Juliette Simon laughed as the town car glided lazily up the stone-paved driveway. She could hardly believe where she was. Her family and friends knew she was only doing it for the money, but what would everyone else think- what would her followers think? Over ten seasons and five years she'd amassed close to a million fans, and in a few moments she would betray them all.
"The money, think about that big payday," she whispered. There was no one else to hear her; the driver had closed the partition, and luckily the producers hadn't thought a cameraman necessary for her drive up to the mansion. After all, she wasn't the story. She was supposed to help get the story.
She couldn't decide if posting the satirical audition video on her Instagram and Twitter feeds had been genius or idiotic. The payment the producers offered would pay off her student loans, credit card debt, and a hefty chunk of her car loan, but was she going to destroy the online persona she'd worked so hard to build?
Not that it would be a huge loss, but she felt obligated to her followers, and it had given her an edge in certain areas professionally. Social work was rewarding, but oftentimes frustrating due to lack of government funding and general community apathy. Once her name started to get big, people took notice of her projects and she'd been able to achieve goals. She didn't want to turn into a joke.
"That's why you got message and edit approval in your contract," she reminded herself. It had been the biggest deal-breaker in their negotiations. She had no say over the season as a whole, but the editors were required to run any scenes by her that had the potential to show her in a negative light. As an expert on the show, she knew how she did not want to be portrayed.
Gravel crunched underneath the tires as the car slowed to a stop. Jules's stomach did a flop. The producers hadn't given her anything to eat in-between photo shoots, interviews, and multiple, hour-long sessions with the other contestants on the rules and what to expect. She had managed a glass of champagne while in hair and makeup, but that wasn't sitting well.
The glass partition between the front and back seats lowered, and the driver turned to face her. Juliette held in a hiccup as he smiled and said, "They'll open the door when they're ready for you. Sit tight."
Just like that, the partition slid back into place, and Jules adjusted her jewelry, the straps on her shoes, and the neckline of her gold dress. The beading along her décolletage scratched her skin and weighed the fabric down. Previous contestants always made moving in these elaborate clothes look easy, but Jules felt ridiculous. She'd never normally dress up this much and begged the producers to allow her to wear something slightly less formal, but she had neglected to put wardrobe approval in her contract. Her brother, Wesley, who also happened to be her lawyer, would hear about the oversight the first chance she got. It was bad enough she was a fraud, without feeling like one, too.
After twenty silent minutes, she tapped on the partition to ask the driver how much longer. He just shrugged. No one had warned her of the time spent waiting. All day long she'd waited. First for hair and makeup, then for the photographer, then for the producers. If this was indicative of the coming weeks, she'd need to make sure and bring a book everywhere they went.
Finally, there was a tap on her window and the door opened. She took a deep breath and accepted the hand of the gentleman she recognized as host Patrick Nelson. The sky was deep, inky blue, the first hints of stars emerging on the horizon. All around, trees had been decorated with twinkling, white lights. The mansion loomed large in the background, lit by hundreds of candles and lanterns. She heard music and laughter escaping the first floor windows. And there, straight ahead, Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome himself, Ravi Kapoor. As a smile erupted involuntarily on her face, she noticed the briefest flash of disappointment on his. Her momentary excitement that Ravi was the new Groom faded instantly. She dropped Patrick's hand, gathered her sequined skirt in her fist, and marched over to him, wobbling only slightly on the heels she'd assured the entire production crew were bound to break her neck before the evening was over.
"Hi!" she said brightly. "I'm Juliette and the producers only picked me for this season because I tweet mean and snarky things about the show, and they were hoping I'd stir up some drama and boost the dismal ratings." Jules held out her hand, but Ravi didn't take it. He grinned nervously and looked around the courtyard for help. Jules noticed the cameramen, boom mic techs, and lighting guys for the first time.
Short-and-skinny Eddie, a producer, came rushing over. He clapped a reassuring hand on Ravi's back but spoke directly to Jules. "You can't say that. You know you can't say that. It's in your contract that you won't reveal to any of the contestants that you're a producer-plant."
"Yes, but he's not a contestant."
Ravi finally smiled. "Not anymore, anyway. Besides, I already know she's the producer-plant."
Ravi Kapoor, the fan-favorite contestant from the previous Bride-led season, was gorgeous. Juliette couldn't deny it. In fact, she'd tweeted those very words at least a dozen times during his second runner-up run on the show. He seemed a lock to helm his own season, but many fans doubted the network would take a chance on diversity. They'd never done it in the past, even with fans demanding it. But here he was, and he'd been disappointed to see her. Surely not because of her tweets; she'd only ever said good things about him.
"Don't worry, Mr. Groom, I'm not one of your swimsuit model contestants. I'm just here for the money." And the food, if they'd ever give me any.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"Clearly you weren't expecting such an underwhelmingly plain woman to step out of that car. I saw it all over your face."
"Whoa." He put a hand out, towards Jules's shoulder, but she took a step back. "I wasn't thinking that at all, I promise." His eyes flitted to glance at Producer Eddie, who frowned.
"Look, Jules," Eddie said, "if you have some sort of chip on your shoulder or something, we can get somebody else. I mean, you signed a contract saying you'd play nice..."
Jules sighed, then addressed Ravi directly, "They're going to hold that damn contract over my head all season, aren't they?"
"If my experience is any indication, then yes." Ravi smiled again, and the warmth of it caused Jules to take another step back.
Eddie tapped his watch. "Can we try that again? Back in the car and this time, you're happy to meet him, right?"
She nodded and turned. A big, black camera followed her every movement. The crew hung around the fringes of the courtyard; some of the producers and assistants muttered to each other, while the remainder looked bored. She wondered how they could stand the joke of it all. She'd only been part of it for a day and already regretted it.
Regret or not, though, she got back into the car, took Patrick's hand when the door opened a moment later, and walked to Ravi with another smile on her face. She thrust out her hand again. Here we go, she thought, and heard herself say, "Hi, it's nice to meet you. Call me Jules."
****
Jules wandered from room to room, noting the cameras mounted to the ceiling and examining the house - her home for four-to-six weeks. A string quartet stationed in the grand, back courtyard gave the impression of a classy affair, but the already tipsy girls in low-cut gowns and too-high heels told the real story, she thought.
Her contract guaranteed four weeks. One month of espionage for more money than she made in six months working for the government of Wake County, North Carolina. One month to pay off her debt so she could continue with her real life and real future - a small sacrifice to make.
Ravi could make the decision to keep her around longer. The producers warned her this might be the case, and her contract stipulated an obligation to stay as long as he wanted to keep her. Apparently this was a favorite tactic of previous Brides and Grooms – keep the producer plant and send home the contestants they didn't want to lead on. Jules admired the sentiment, but her pay didn't increase if she stayed, so she hoped for four weeks and done.
"Hey!" a tall, ivory-skinned girl in a silky, black slip dress stumbled against the doorframe, a cameraman on her heels. She couldn't have been more than twenty-one, and Jules prayed she was at least that. "Hey, don't I know you?"
Jules gave the woman a steadying hand and assisted her to the brown, leather sofa in the middle of the room. A row of candles on the coffee table lit her companion's face; her blue eyes danced in the flames. "Don't I know you?" she repeated.
"You might follow me on Twitter or Instagram, if you're a big fan of the show."
"Oh yeah! Yeah. OMG. That's totally right. Wow. You're really funny, you know. But, like, mean. Oh my gawd, are you going to be live-tweeting this, like tonight? Like is that why you're here? What's your name?"
"I'm Jules, and what's your name?"
The girl seemed to have forgotten they were talking at all. Rocking in her seat, she stared out the window overlooking the front of the house. "He's so freaking handsome," she said, reverently. "Like, I really hoped it would be him, you know? I'm totally in love with him."
Jules contained her laughter and patted the girl's shoulder. "Did you two know each other before the show?"
"What? Hmmm... no..."
"Well, then, how can you be in love with him?" Jules asked.
She rolled her head back toward Jules, but her gaze was blank. "What?"
"Never mind. You look like you could use some coffee."
"Coffee? At a party? Are you crazy?" The girl hopped up and staggered out of the room. Juliette sighed; it was going to be a long night.
Two hours later the Groom and host had yet to appear in the house, but seven more women arrived, and Jules found the bar. Well, one of the bars. According to Chelsea – the girl in the silky black dress eventually revealed her name – there were five throughout the house.
"No wonder they have an ambulance on call," Jules quipped. She started a pool with the other contestants to predict who would be the first to need her stomach pumped. Chelsea's odds were pretty good.
"Aren't you @JulesSimon?" A tall, gorgeous, black woman asked, approaching Jules with two glasses of champagne.
"Yep, that's me."
"Hey, I'm Kamilla. I love your commentary on the show."
"Thanks. It's nice to meet you." Jules accepted the champagne and the women shook hands.
"So, what are you doing here?"
"The same thing as everyone else. I'm on a 'journey to find love.'" Jules couldn't stop herself from the air quotes and eye roll the phrase necessitated.
Kamilla laughed. "Tell me about it. Do you think it's a requirement of the casting process to find the most vapid and desperate girls in the country?"
"If it is, what does that say about us?"
Kamilla shrugged. "The producers know I'm not here to find love."
"Then why are you here?"
"Publicity, mainly. My family just opened up a new restaurant in LA and the producers promised to flash the name whenever I'm onscreen. They may even feature the restaurant on one of the dates if I play my cards right."
"How'd you get them to agree to that?"
"Since you're here, I'm guessing you know how this works. Look around you – they're trying to reimage the show. Diversity on television is the thing right now. I'm smart, successful, and beautiful. Plus, I speak my mind. They couldn't have asked for a better token black woman."
"But you aren't the only black woman." Jules pointed out a woman in the corner, nursing a white wine. She had long, skinny braids cascading down her back and a bright green dress that would have been hideous on any other skin tone, but made her mahogany skin glow.
"Three of us this season, actually," Kamilla said. "Which isn't really more than usual, when you think about it. There's usually at least two. But we're all here to serve our role. If you ask me, the producers' pick is her-" a slender finger gestured to a new arrival in the house, a voluptuous Indian woman Jules met during the rigorous orientation.
"Anaya? Good choice." Jules waved, but the woman had already turned her head. Anaya had been sweet and easy to talk to. She was first-generation Indian American, like Ravi, and Jules could just picture the lavish ceremony the Network would throw if the two ended up getting hitched. "Ratings gold."
Kamilla nodded in agreement. "The first Indian Groom and the first ever female Indian contestant – that'll shut up the diversity police."
"Unless they want an interracial relationship."
"That'll be next season's agenda. Look, there are white, black, Indian, Asian, and Hispanic women in this room. And whatever you are," she added, seemingly as an afterthought. "I guarantee they'll choose any of the non-white girls to be the next Bride."
"I'm half-white, half-Vietnamese."
"Exactly. You don't think they'd have picked just a white girl social media maven for this season, do you? No way." Kamilla raised an eyebrow, as if daring Jules to disagree. Jules couldn't. She'd been wondering if her biracial-ness had been a factor in the producers' decision to cast her.
"Well, joke's on them," she said lightly. "My father was born in Vietnam, but was adopted and raised by white parents here in the States. Our black hair is the most Vietnamese thing about us."
A great commotion in the front room caused both women to turn their heads. Heels clacked against the marble floor, and the giggles of ten or so women too old to giggle echoed off the walls. A production assistant shouted instructions, trying to herd the women into the main living room.
"Prince Charming must be done with the arrivals," Kamilla said, adjusting her bra and tossing back the remainder of her champagne.
"Let the games begin!" Jules exclaimed, allowing a producer to guide her into the circle of estrogen awaiting Ravi's imminent appearance.
The host stepped into the room, wearing a charcoal grey suit and surgically modified smile. He looked a lot smaller and meaner in person than on television. Jules hoped her role wouldn't require a lot of time spent with him and his smarmy grin.
"Ladies, I hope you've been enjoying yourselves, but the real fun of the evening is about to begin. Our Groom is very excited to get to know all of you. So, without further ado, here he is, Ravi Kapoor!"
Around her, the hopeful ladies clapped and squealed. Jules reminded herself not to roll her eyes. Tall, dark, and handsome stepped through the arched doorway and gave the women an awkward wave. Patrick handed him a glass of champagne then stepped back, out of the spotlight.
Ravi cleared his throat. "I guess I'm supposed to make a little speech." Several of the girls laughed, including Kamilla, Jules noticed. "I think we all learned last season that I'm not great with words, so I'll just say I'm really glad you are all here and I hope..." he paused, his gaze seemingly searching the group. It met Jules's hard, cold stare. "...my future love is in this room. Now, let's party!"
More cheers while the ladies raised their glasses to toast Ravi's words. Jules ducked to the back of the group. She already had an unfair advantage; no need to draw more attention to herself than necessary. She couldn't help but watch him, though, when he approached poor, drunk Chelsea and attempted a conversation. The producers barely contained their glee as they scrutinized the scene from the sidelines. A stumbling, incoherent contestant on night one always makes for great television, after all.
Disgusted, Jules edged her way to the glass doors leading to the back courtyard. The house sat on a hilltop, and the stone-cobbled patio overlooked a valley garden. Roses, tulips, daisies, and other flora Jules couldn't recognize, filled the scene. She leaned against the fence and looked down, wondering how much it would cost her in legal fees to get out of her contract.
Sure, the worst part so far was how long the day had been, and she was definitely going to win the stomach-pumping pool, but was such a grotesque thing something to celebrate? She had morals, damn it. Or something akin to them.
"It's a bit crowded in there," a male voice behind her said. She didn't turn around to find out if it came from the Groom, a producer, or the host, but she didn't need to. In a few seconds, Ravi appeared at her side and followed her gaze into the garden.
"Get used to that," she said.
He nodded. "Sorta already am. It really wasn't too long ago that I was in your shoes."
Jules looked at her feet, clad in a pair of sparkly peep-toe pumps. "I knew these Louboutins felt loose. Next time, try not stretching them out so much."
He laughed. "You're going to hear me say this a lot over the next couple of weeks, but I'm really glad you're here."
"Sure, you'll say that to all the ladies."
"Not yet." He turned serious and gave a small little cough. Jules stared at his handsome profile. His normally copper-colored skin seemed closer to burnt sienna in the moonlight, and thick, perfectly sculpted brows hooded sable-brown eyes. A shadow of stubble lined his jaw, and she wondered if he'd been clean-shaven that morning when the circus began.
"Be careful – there weren't any cameras around to capture that romantic moment."
He laughed again. "There are cameras everywhere." He pointed at three separate spots along the roof of the house, where indeed, little black cameras aimed right at them.
"Ah. I guess you know where all of them are hidden."
"I did live here for six weeks not that long ago. But..." he paused and turned to face the garden again. "...since you have a very special role this season, I put a clause in my contract that cameramen can't follow us around if we separate from the larger group."
"Really?" Jules glanced back toward the house. Through the offensively large picture windows, she could see the big, obnoxious boxes focused on the other contestants, though one pointed back through the windows at her. "Smart. Why didn't I think of that?"
"This isn't my first rodeo."
"Right."
"We have to be careful, though, because the microphones still capture everything regardless of whether or not a camera is a foot from our faces."
Clack, clack, clack, and a whiff of lavender perfume disturbed their tête-à-tête. "Excuse me, do you mind if I steal him for a little bit?" The interruption was a tall, leggy redhead. Her sapphire dress was covered in sequins and cut so low J. Lo at the Grammys would have been jealous. A cameraman followed, and a producer jumped in to reposition the group for the best lighting.
"Say it again, Emma," the producer prompted. Ravi looked at Jules with a sarcastic smile.
"Totally fine," Jules answered. "Thanks for the chat, Ravi."
"You're welcome. Until next time." He pressed her hand and let Emma lead him away.
Jules had to hand it to the guy. He oozed charisma. The television viewers were going to eat. him. up. He seemed so sincere, like he really was having fun meeting all of the women and getting to know them. Like he wasn't just an attention whore looking for his fifteen minutes. Jules shook her head. She knew better. The guy probably planned on starting an acting career after the show. He'd fit right in on a daytime soap – all masculine and beautiful with the ability to say things like, "I'm really glad you're here," without sounding horribly cheesy.
In fact, that would make a great tweet. She'd have to remember it for premiere night.