by Laura Burton
“Where is Ronan?”
I blink as I look at the sea of eyes in my direction. My mouth opens, but no sound comes out.
“Um,” I say slowly, to buy more time. I am just about to fall to the ground and bury my face in my hands, hoping for the world to disappear, when a rush of movement sends my attention to my side.
“Hey beautiful.”
I had no idea I’d be so happy to hear his voice again. My face breaks into a grin and I swivel to see Ronan all dressed up in a dark suit. My eyes take in his newly trimmed beard, and hair gelled in place. A waft of strong cologne washes over me as he takes his position at my side.
With everyone ready, Julian counts down, and the cameras roll. I’m getting used to this now. There is a heavy silence in the air, as everyone stands impossibly still, fake smiles plastered on their faces and Jewel enters the stage in a dazzling gold dress.
“It’s time for the first eviction of the show. The votes have been counted and verified and I can confirm that the two couples who received the least votes and will therefore leave the show are...”
Ronan takes my hand. I can’t tell if his hand is clammy, or mine is. I hold my breath. Is this it? Are we going home right now?
“Megan and Oliver.” Couple number nine step forward and bow their heads. Jewel takes a breath. “And… Robert and Jasmine.” Couple number ten hug each other.
“Come and step forward, Megan, Oliver, Robert and Jasmine.”
I glance at Ronan who stares straight ahead, his face pale. He’s probably in shock. I think I’m in shock. I can no longer feel my hand. Clammy or not.
Because they record the eviction live, it’s strange not stopping and listening to Jewel repeat her lines over and over. She sits on a chair and interviews the two evicted couples while I try my best not to faint.
We made it.
My mind freezes on the fact Ronan and I are through to the next round. Whatever the next challenge is, we have to face it. No turning back.
“Now, we have something to confess to you watching this at home.” Jewel’s eyes glisten as she speaks directly into the main camera. My ears prick up.
“For the first time in twenty years, we have fake couples on our show.”
I swear I can hear gasps. I imagine all the millions of people watching inhaling deeply at the same time. Jewel pauses for added tension.
“That’s right. Now you must decide which couples are the real deal and who is as fake as a three-dollar bill.”
We’re all fake. But I guess they will unveil that fact later.
“Now, it’s time to reveal the couple with the most votes, who will win a romantic trip to the Island of Love. While the rest of the couples will have to stay in the Castle watching reruns of the Love Trials until the next challenge.”
I resist the urge to groan. But my smile slips. The thought of spending the next three days stuck in this draughty castle with these people makes me want to pull my hair out. I’d rather sit at home and watch paint dry.
“The couple with the most votes is… Melissa and Ronan.”
“WHAT.” The word bursts out of my mouth like a foghorn as all cameras face my way. We’re still recording live. There’s no do over. And even though I cannot see Jewel, she’s probably glaring at me, plotting my death right now. What kind of dignified response is that?
Ronan picks me up and spins me around in a circle and kisses my forehead before putting me down. I am numb. And once again, I can’t see.
“Congratulations Melissa and Ronan. Now pack your bags. You are boarding a plane tonight to begin your romantic getaway.” Jewel’s voice is faint against the thumping in my ears.
“Join us on Friday to watch our remaining couples battle it out in our deadly garden Maze. Which couple’s love will blossom, and which couples will wither and die under the pressure? There can only be one King and Queen of the Love Trials. But until then, Goodnight.”
The spotlights fade and a clap of heels galloping across the floor alerts my attention to Jewel, who makes a beeline for me.
“May I remind you, Miss Jones, that shouting is not an appropriate way to behave on camera. I would ask you to practise more restraint next time.”
I nod along to her words and hum at her like a nodding dog.
“I’m so sorry. It was just a shock.”
Jewel’s expression warms, and she breaks into a smile.
“We have a car waiting outside. Time to go.”
“But we haven’t even packed.”
Jewel scoffs.
“Don’t be ridiculous. We have prepared everything for you. Now go, you don’t want to miss your flight.”
Ronan squeezes my hand and I stare at him, bewildered. He looks like he just won the jackpot.
Then a thought hits me between the eyes like a frying pan. Ronan and I will spend time alone on a romantic trip away from the cameras. How will I resist him now?
Chapter Seventeen
Ronan and I sit in silence as the limousine trundles down the country lanes. The sky has grown dark and unlike home, the Scottish countryside has no streetlamps to guide the way.
Just before we climbed into the car, Julian had patted Ronan on the shoulder and gestured to two heavy cameras sitting in the back of the car.
“We need you both to record a holiday vlog. Try to consider what the viewers want to see. Romance. Cheese. Give them a little sizzle.” He winked at us before his face turned thoughtful. “Be careful with the equipment, if you damage anything, you’re paying for its replacement.”
My stomach is in knots again. I had figured they would want footage of our getaway but had hoped some camera crew would be there. But no, it’s just me and Ronan, loving it up on a remote island in some lavish hotel.
I glance at the dark outline of his side profile. He sits perfectly still and rests his elbow against the door, his head titled.
“Are you asleep?” I wanted to keep the thought to myself, but my mouth can’t keep a secret. Ronan’s shoulders jolt and he takes a gruff intake of breath.
“No,” he says.
“Liar.” I shove him and laugh. He grabs my hand and holds it to his chest. A steady heartbeat thumps against my skin and my fingertips tingle, as if his pulse is charging my electrons.
“You’re not still mad at me then?” There I go again; blurting out every thought to cross my mind. It’s a good thing it’s dark in the car, at least I don’t have to see Ronan reaction. He’s probably scowling at me.
“What are you talking about? I’ve never been mad at you,” he counters. I take my hand back and fiddle with the stitching on my seatbelt and chew my lip. Is he just playing with me? Or did I jump to the worst case-scenario when he walked away?
“Fine. Upset or whatever––”
Ronan shifts closer to me and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
“None of those, either.” His voice is so low it sends heat charging through my body. “Why would you think I was mad at you?”
My brain races to pick up evidence to support my argument. But my body melts under his touch. He traces my jaw with his fingertip, and my mind is turning fuzzy.
“You didn’t come to lunch…” I take a shallow uneven breath as his fingers graze my collarbone. “I couldn’t find you anywhere.” Ronan leans in and presses his lips against my cheekbone and cups my face with his hands.
“That’s sweet, you missed me.” He leaves a trail of burning kisses from my cheek to my lips, but before he can deepen the kiss, I push him away with clammy hands.
“What happened to you? Where did you go?” I demand answers. Everyone says they love a mysterious man, but unanswered questions drive me crazy. And not in a good way.
Before Ronan can answer, a flood of light fills the limousine and the car rolls to a stop.
I peer through the window expecting to find an airport. Instead, we’ve stopped in the middle of a field lit up with spotlights. In the center is a helicopter.
“We’re not going in that are we?�
� I wonder if the second challenge has already begun and Ronan and I have to work out how to fly it. I’ve got to stop watching so many movies. It’s turning me into a paranoid person.
The driver opens the car door; I climb out. My heels sink into the grass as I rise to my feet and I stagger around like a disorientated zombie. I pick up the skirt of my dress to keep it from dragging in the mud. The air has a bite to it. Goosebumps rise on my arms and the back of my neck as Ronan grabs our bags from the car. He hands me one of the camera bags and we walk towards the helicopter in silence. As if walking to our doom.
Thankfully, there is a pilot. A quiet, serious fellow. He nods to us and motions for me to take a seat in the back. Ronan follows and positions the bags around us like a nest. The hatch closes and my ears are whistling. Or so it seems. Ronan hands me a pair of headphones and shouts at me to put them on. I oblige and the rumbling engine becomes muffled.
“We won’t be long, hold tight and enjoy the ride.” The pilot’s voice is clear and authoritative in the headphones. I offer a thumbs up as he glances back at us, and he gives a curt nod.
I’m counting my lucky stars it’s not too windy just as a gust of wind hits the side of the helicopter and we jolt sideways. I automatically grasp Ronan’s hand and squeeze it like my life depends on it. The corners of his mouth lift, and he looks at me with those baby blues twinkling. He is the embodiment of calm. Even when the world is shaking. He remains steady and sure. The helicopter settles in the air, and my breathing slows again. Now the sense of danger has passed, I should let go of Ronan’s hand. But something stops me, and like a moth to a flame, I say the unthinkable.
“I think I will marry you some day.”
Ronan’s smile fades and his eyes darken as he looks at me with concern. Like I’m a child who just declared she would grow up to be the Queen of England. My stomach flips over and I wish I could yell, “cut!” and redo this whole scene. Ronan breaks eye contact and looks out of the dark window in thought. I try to think of something cool and suave to say but nothing springs to mind. The damage is done. It’s official. I have become that girl. I bring up the m-word before the week is out.
The rest of the helicopter ride is uneventful as my mind wrestles with thoughts. When we land, Ronan avoids eye contact as he gathers our bags and carries them out of the helicopter. Part of me wonders if I can just stay here. I doubt anyone would argue at this point.
“Are you coming?” Ronan’s head reappears from the doorway and his brows rise as he looks at me expectantly. As if struck by a bolt of lightning, I jump to my feet and hurry to the doorway. Suddenly, I jerk backwards as the wire to the headphones––still attached to my head––tug on me.
“Hold on,” Ronan climbs up to help, but I hold out a hand.
“I’ve got it,” I say determinedly, as I pull the headphones off and shake my hair out. I follow Ronan out of the helicopter with what’s left of my dignity and hold my head up high. So high, I don’t notice the last step and almost face plant in the grass. Ronan’s arm breaks my fall and he holds me up.
“What has gotten into you tonight?” he says incredulously. “Are you drunk?”
If only.
That would make the perfect excuse for my behaviour. But unfortunately, these crazy antics––including my runaway mouth––are all done while sober. Even my mouthwash is alcohol-free.
We follow a gravel path under torchlight to a small cabin. A full moon lights up the land and I notice we are standing on the world’s smallest island. At least, that’s how it looks to me. There is barely enough room for the helicopter and the cabin on this patch of grass. Across the sea, there is an orange glow of light. We must be on a remote island off the coast of Scotland.
“Is it silly I was expecting a villa in Ibiza?” I ask as we reach the cabin. The pilot hands Ronan a key and claps him on the shoulder with a laugh.
“I’ll be back in two days.”
And without another word, he strolls along the path back to the helicopter. Ronan unlocks the front door to the small cabin, and it squeals eerily as he pushes it open. He looks back at me with a hint of amusement and the two of us break into nervous laughter. Something tells me this trip will be less Love Island and more Blair Witch Project.
Chapter Eighteen
“We’ve arrived at our cabin, and here’s the tour…”
The floorboards creek as Ronan navigates the room with the oversized camera sat on his shoulder. He dutifully documents our arrival, while I stand dumbfounded in the middle of the cabin––which consists of only one room––eyeballing the cobwebs hanging from the dim chandelier. I half-expect a bat to come flying out from one of the dark corners and attack me.
The room has one large bed, with a mass of rose petals organised to form a heart shape. An empty fireplace sits in the center of the room, and a kitchen area takes up the opposite wall. A narrow door to the side must be the bathroom. Although It wouldn’t surprise me if I open it and find a path leading to a small hut at the bottom of the garden.
“Well, this is… what’s the word?––” Ronan scratches his stubbled chin in thought, “––quaint?”
He sets the camera down and walks over to me as I smirk at him.
“That’s one word for it,” I mutter, staring at the dusty portraits on the wallpapered walls.
“You’re not a fan?” Ronan asks, as he rests his huge hands on my waist and pulls me close. There’s no camera crew here. No one is watching. And he’s still behaving like a loving boyfriend.
“Depends what you mean,” I say grazing his checked shirt collar with my fingertips. “I’m a huge fan of the horror movies this cabin belongs in.”
Ronan chortles and lets go of my waist.
“I’ll check out the bathroom. If I’m not back in ten minutes, call for help.” He winks at me and swaggers to the door. His dark jeans fit snug in all the right places and I catch myself staring as he walks away. Even in the house of horrors, I can’t help checking this guy out. What is wrong with me?
The door clicks and Ronan disappears behind it, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
The dim lightbulbs flicker and I make a silent prayer that they don’t go out completely. I’ve never felt so vulnerable in my life. No phone. No computer. Not even neighbours to come to rescue. It’s just me and––
“––Right, I’ve done my best, but all I’ve got to say is; don’t look up.”
Startled, I look to the side to find Ronan is back. He stands with rounded shoulders and his face ashen grey.
“Where did you go? You look like you just got back from Narnia.” It’s only been a few minutes. What is on the other side of that door?
Ronan shakes his head, a smile creeping across his face as he walks towards me.
“Don’t look up when you go in there, and you’ll be fine.” He stops by the fireplace and studies it in thought. Then reaches down and takes two logs from a pile on the side and stacks them in place. He’s piqued my curiosity and now I can’t stop wondering just what I’ll see if I look up in the bathroom. It can’t be worse than this room, right? My eyes trace the damp wallpaper, curling at the edges and the dense cobwebs along the wooden beams across the ceiling. My body has a cruel sense of humour. Just as I make a promise to hold it as long as I can, I am desperate to go.
“Great idea, you get the fire started and I’ll… go freshen up,” I say, clapping my hands. I try to sound sprightly, like this is a wonderful adventure. We’re camping. That’s what I’ll tell myself.
I hate camping.
But Ronan doesn’t know that. And no one likes a Debbie Downer. Ronan eyes me warily, as I flash him a confident grin and stride across the room. As I reach the door, I grab the handle and swallow, building up the courage to go inside.
“Just don’t look up,” Ronan repeats in a serious tone. I wish he would stop saying that.
I pull open the door, jump inside and close it behind me. If Ronan said nothing, I probably wouldn’t have wanted to look up. But now, the
appeal of the forbidden fruit is strong.
Thankfully, I am not standing on a garden path, but in a decent-sized bathroom. Complete with a freestanding metal bath, ornate sink basin and a porcelain toilet. I tip toe closer and my grin widens at the pieces of toilet paper placed carefully all over the edges of the seat. This bathroom isn’t so bad. I’ve definitely been in worse. The faint musty smell is only slightly offensive, and the damp walls have patches of mould. I can deal with that. I go about my business, keeping my eyes fixed firmly on the tiled floor and trying to ignore the nagging urge to look up.
Don’t look up. Don’t look up. Don’t look––
I did it. I looked up. And now a blood-curdling scream emits from my mouth. I wash my hands at top speed and bolt out of the bathroom faster than Flash Gordon. I lean against the door, chest heaving and staring at Ronan as he lights the fire. He looks at me and gives a heavy sigh.
“You looked up, didn’t you?” It’s not a question. He knows.
“I’m never going in there again,” I say, hardly above a whisper. My arms are trembling. Ronan laughs to himself as he climbs to his feet. The fire crackles to life, and a flood of comforting golden light fills every corner of the room.
“I tried to warn you,” Ronan mumbles as he pulls me in for a hug. My temple collides with his firm chest and his heartbeats against my ear. Can you fall asleep standing up? Being in Ronan’s arms is so soothing, I feel every tight muscle in my body loosen up and tiredness take over. Ronan stoops down and in one swift motion, he’s cradling me in his arms like a baby and crossing the room. I allow my heavy lids to close as my breathing slows and Ronan lays me down on the bed. Normally, I would protest or insist on sleeping on a couch. But the broken armchair in the room's corner sits right beneath massive cobweb, and the thought of a giant spider hovering over my head fills me with horror. The dusty floorboards would not make a good sleeping area either. No, we must share the bed. Thankfully, my libido has died a thousand deaths after the horrors I have witnessed in that bathroom. I wriggle into a comfortable sleeping position, with my knee tucked up to my chest, and wrap my arms around the pillow. Ronan carefully takes off my shoes and covers me with a blanket.
