Page 1 of Alien Wants A Wife

Chapter One

Harlee

“What To Do When You Find Out Aliens Are Real,”I say, reading aloud the title of the brochure I’ve been handed. My first instinct is to roll my eyes. What a joke. Instead, I arrange my face into what I hope is a friendly-slash-excited expression. “Cool. Such a fun premise for a dating show,” I lie.

My throat is strangely dry, as if I haven’t drunk any water in ages, and my head’s fuzzy. It feels like I’ve woken up after having my wisdom teeth pulled out and my cheeks are stuffed with cotton balls.

Or like I’m hungover.

“You look confused,” Chloe says. I think we’ve met before. I mean, I know her name, so clearly we have. Only, I can’t quite remember where…

I lick my lips and take another sip of water from my bottle. It’s pale blue and has my name printed on it, for all that I’m positive I’ve never seen it before today.

“Not confused,” I lie again. “Excited to get started. This is a dream come true.” And I give her my biggest smile, the one I’vepracticed in front of the mirror where I wrinkle my eyes to make it appear genuine.

Hurriedly, I drop the brochure onto my lap so the glossy paper stops exposing how much my hands are shaking. Thisisa dream come true. I’ve been submitting applications to reality TV recruitment calls for almost two years, but nobody ever called me back for an interview, let alone got me to sign a contract. Until LOVE… What’s the name of this show again?

I glance around but can’t see any cameras. Chloe and I are the only two here. Otherwise the room is reminiscent of a miniature game show studio, with adorable (but uncomfortable) heart-shaped chairs, and the LOVE GALAXY logo printed onto the wallpaper.

LOVE GALAXY? Surely I’d remember the name of the show I’m going to be starring in.

Surely I’d be able to remember what had happened last night…

I’d visited the lawyer’s office to go through the last of the paperwork. Mr. Smith had been an older man, with wispy white hair and a double chin. And… Chloe had been there! That’s right. She’s his secretary. Or his personal assistant, maybe. I’d signed the contract, and then… Was that when Chloe had opened the bottle of celebratory champagne?

Don’t tell me I’d gotten so drunk I’d made an ass of myself.

I gulp more water to get rid of the furry feeling coating my teeth. Don’t get me wrong. I love a girls’ night out; it’s such an Insta-worthy moment, but I wouldn’t have drunk myself into oblivion on the eve of my success. Not after two years of hard work, countless applications and what felt like a hundred self-deprecating audition videos.

Would I?

“I knew you’d take it like a champ.” Chloe crosses her legs, perched on the edge of her heart-shaped chair. She’s wearingcat-eye glasses sporting the interlaced double C’s of the Chanel emblem near the hinges, and half her fingers are covered in silver rings. “You’re the type of person I was hoping we’d be getting this season.”

“Oh?”

“Intelligent. Savvy. You know what you want and you’re here to make sure you get it.”

“That’s right.” Another smile. “My dating life has been pretty pathetic lately. This opportunity to find love?—”

“Really?”

“Really… What?” I twist around in my chair, double checking there aren’t cameras. Double checking this is the pre-recording catch-up I’d been promised and not secretly our first on-screen interview. Because this feels like a trap. I lock my hands together to keep from picking at the much-abused skin of my cuticles, which even my gel polish can’t hide. “Aren’t I here to find love?” I temporize.

“Are you?” Chloe raises immaculately groomed eyebrows, staring straight at me in a way that seems to saycut the bullshit, Harlee.

I wince. “No. But?—”

“Exactly.” Reaching forward, she squeezes my hand, cutting through my attempt at a justification. Her much-longer acrylic nails pinch my skin. She can’t mean to be hurting me, though, so I concentrate on not pulling my arm out of her grasp as she says, “You’re smarter than that. You’re here for the publicity. The fame. The sponsorships. I knew it the second I saw you.”

I glance down at myself. I’d chosen my outfit with particular care, wanting to cultivate my ‘good girl’ aesthetic pre-filming. Boyfriend jeans. Ankle boots. A tight-fitting sweater. A chic winter coat, dark to match my black hair. The pièce de résistance is my scarf. I made it myself, using fabric printed with my owndesign (a thousand tiny blue and pink forget-me-not flowers) which I’d unironically calledTrue Love.

“You remind me of me,” Chloe continues, with a grin of her own. “We’re practically twins. That’s the reason I picked you to be my—how should I put this?” She glances down at her hands, searching for the right words.

I lean closer. I’ve read all the books ‘written’ by reality celebrities, the ones that tell you about their time on set and how these shows operate behind the scenes. I’m not naïve enough to think reality TV is reality. It’s unscripted, sure. That just means there’s more room for people to lie.

In fact, I’d be surprised if any of the contestants of LOVE GALAXY are looking for love. It’s an open secret that those of us who want the fame that comes with reality TV have an ulterior motive. Most of the time, that’s money. Often, it’s a massive boost to our social media following. Occasionally, it’s free business advertising.

For me, I’m here to collect proof.

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