Page 7 of Insta Bride

I flashed her my wicked smile, “Sorry about that.”

“Did you get a good look at the women when they arrived?” Bree asked, reverting into interviewer mode.

“Off the record?” I asked, waiting for Bree to nod. “From what I’ve seen, they’re all as boring as bad shit.”

I kept my tone light and nonchalant, not trusting Bree to cross off anyone I had a genuine interest in.

“What about her?” Bree flipped through images on her iPad.

A pretty blonde who’d approached me at CandyShop nightclub after hearing we’d both made it through the initial rounds of auditions. She’d cornered me and offered to get a head start on our onscreen chemistry. For the record, I’d passed. Not confident it hadn’t been a set up.

“Nah, too eager.” I shrugged. “I mean, she’d be good for one night, but I don’t want to be trapped with someone like that for a whole month.”

“Ah, poor Kye,” Bree laughed. “Having to put up with a woman for more than one night.”

“Babe, don’t go judging me. You got a whole weekend.”

“Don’t you ever get tiring of playing the misogynistic bad boy?”

“Don’t you ever get bored, using your job to get you off?” I could match her banter for banter. Bree hadn’t wanted a relationship any more than I had. We were both too committed to ourselves and our careers.

“So, who is your type?” By now, I could pick Bree’s on camera voice and decided to adopt the persona which would make me infamous.

“Someone interesting.”

“What about her?”

My throat bobbed and fist clenched as Bree flicked towards the woman I’d been watching. The woman who’d tried to gate crash my interview.

I shrugged, nonchalantly, while my body wanted me to scream, yes, yes, yes. “What’s her story?”

“Why don’t you tell me. You’re the expert at reading women.”

“I guess she’s attractive enough, but not really a woman who stands out in a crowd.”

I’d slept my way through enough friendship groups to fake disinterest and keep Bree’s jealousy under control.

It shouldn’t take much to coax the woman’s name and number from one of the crew and I could look her up after the show. By then, I’d be a household name and able to promote anything from travel destinations to luxury sports cars, and everything in between. Until then, I named her Flower. A delicate flower in the middle of a bunch of bitchy thorns. I smirked, not even my mother would think I could have a romantic bone in my body.

“Ms. James, can we see you in the main room? There are two women having an animated conversation.” A nervous young man interrupted us.

Bree looked amused, “Sorry, Kye, but our first cat fight needs a referee.”

“You can always call me if you need someone to throw a bucket of water over them.”

With Bree gone, and Flower’s face still on the iPad, I wondered why she wanted to put herself out there on reality TV? She’d looked attractive enough to find herself a date without resorting to desperate measures. I knew women, and Flower was the type you dated to get marriage and babies. I could see her being welcomed by future in-laws and being the perfect corporate partner. I imagined her as intelligent conversation and a partner who’d always have your back.

She could be perfect—for a guy ready and willing to settle down.

Guys like that, never came on shows like this.

Why the hell have I called her, Flower? Why do I care?

After the mixer, the men and women were separated again, more interviews to capture our first reactions.

I held my own counsel, asking more questions than giving answers. Most of the guys had done the rounds, met most of the women. Most were easy to recognise from the guys’ descriptions.

No one had talked about Flower.

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