Page 3 of The Final Rose

“They have to make it entertaining. They will pull something.”

I know he’s right. I watched enough seasons ofThe Final Roseto know there’s always drama. I’m signing up for months of dating multiple women in front of the cameras. I know there will be drama. I just won’t acceptcreateddrama.

“I know how to mind myself.” I nod to no one. “The contract also helps.”

Maverick laughs, not sure if I’ll ever convince him it’s a good idea, but I’m ready to move on. A town car will take me to the mansion tomorrow morning and I’m a little nervous.

“What do your parents think ofThe Final Rose?”

I swear under my breath. I prefer to talk about how the producers will trick me into doing something unseemly on camera rather than talk about what the Riggs think of their son on reality TV.

They don’t think highly, no. I might seem like a good egg, but my mother and father have been disagreeing with my choices for a long time now. I chose the wrong university, and girlfriends from the wrong circles. The wrong accountant for my business,the wrong secretary for my office. Nothing is good for them, so it got to the point where I stopped caring.

What can be done when they simply insist on being pompous fuckers?

“They never watched it.” I confess.

“I can only imagine their faces watching the terror unfolding in front of their eyes. Dragging the Riggs’ good name through the mud.”

“Well, I’m doing it, anyway. I signed a contract with the network before telling them, but Mum’s still calling me non-stop. She’s trying to get me back to London. I’m supposed to see reason, you see.”

“Well, now I want you to stay and be brilliant on TV.” He changes his mind. “Indecorous, if you will. Anything to upset Mama Riggs. You know where I stand.”

I laugh because, of course, Maverick would prefer to die before standing on the same side as the good English society. I guess I’ve got him on board finally, and it’s all I could ask for.

“You’re starting with makeup and then wait for Callie there.”

I have to jog to follow the woman. It’s not even seven in the morning and everything on the set seems to be in full swing. Dozens of people move about the front garden, all in black shirts withThe Final Roselogos on the left corner.

I do not know who the woman beside me is. She walks fast and talks even faster. I didn’t get a good morning or an introduction when I arrived. The car door opened as soon as we parked, and she has been talking ever since.

We navigate the halls, my palms sweaty with nervousness, and for the first time, it dawns on me I’m set to be on television. I’m in Los Angeles and I agreed to be on a reality TV show to find a lover.

Maybe my parents were right to be absolutely disgusted.

I gulp and try not to look like I’m about to bolt, following the woman’s steps until we reach a bigger room to the right of the mansion. Smells like strong perfume and the hairspray mother uses when she’s going to a charity event. A woman, looking no older than eighteen years old with green hair and multiple face piercings, waits by a chair. She faces me when we arrive, her eyes cataloging my form like she’s making a list of things that need to be corrected.

“I’ll send Callie.” The woman barks at the makeup artist and turns on her heels.

“Thank you?” I say. Her intimidating demeanor makes me question myself, when I turn, the makeup artist has a little smile.

“Forgive Anya. She’s not really a people person.” She shows her makeup chair and I sit.

“Oh, I thought she was terribly polite.”

She snorts, clicking her tongue. “They’re going to put up a sign every time you talk.”

“Do I need subtitles?”

“For your sarcasm.” She arches a brow, looking at me through the mirror. “I’m Doris, by the way.”

Doris, what an old-fashioned name for a young girl with green hair. “I’m Sebastian. Tell me this will be quick.”

Doris tilts her head to the side. Bringing her finger to my chin, she turns my head from one side to the other.

“You’re looking clammy and red.”

“Terrific.”

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