Page 5 of Forsaking All Others

“Hi, I’m Catriona.”

Before he can answer, the director jumps forward, frowning.

“Cut!”

“Is there a problem?” The bachelor frowns, “Another problem, director?”

I get the feeling the crew are already skating on thin ice. The director’s expression would indicate I’m not far wrong.

“The name,” he frowns, “Mirabella, is what I have here. Mirabella Matabone.”

I answer quickly. I’d already rehearsed how this would go down. Of course, that was when I thought my participation in The Games was still unknown to the outside world. Usually, the contestants are only publicly revealed when the show airs, not before. Still, there’s no help for it now. The attack on the way here couldn’t have been a coincidence.

I don’t believe in coincidences.

I look up at the bachelor as I answer.

“My friends and family have always called me Catriona.”

‘True, just not the whole truth…’

“Be that as it may,” the director frowns.

“What fucking difference does it make?” The bachelor snaps.

The director stands statue-like for a full second as though trying to figure out what he should do, before eventually nodding and stepping back.

“And…Action!”

The bachelor nods and continues as though there’s been no awkward break at all.

“Catriona,” he drawls, “a beautiful name. Italian?”

“Sì.”

“I apologise for your harrowing trip. Are you hurt?”

“No,” I follow his eyes to my dress, “it’s paint mostly. The blood isn’t mine.”

“I’m relieved to hear it. Yet I imagine you’re also far too shaken by the accident to tell me what happened,” he adds dryly.

His tone is acerbic, and I can’t blame him. I’ll bet he’s heard a range of excuses from the other contestants. We’d all been ordered on the drive to keep what had occurred earlier to ourselves, although I have no idea why. Given that I have a strong feeling the attack was due to me, I’m not going to keep quiet, but I’m also not going to reveal my suspicions.

“Not at all,” I shrug. “And it wasn’t an accident.”

“Cut!”

“Contestant,” the director steps close, whispering into my ear, “it might be best not to bother the bachelor with petty details. After all, you only have a brief amount of time to give him an impression of who you are. Two contestants are going to be eliminated tonight. We wouldn’t want one of them to be you, now would we?”

“Gerry,” The bachelor sighs, “you do realise I can hear every word you’re saying as though you’re shouting it.”

“Ah,” the director clears his throat. “My apologies, Viscount, I merely thought to spare you any hysterics.”

I throw my hands into the air and shrug.

“I’m not the hysterical type,” I narrow my eyes at the director, “and threats rarely work on me.”

“If you really want to know, Viscount,” I turn my attention back to the bachelor, “a car rammed us and someone shot at us, but our escorts drove the attackers off the side of the mountain where they erupted in a fiery ball of death.”