Gage to Ellie: Nah. Still need you around in case another one tries to collect my hair. Plus, did you see how I asked about your shirt today?
Ellie to Gage: No, I missed that! I was sitting right next to you, talking right to you, but somehow I didn’t absorb any of that.
Gage to Ellie: I should have gotten a spy who isn’t a smart-ass.
Ellie to Gage: Or one who actually likes you.
Gage to Ellie: That too. Midnight?
Ellie to Gage: Can’t. They moved Skylar to LeAnn’s old bed after Brittany M. made her cry. Makes sneaking out harder…
Invitation Ceremony #5
Dear Skylar—
You are cordially invited to celebrate the wedding of Gage Barrett and his future bride on Saturday, May 21, at two o’clock in the afternoon. Dinner and dancing to follow.
*
The Runaway Groom on why he jilted Skylar: “Honestly? Skylar’s too damn nice for me. Her bucket list involves Yosemite and climbing Mount Everest. She’d never be happy on the red carpet.”
*
Dear Ellie—
You are cordially invited to stay on at the villa as Gage Barrett continues his quest for his future bride.
*
Text message from Ellie to Gage: Tell me you didn’t eliminate Skylar for the reason I think you did.
Gage to Ellie: Midnight. Tomorrow.
Ellie to Gage: We’ll see.
Ellie
One week into the show and I’m not…hating it.
I mean, don’t get me wrong, I still think the whole thing is ridiculous, and I’ll be relieved to get home and back to real life. But lying on a towel in the warm sunshine, drink in hand?
There are worse things.
“Oh my God, taste this and tell me it’s not the best thing you’ve ever tasted,” Paisley says, flopping down on the chaise lounge next to me and handing me a fancy glass filled with alternating layers of white and pink froth.
I give the umbrella plopped on top of the drink a skeptical look but take a sip. It’s cold, fruity, and painfully sweet.
“Yum,” I lie, handing her the glass back.
She uses a coral-tipped nail to pull down her glasses and gives me a look. “A Lava Flow is more than yum. The angels made this, Ellie. Angels.”
I lift my gin and tonic and clink it across her glass. “To the angels.”
She pushes her glasses back up on her nose and scans the deck of the yacht where the contestants and Gage are to spend the day, well…drinking, apparently. I’m not complaining. As far as forced group activities go, a booze cruise is just fine by me.
“The cameras haven’t been over here,” she says with a little pout. “Not once.”
“Thank God,” I mutter, leaning back on my lounge chair and crossing my legs.