Page 18 of House of Desire

“I hate to interrupt,” she says, trailing off.

Mary Ella and I hug once more, but then we separate and I know I won’t see her again until I have to send her home at the end of the night.

“Hello,” I say smiling at the woman. I know her name is a Greek goddess, but I can’t remember which one at the moment. “Take a seat.”

“I’m Persephone,” she tells me, kindly. “How’s your night going so far?”

She runs her fingers through her reddish-blonde hair and pulls it all over one shoulder as she looks at me with light green eyes expectantly.

The amount of small talk required for this show is extreme. I don’t know why I didn’t realize it would be, but it’s been quite a jolt.

“My night has been great, thank you. Meeting all of you has been really amazing and I just can’t wait to deepen our connections.”

As I was getting ready, my personal production assistant gave me a list of statements to try to work into conversation the audience seems to enjoy and expect. I mentally tick “deepen our connection” off the list. The falseness of this exchange grates on my nerves, but this environment is not conducive to spending hours getting to know these women.

“Ah, yes,” she says, with a secret smile. “I can’t wait to see what this journey holds.” Her eyes are sparkling with humor as I realize that was another on the list.

A bark of laughter leaves me as a small wisp of embarrassment dissipates through my body.

“Sorry, I’m a little tense tonight. It’s already been a lot, to put it nicely, and I got in my head,” I tell her, apologizing.

I can feel my body relax as she lets out a giggle, something I didn’t think I’d hear from this sophisticated woman.

“It’s alright. I actually am a huge fan of the show. My grandmother and I would watch it together until she passed away last year.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I’m sure she will be watching over you this season with great interest.”

“I’m sure she will be.”

I give her a moment to collect herself.

“So, Parker, tell me about yourself,” she jokes and I laugh.

“I feel like there should be a single spotlight on me. What would you like to know?” I ask. A few of the greeting conversations from the limo I had started this way, making it feel more like an interview. But it was almost better than the ones where they thought they knew me. Knew who I was, what I was like. My passions. My flaws. All from my time in interviews or on House of Deceit.

They don’t know me at all.

“Everything,” she says, shrugging, like it’s obvious.

“My parents conceived me after a game of strip poker.” Her jaw drops and I want to laugh, but I widen my eyes, just a little, making my facial expression earnest. “My dad always pretends I might belong to his best friend. Apparently, he stole my mom from the friend, but I look just like him,” I tell her, my voice dripping with innocence.

“Well, that’s, um.” She tries to take a sip of a nonexistent drink, seeming genuinely surprised there’s not a glass in her hand. I make a motion to the production crew just to the side of us and silently ask them to bring us both something. Her hands fall to her lap.

“I’m not really sure what to do with the information you just shared with me,” she says, clearing her throat.

I bark a laugh and she stares at me, a quiet smile on her face.

“I’m sorry for messing with you,” I say. “Not that the story isn’t true, I just wanted to be a smart ass.”

A man in all black with a headset perched on his head walks toward us, a glass of white wine in one hand and an old fashioned in another. I should have specified water, but anything would be better than nothing at this point.

Without a word, he holds the glasses out to us, which we take, and he departs, fading into the shadows like he was never here.

“To the journey,” Persephone says, holding her glass.

I touch mine to hers, a clear bell sound echoing around us.

“To the friends we make along the way.” We both take a sip and I set mine on the coffee table in front of me. “If you weren’t here, what would you be doing right now?” I ask her.

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