Chapter 6

And how was I supposed to fight him for the win? They would throw us out in two minutes as soon as we started clawing at each other. Ugh, the retro blonde should have gotten him. What a performance the viewers would have seen.

The world around us roared with applause, cameras circled, and for me time stopped. What was I supposed to do now? I had really stepped in it. It wasn't like I could ask Valentine to spin the wheel one more time.

In the end, Demond and I managed neither smiles nor polite greetings. But we did not run away either. We both walked up to the arch and stopped. Then we turned away from each other like two total strangers who had ended up in the same train compartment by chance, and faced Valentine.

"Here they are: Dennis and Diana! Meet our second couple!" the host announced joyfully, apparently not noticing our mutual stupor. "So different and so bright! Ready to flare like stars in the fire of your attention. I ask the couple to proceed to our improvised cafe and take their table. The viewers will definitely want to see what your first date will be like!"

Unlike the first couple, we had no contact, and no one hugged anyone. Demond and I, like two mannequins, moved toward the "cafe" along a special walkway, came down from the stage, and went backstage, where part of the filming studio had been set up as a romantic meeting place. Tables for two had been arranged there, the lights dimmed, and instead of a ceiling they had strung LED garlands shaped like large spheres. On the panels serving as walls hung neon signs that read "Love" and "Cupid's Cafe," along with hearts and arrows pulsing with pink and blue light.

A round lamp hung over each table, lowered on a cord to create soft lighting, and overall, after the bright, noisy stage, the atmosphere of the "cafe" made you want to exhale. Not in our case, though.

Seeing the table with the number "2" sign off to the side, a sign the size of a dessert stand, I hurried to it first and grabbed the chair. But when I imagined how I was supposed to sit down in my super-short dress, I went pale... God, why had I even come here?

And I had nothing in my hands, of course. Not even a purse to cover myself!

"So why are you frozen, Catkin?" I heard Demond's low voice from the side, displeased and angry. "Forget your skirt at home? I'd lend you one, but I don't wear them."

"Shut up!"

Dennis sat down first with perfect confidence, and I discreetly tugged the dress lower. Deliberately not looking at him, I tried to perch carefully on the chair, meaning on the very edge, but the smooth fabric made it awkward and I nearly fell. Clutching the hem, I immediately sprang back up, feeling my cheeks flame with shame. Cameras surrounded us, and I knew they would definitely show that moment.

"Damn... Damn it!.." I wanted to burst into tears.

Demond stood, took off his jacket, pulled my runaway chair closer, and seated me by the elbow. Then he shoved the jacket onto my knees.

"Catkin, let's skip the theatrics!" he threw through his teeth, returning to his seat. "There's already more than enough attention here, and I still haven't recovered from seeing you!"

"Did I do it on purpose?" I snapped back in the same tone, trying to keep my face composed. "You think I almost wiped out for the camera?"

Demond bit his lips, shrugged, and leaned back in his chair. He looked at me with a hostile squint.

"You came here for some reason. By the way, you look great... without a skirt."

"Go to hell, Demond!"

"Here to sort out your love life?"

"None of your business."

"Bet you are. As long as I've known you, yours has never worked out."

"Unlike yours," I hissed softly and shot back, "as long as I've known you. The real mystery is what you are doing here!"

"Same thing as everyone else. Came to find someone pure and bright. Preferably with a brain."

"Oh, please," I gave a skeptical snort, adjusting the hair near my face and shielding myself from the camera. "Don't try that fairy-tale nonsense on me. You're so rotten you don't care whose head you mess with. But you got unlucky with me, poor thing, and now you're upset. Try not to cry right here. You're going for sexy-brooding today, don't disappoint your fans."

Demond and I drilled into each other with sharp looks.

"You're right, Catkin, that is a problem. But do you know what cheers me up?"

"Go on, Demond, hit me. Say something nasty."

"Gladly. Looks like you're stuck too. Just as badly as I am."

Dennis told the truth, and I deflated, leaving him without an answer. Slowly exhaling, I swept my hair behind my shoulder and turned away. The improvised cafe was getting livelier; new couples were appearing, and suddenly a real waiter materialized beside our table. He did not offer us a menu, but he did set two cocktail glasses in front of us, complete with colorful straws and orange slices on the rims.

Happy to have something, anything, to do with my hands, I immediately grabbed my glass and took a sip. I started examining the neon signs, the hall, the globe lamps, nonexistent dust on the floor... anything at all, just so I would not have to look at Demond. Even the windows in this room looked suspiciously real, reflecting the lights of the night city like a perfectly calibrated set for a love story where the participants did not have to be themselves.

At some point I still glanced toward Dennis and caught his gaze.

He had finished his cocktail and sat drumming his fingers on the table. His shoulders expressed staged composure, his face calm determination, but from his drawn-together brows and tense jaw I guessed he was not exactly having fun here. Also, he was sitting there thoughtfully staring at my legs.

Although maybe at his jacket, which I had crumpled up and pressed to myself like armor. And I had no intention of giving it back.

I pulled it down toward my knees and hid my legs under the chair. Demond immediately looked at me. He spoke in that arrogant rasp of his, the one I couldn't stand:

"Well, well, Catkin... even in the most absurd reality, I never imagined I'd be sitting here looking at you."

"Same!"

"What, did you picture yourself a prince when you came here? Riding a unicorn." Dennis gave a mocking snort, though he remained serious.

Under his unfriendly look, I wasn't in the mood to laugh either. And worse, shame suddenly rose in me. As if I really had come on the show to bind my fate to some pompous idiot.

"Imagine that!" We were trading barbs under our breath. "Definitely not a demon in white slippers. Where were you planning to go in those? The afterlife? Or a beach party for people over sixty?"

"You came prepared too, I see," Demond shot back. "Put on a dress three centimeters long and a necklace made of sarcasm. Strong independent woman strategy?"

Jerk.

"I didn't choose it, idiot! Believe me or don't, but I'm not here to find a match!"

"Then why? Decided to become a star and dazzle everyone with your... mind?"

God, I hate him so much.

"Since I was six, every time I see you, Demond, I dream of gaining the power of a stool and smashing into your forehead."

"Ugh, Catkin, how bloodthirsty," he grimaced. "Lightning tamer would be better. Sounds more poetic."