light in place for three straight hours on my second film set.

In this moment, I don't want to have someone putting blush on my face and making my lips look poutier. I don't pout.

Three hours tops and I'll be able to chuck the shoes and become Patrick's bitch again.

See, that doesn't sound appealing either.

"Are you in there?" Patrick is standing on the railing.

I flash him my fakest smile. "I'm right here, boss."

He studies me for a moment. "You disassociate like a freaking champ. You're going to have to teach me how to do that." He frowns like he's said something he didn't mean to and steps back down, shutting the carriage door. He hoists his thumb up. "She's ready to go. Fox, remember that when you're done with this, you're on my time again, and I won't care that you got to play princess for a day. You're going to be a commoner like the rest of us."

I give him a jaunty salute as the liveried driver takes his place.

"But what you did for Hannah was cool," he says as the lights turn on and suddenly all attention is on me. "I won't forget that."

"All right, folks. We're live in five." The director has a megaphone. He sits in a crane chair about ten feet off the ground. "Four, three…"

The last two numbers are counted down on his fingers, and then the coach begins to move. I'm jostled and kind of tilt to the side. There's a good five seconds when I'm absolutely sure I'm going to tip over, and with this dress being as short as it is, I will be flashing everyone watching Pinnacle's streaming app. I barely manage to not make myself a forever meme by staying upright, but now my heart is pounding.

It's not pounding like in anticipation of meeting my true love. Nope. It's pounding because I'm going to fall out of the carriage or say something ridiculous or not be able to say anything at all.

The carriage moves slowly, and I remember to smile. That's what I'm supposed to do. Smile and look like I want to be here.

From the look on the director's face as I pass him, I am not succeeding. Christy stands beside him, smiling like a maniac and letting me know I should, too. More smiles she says silently.

So I do. I barely see anything as the carriage moves and I struggle to stay upright.

And then I'm there and some dude wearing a costume that reminds me of Downton Abbey is offering me a hand.

I look over to where the king stands.

Where the familiar-looking king stands.

It's Luca.

The same guy I spent one of the best nights of my life with that involved absolutely no sexual contact.

Well, he told me he has a high-powered job.

I feel my jaw drop, and then those red-soled shoes hit the railing and I'm the one dropping.

I'm falling, and the guy who should catch me steps back in horror.

I'm certain I'm about to faceplant on the concrete when strong arms go around me and I'm eased to the sidewalk.

Luca's face lights up with what I can only think of as amusement. "Hello, gorgeous."

I'm in so much trouble.