Page 20 of House of Desire

She slaps a hand over her nose and mouth, her eyes wide with shock. “Holy fuck, I just snorted on national TV.”

It’s small at first, my laugh. Just a tiny blip of a thing. But then it grows until I’m bent over, tears streaming down my face as my entire body shakes with laughter. At some point, she joined in, thank goodness, and is equally lost in mirth. Eventually my laughs subside, a few last chuckles bubbling to the surface.

“I needed that so badly,” I tell her as we both settle down.

“I can only imagine how much of a zoo animal you must feel like. I can blend in with the other girls, but you’re the only one. The name is Anastasia, by the way.”

I shake my head. “There’s no way you could ever blend in. But I get what you’re saying. And that’s a beautiful name.” She crosses her legs, pulling my attention to them. “I see you’re still wearing the traitorous shoes.”

She rolls her eyes, giving me a smile.

“I doubt they would be okay with me walking around bare-footed during cocktail hour.”

“You’re probably right, but so long as you’re with me, you can take them off. If you’d like.”

“If I take them off right now, I won’t be able to put them back on. My feet are perfectly numb, but I appreciate the offer.” I watch her as she seems to struggle with something for a moment. “We have some people in common.”

Confusion covers me. “We do?”

“Lorelei Carlston? I’m friends with her. She’s told me a few things about you. All good,” she reassures me, “but I wanted you to know.”

My shoulders relax as I smile. “Lorelei is amazing. And if you’re her friend, then I know you’re a good person. She is an astonishingly accurate judge of character. How did you meet her?”

“At an event for the Thunderhawks. Then she came into my bakery, the Whimsical Whisk, one day and kind of”—she searches for the word—“adopted me, I guess? She’s been great.”

I laugh, knowing exactly what she means. “That sounds like her. She adopted my best friend Charlie when she started dating her brother and, by extension, me. How have I never seen or met you before, is my question. They love having get togethers, and if I know Lorelei, she would have invited you.”

“Oh, I thought she was going to kidnap me this last time to force me to go, but after a long day baking and the fact I have to get up early in the mornings to make pastries fresh, it never worked out. I’m regretting it now, though.”

“Maybe we could have avoided this whole thing if you had come over,” I tell her, honestly. When Lorelei mentioned trying to set me up with a friend, I always blew it off, never liking being set up before. Regret runs rampant through me now.

“Maybe we are meeting exactly when we were supposed to? Like fate.”

“You believe in fate?” I ask, being reminded of Brittany for just a second.

“Fate. Karma. I believe what you put out is what comes back to you when you’re ready for it. Maybe we wouldn’t have been ready before.”

I nod, considering her words. Considering if maybe now is the right time.

“I would agree. I think you can meet the right person at the wrong time.” Maybe Brittany was that for me. I know we could have made it, but maybe fate had other plans. But I want to share myself with this woman, if even just a little piece. “You gave me honesty and I want to do the same. I’m divorced. I know for some people that can be a deal breaker, but I hope for you it’s not.”

“We all have pasts, Parker,” she reassures me, but I resist.

“Mine has some heavier moments than others.” I refuse to divulge everything here, on camera. My past is not for public consumption, no matter that I signed up for this show.

Sadness weighs on me, until her hand grasps mine, her skin soft, dragging my eyes back to hers.

“Good thing I’m strong, then,” she says with a smile.

With five words, I know I need more time to get to know Anastasia.

“Would you be the spark to my flame?” I ask her, hoping she can’t hear the nerves in my voice. That’s not quite the right phrase I’m supposed to use when asking one of the women to continue on the show with me, but I don’t care.

I see a member of production talking rapidly into their headset, covering their mouth. A part of me wonders if they are going to deny me this chance to give Anastasia a candle outside of the elimination ceremony. No one has stopped the moment, so I’m assuming it’s been deemed acceptable.

“I’d love that,” she says, taking my hand and squeezing it.

One of the many assistants comes rushing out with a candle for Anastasia and another for me, before instructing us both to stand. When my candle is lit, they disappear again. Nerves start to take over again as I put myself on the line and ask the first person to continue in this circus with me, but I push through them.

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