‘Like my father was? I worshipped him and the life he led. Mum loved him when they got married, when they had me. But it was never enough. Dad competed and Mum fell to the wayside. When you’re an athlete, you live and breathe the sport. You live and breathe the competition. There isn’t room for anyone or anything else. It wouldn’t be fair to her.’
She wanted to tell him he was wrong. She wanted to tell him there was no place she would ever want to be apart from with her family. Her mother. Even Malcolm. Family was the one place where you did fit in. Where you were accepted or at the very least put up with. She knew he didn’t want to hear it though. Not from her. Not tonight.
She went with, ‘So, you’re sure Kirsty is the second lucky lady to dodge the Ice Bullet?’
A tiny smile creased the corners of his mouth. ‘She has a meaningful job that she loves. Besides, she’s so intense. It wouldn’t be fair to keep her here any longer for nothing.’
‘That’s actually really thoughtful of you.’
‘I’m not always a selfish idiot.’
No, she thought. But she kind of wished he was. It would make not liking him so much easier.
Chapter 11
Eliza tossed and turned and couldn’t sleep even if she’d downed a bottle of tablets. Banjo’s tortured expression kept flashing before her eyes followed by scenes of her offering comfort. Which led to being naked. Which led to being fu—banged. She still didn’t like the f-word unless it was rolling off his tongue.
It was funny, she’d always considered lovemaking to be something she was missing out on, her handful of boyfriends not very adventurous in bed, but now she found her mouth watering for a taste of what Banjo had to offer. Both long and torturous and hard and fast. In the deepest recesses of her psyche, she wanted it all. Is that why women ripped their clothes off and jumped into his bed? Just at the thought of what he could do? Would do?
But she wasn’t like that. Eliza had a career to concentrate on. A boring career where she lived vicariously through the stories of other. A career where empathy was needed but a bleeding heart like hers would be ripped from her chest and cut into bite-sized pieces.
‘Are you awake?’ Amelia whispered.
‘Yeah,’ Eliza sighed into the darkness.
‘How was your date?’
‘Long.’ Then she caught herself. ‘It was really actually great. He made me spaghetti. I’m just so tired now but I can’t get to sleep.’
‘Did he kiss you goodnight?’
Eliza had practically jumped from her chair when he’d suggested taking their glasses out to the pool deck. Out there, there wouldn’t be any temptation to climb into his lap and soothe the frown lines from between his eyes. They might have even had an audience if the ladies on the top floor could see into the back of his house, not that she thought they could. She would have heard by now if they could spy on Banjo in his lap pool.
‘He was a perfect gentleman.’ Which is why she couldn’t sleep. Why couldn’t he live up to his reputation and make a move? Another move? Why did he have to pour his heart out and make her believe the words he spoke? She’d had visions of him trailing his fingers up her thigh and under her dress and her slapping him rather than grinding against his hand and kissing him until she couldn’t breathe.
When he was just a poster on her wall as a teenager, she’d lusted after Banjo Grahams in the worst kind of way, even kissing his image when his eyes followed her around her bedroom. When stories of his exploits reached the far corners of the globe, she’d ripped the poster down and binned it, lumping him with the other arseholes of the world banging anything that came into their periphery. Her mother had always told her to hold out for a gentleman. A guy who loved her for who she was under the surface, not what was between her legs or to the size of her chest.
She’d been raised to call a spade and a spade and then knock him over the head with one. But why did Banjo have to have depth? He’d listened to her highlight the plights of Sydney’s teens without his eyes glazing over or falling asleep like her father tended to do. The more she thought on Banjo’s motivations, the more she knew a good woman would be able to change his mind and tie him down. If you put his wandering dick out of the picture, he was actually quite a catch. He was handsome, had morals and principles (just not when it came to the ladies) and he was rich. He was educated and worldly and said what he thought. Most of those were traits Eliza had on her list of what made a good and decent man. He’d made her laugh too which was right at the top.
But he was also Banjo Grahams. His number would be as long as his ego was large. All of those traits weren’t even blips on the edges of her radar. Even if she was in the market for a partner, Banjo would never tick any of her boxes. Neither would she his, if she was being completely honest with herself. He preferred women who didn’t wear knickers beneath their dresses. Women he could crook his finger at and say, ‘Get naked. Right now.’ ‘Okay,’ they would giggle and unzip, their dresses around their ankles as he looked his fill.
That wasn’t her and it never would be. Right before Eliza fell asleep, another image flashed across her eyelids and turned into a dream.
Banjo on his knees before a heavily pregnant woman, kissing her stomach, his skis and his boards collecting dust in the garage while they played at a happily ever after.
Chapter 12
If Banjo had thought meeting and dating the women nerve-wracking, wait until he had to stand before the twelve and tell two of them they didn’t make the cut! He put one hand in his pocket so he wouldn’t wring his fingers together or fidget while the show’s host redid his lead-in for the camera. Lucky he was wearing a suit jacket. He could only imagine the size of the sweat patch on his back.
The roses were laid out on a silver platter next to him, blood red, every petal perfect, while the ladies stood in a semi-circle, two deep and dressed to the nines. They were unbelievable stunning and each tried to grab his eye and hold it. He wasn’t giving anything away and the sick feeling in his gut multiplied. How could he have thought this would be any kind of fun at all? Surely he couldn’t have been that drunk or that arrogant or just plain stupid enough to not think it through? But he had been. Roaring drunk. Beyond arrogant. An absolute moron through and through. These weren’t the type of women he had one-night stands with. They weren’t being paid for their time or acting their attraction to him, their hopes and dreams in his hands. They were genuinely here for love and he was going to crush their spirits on national TV. Live. To the whole nation and a few hours after, to the world.
Only, he’d signed a contract and there could only be one lady left standing at the end. None of them would ever know it wasn’t real, that he was going to choose Eliza. She was holding up a navy gown made of something silky, strapless and seemingly hanging on rather than being worn. It caught the light in the same way those shoes of hers had the night of their private date. The night he’d realised what an arsehole he really was to those who looked. He knew his reasons for being the way he was were sound. But did she? She’d barely held his gaze and said three words to him for days. Had he been too honest or had she just not heard what she’d wanted to hear?
He wondered if she was rethinking her involvement with the show, with him. Her ideal man was a gentleman from two hundred years ago, a guy who would doff his hat and throw his coat over puddles. That wasn’t him. He’d spend an hour jumping in the puddle and then drag her into the mud with him, laughing, kissing, more.
A throat cleared, abnormally loud in the tense silence, and he realised they were all looking at him, the producer, Amanda, waiting for something. The women waiting to hear who was to be rejected first. Abject humiliation bearing down on their souls and he was the cause.
The room spun and he wondered if the walls were closing in. ‘I need a minute,’ he wheezed out and then he was through the double French doors and heaving in huge breaths of warm, perfumed air on the terrace. How did he ever think he could go through with it?
‘Banjo?’ Ama
nda called behind him.
‘I’ll be all right in a sec. Just give me a sec.’
‘We’re live, remember? You don’t have a sec. Get back in there and give out the roses.’
‘I don’t think I can.’ God, he was getting so soft.
Amanda came really close and straightened his tie. She met his eye and a chill went down his spine at the glint in hers. ‘You signed a contract, Banjo. You promised to see this through to the end. You don’t want to know what Malcolm will do if you back out now.’
It was written all over her face that she knew about the second contract, the one where Eliza was to win his heart and the network got their fanfare. He hated himself and the corporation. But there was so much more at risk. His father’s company was the biggest and the hardest to lose because he couldn’t stick to just one thing for more than five minutes. He had to see it to the end. He had no choice.
He plastered on a fake smile he hoped would fool the world and went back into the room. ‘Sorry for the freak out, ladies. It’s clichéd but this is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do in my life. What if I send her home? The One? What if my future bride is among you and I haven’t really seen you yet? It makes the moments that much more unbearable. But it has to be done. I can’t marry you all.’
Nervous titters met his glum words despite how he tried to lighten the moment. He called out names until only Molly and Kirsty were left on the right and the other women clutching stems like their lives depended on it on the left.
‘I’m so sorry, ladies. I just didn’t see the connection, a spark, anything. I’m sorry.’
Later that night while he nursed a beer, the condensation running between his fingers to land on the pool deck next to his feet, he saw their faces in his mind. Molly had seemed upset, about to cry, Kirsty was angry, her fists clenched at her sides. Then they’d both pulled down the same mask he had and walked out with their heads held high. It was patronising but good on them. To fall apart on the first week of six would have labelled them worse than pathetic, already looking for love in a public forum.
He wondered again how he’d ever thought any of this would be a good idea. On the one previous season of a similar show he’d watched, the handsome single guy had kissed his way through all the ladies, making the rose ceremonies look like a walk in the park, a breeze. What kind of arsehole had that guy been? Banjo had thought him a lucky guy. He had permission to try before buying with eighteen girls who were at least fifteens on a scale of one to ten.
Fun. That’s what he thought it would all be. Acting. Just act your way through and at the end, guys would high-five him and the girls would get over it because they were all just there for the publicity and the rich man with the huge bank account. There was no way you could fall in love in a matter of weeks with a stranger. How many of She’s The One matches actually stood any kind of tests? How many had even stayed together past the first anniversary?
Banjo half snorted, half coughed, and swigged his beer, which was already getting warm, the bubbles catching in his throat until his eyes watered.
‘Rough night?’ she asked, her voice emerging from the darkness somewhere behind him.
He closed his eyes but didn’t lift his head. Eliza. ‘You shouldn’t be here.’
‘I’m not here. I’m sitting on a garden bench, alone.’
So was he to anyone who looked. He turned slightly so his back was to both houses. ‘Come to rub it in that I just broke the hearts of two amazing women?’
Her sigh reached him through the palm fronds and ferns. ‘I don’t think you broke their hearts. Maybe bruised their egos a little, but their hearts weren’t pinned on you. Not yet.’
‘What happens when hearts are involved though?’
‘We may have signed a contract, Banjo, but you can still choose any woman you want. If you fall for one of them, choose her at the end.’
He snorted again. ‘I’m not going to fall for anyone, Eliza. Love isn’t something I do.’
He knew she’d have her eyebrows raised and a frown on her cupid’s-bow lips. ‘How do you know you just haven’t met her yet?’
‘Do you believe in love?’ He didn’t know why he wanted to hear what she thought on the subject. She’d probably be passionate about it like every other subject she’d voiced her opinion on so far.
‘I believe people associate love with happiness. They think that just because a guy gives them butterflies when they kiss and makes her laugh a lot, that that’s love.’
‘But is it? Have you ever been in love?’
She hesitated so long he wondered if she’d up and left. But then she answered, ‘I don’t think so. I’ve had a few boyfriends but nothing very serious. My mum never had boyfriends when I was growing up. She never married. It was just her and I. By the time I should’ve been interested in boys, I didn’t have time because my mum needed care. Even after she passed …’ she trailed off, not finishing whatever it was she’d been about to say.
‘It sounds like your childhood was lonely.’
‘I got by. Yours doesn’t sound much better.’
He did that thing again where it sounded like he was scoffing. ‘There are worse things in the world than being alone, Eliza.’
‘Like what?’ She couldn’t think of many, if any.
‘Being abandoned, for one. Forgotten about, for another.’
She looked up then, trying to see him through the garden hedge that separated the two houses. She felt this impossible need to comfort him and make him see that abandoned and forgotten were the same as being alone. She opened her mouth to say something profound, something designed to soothe and make him think about his actions in a different light, to tell him he didn’t have to be alone if he would just open his heart to one of the women there. But she didn’t get the chance.
Amelia came padding barefoot down the dimly lit path. ‘Eliza, what are you doing down here on your own? In the dark? You don’t even have a drink! Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine. I was just thinking how happy I am to not have gone home tonight. To still be here, with all of you.’
Amelia laughed and plonked down on the bench next to her. ‘I totally thought you were a goner! When you were still standing there with no rose, I nearly cried for you. But at least we’re both here. God, I hope one of us gets Banjo in the end. Not one of those other pretendos.’
‘He’s not a puppy.’ She knew Banjo would still be on the other side of the hedge listening, probably—hopefully—smiling and not wallowing. ‘And one of those women could just as easily snag his attention.’
‘His attention yes, but not his heart. They’re all only in this for the attention. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s only in it for that too. Rumour is that he’s about to lose his company and one of his major sponsors.’
‘You can’t believe gossip.’
Amelia gave the one-brow-raised look. ‘There’s always a kernel of truth, even where gossip is involved.’
‘So what happens if he loses it all?’ she asked, only slightly interested in the answer. Even she knew money wasn’t at the root of happiness.
‘Well, what is there for a washed-up sports star like Banjo without his millions? Gigolo?’ she giggled. ‘I’d pay for a piece of that ass.’
Eliza hadn’t seen this side of her roommate and wondered how many champagnes Amelia had knocked back. ‘That’s not very nice.’
Amelia shrugged. ‘Tell me you don’t want a piece of him too. C’mon, if you didn’t, you wouldn’t be here. We all know you’re not in it for the exposure. You’re one of us, looking for the love of a good man.’
But was Banjo a good man? She’d come into the show thinking he was just another spoiled rich guy, which he absolutely was, but now that she was beginning to understand some of his depth, was he actually a good guy? Obviously he was feeling bad about sending women home and messing with their feelings but as a man, or as a public figure?
She inhaled the perfumes of the garden, the salty sea air, and joke
d, ‘The jury’s out on the good man bit.’
‘But you’d still take a piece of that ass wouldn’t you?’
Eliza forced a laugh and hoped he’d gone back inside. She did have to keep up the pretence that she was here for Banjo whether she liked him or not. ‘You have his ass and I’ll take those washboard abs.’
Chapter 13
The next group date loomed and Eliza had decided to let the chips fall where they would. If Banjo invited her, then she’d go, but she was happy to step back and let the others get to know him better. She was still hoping he’d fall for someone like Amelia and let Eliza off the hook. Monday saw the women hanging out by the pool, Banjo nowhere in sight. He was probably sitting back watching their every move since they all wore bikinis and nothing else in the heat.
Tuesday morning the sealed envelope came. With her producer hat on, Eliza had planned for the group date to be an afternoon picnic on a secluded stretch of coast followed by a bonfire but Malcolm wanted adventure and half-naked girls running around. So beach cricket in the shallows and then a harem-tent themed dinner. She didn’t hate the idea but she didn’t see the merits of it either.
One lady was to get a rose from the group date and then tomorrow the card would come for a one-on-one date for Thursday. They’d planned on about two dates a week since they only had Wednesday, Thursday and Sunday nights for airing.
When Grace came bounding into the room with the dreaded envelope, there were no claps or cheers, just a deadly quiet now that it had become real and women were being sent home. The atmosphere in the house had turned very competitive in a scary kind of way. Boobs were pushed higher, makeup done with even more attention to detail and everyone was acting as though the cameras rolled every second of the day.
The night before, after an argument over a misplaced set of contact lenses, there had been tension between Becky and Allison that had carried through until the crew started up for the morning, then it was all sunshine and smiles but the glares were chilly.
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