Page 21 of The Twelve Days of Christian
Tonight, dinner finished in plenty of time, we’re tuning in to see how the eight contestants are paired. It’s a thing on this show; in the first six episodes, the celebrities are forced to work with someonethey’re actually competing against, adding a layer of tension as they strive to achieve common goals, while keeping their eye on an individual win at the end. There have been some explosive pairings over the years.
“And tonight…” Host Bernard Bennett gazes skyward, with a dramatic pause. “Tonight we get to see fate play its hand, watch how the dice roll, observe lady luck cast her favour, check how the cards fall…”
“Bloody hell,” I snort. “How many different ways can he say it?”
“As many as he likes, but it doesn’t change a thing. There’s no luck involved, believe me,” Christian says. “They know well in advance who they’ll put together. They make very sure there will be maximum fireworks. Well, usually.” A small satisfied smile twitches around his mouth.
Lisa Mayberry fixes her co-host with a glare and interrupts his meandering.
“So, Bernard, how about we get started?” she gushes through pouty, pink collagen lips. “And first up, come on over, Christian Steele.”
Sitting in a chair opposite him, I shuffle in my seat, self-conscious at the pressure of his gaze upon me. He’s watching me, watching him.
I see Christian make his way on camera, taking a seat on a rumpty sofa in the lounge of the farmhouse. His rock star swagger is there, but his face is all angular tension. I don’t blame him. Anyone would be nervous knowing they are about to be forced into spending several days in the company of someone they probably hated on sight.
“Well, well,” Lisa croons. “I bet there are some ladies out back right now who’ll be hoping their name comes up.” She places an armaround his shoulders. “Especially with those overnighters. Cosied up in a tent with Christian. What do we think of that, people?” She gives a wink as the studio audience back in London laughs and applauds. “I’m sure Christian has made a little list of prospects…”
“You think so?” Christian replies, the sarcasm lost on the vapid presenter. I’m pleased he’s giving them a hard time.
Lisa is either too dedicated to the script or too stupid to notice, and carries on, oblivious.
“Well, let’s checkmylist, because that’s the only one that matters.”
An irritating burst of her childish, wide-eyed laughter topples out. She pauses theatrically, looking down at her clipboard. She licks at her lips, tilts her head towards Christian with a flirty smile as ifshe’svying for the place on his team, and takes a deep dramatic breath.
“There’s a spot here on the couch with your name on it—Loreena Bunt.”
“Holy shit,” I say. I can’t suppress the shock of what I’ve just seen from spilling onto my face and coating my words.
It’s not only the announcement that floors me. Christian on the screen smiles, a mirror of the man next to me whose face is lit up with a triumphant grin.
“And there,” he says, “is where they made their first mistake.”
Loreena explodes onto the stage in a froth of pink, the fake fur jacket, so inappropriate for the setting, but perfectly matching the thick coat of iridescent lipstick smothering her wide mouth. She bounces onto the couch with delighted shrieks, grasping Christian’s head, and planting an exuberant kiss on his cheek.
“Oh my god, Christian. Loreena Bunt?”
“There you go again, Haley.” His voice is quiet. “Believing everything you see on TV.”
Chastened, I lean back, reassembling my features and herding my words. I pick up the snow globe on the side table and twirl it in my hands, my thoughts as chaotic as the flurry of tiny flakes inside.
“It’s just so—unexpected.”
Christian chuckles, a fond smile softening his face.
“Everything about Loreena is unexpected. I swear, if you met her, you’d like her. She’s smart and funny—and sure, there’s a touch of that OTT screen Loreena there—but she’s not the crazy bitch they want her to be. She’s a very good actor, and it’s made her a lot of money.”
“OK,” I say. “So you and her didn’t…”
I stutter into silence, embarrassed the thoughts in my head have spilled out of my mouth. To my horror, I realise there’s even a twinge of jealousy at the prospect Christian and Loreena might have hooked up. Where the hell did that come from? I push it away fast.
He laughs. “Fuck no. God, even if she’d suggested it, I’d have run a mile.”
“Not your type?” I tease, trying to cover my stumble.
“Well, there is the fact she’s almost old enough to be my mother, even though she’s in good shape. And you’re right, there’s way too much make-up and cosmetic surgery there for my tastes. I prefer women who don’t buy into all that shit.”
I feel his eyes roving over my untidy hair, and brush it back, conscious of my face naked of anything except a sweep of BB cream this morning and probably now long gone. I see his approval. I’m not imagining it. When Christian looks at me, he likes what he sees. It could merely be I don’t trigger his aversion to women who need tohide behind a mask. Or it might be a sign of something else. And if it is something else—that he finds me attractive—I’m not at all sure how I feel about that.
