“Please do not open it until I say so,” he says, just as she is about to look inside.
He tells her to return to her place and calls the next number.
Eleven.
Contestants all around me get called up and are given a box. Finally, it’s my turn.
“Number nineteen,” J says with a big sigh.
I walk up to him.
He hands me a velvet box and whispers, “I’m watching you,” under his breath.
Shivers run down my spine. But I give him a smile, take my box, and return to my place in line.
“Okay, open your boxes,” he says.
My heart sinks and tears start to gather at the edges of my eyes.
He didn’t call Paige’s number.
“Excuse me,” one of the female judges says, calling him over to them.
I watch as J tries to argue with her, but she remains steadfast.
“Okay, then,” J says, clearly disappointed. “It appears as though we are not done yet.”
With that, he calls Paige’s number, number eight.
A sigh of relief spreads through me.
She made it.
We both did.
“You may now open your gifts,” he instructs.
Inside my velvet box, I find a delicate sterling-silver bracelet. It’s chain linked all around and a delicate flat portion in the front with the words House of York are engraved on it. “Welcome to the House of York,” the host says.
We all hug each other from excitement. The elimination ceremony is over and we all made it. J tells us that the following few days are rest days for us to relax and enjoy the property.
I let out a big sigh of relief.
That’s exactly what I need.
I imagine myself falling into my comfortable bed and sleeping the hours away. It takes all of my energy to not let myself run up the stairs and fall into my bed before anyone else.
I’ll be there soon enough, I say to myself.
“Um, excuse me! Excuse me!” J yells when I reach the top of the stairs.
What now?
“Number nineteen, please come see me.”
No, no, no.
I shake my head.
No, this isn’t happening.
“Number nineteen,” he calls me again. “Come here. I know that you can hear me.”
The girls disperse around me.
What could this be about?
Is it because I helped Paige to her room?
Is that why?
But they let her stay.
So, why not me?
Why can’t they just leave me alone?
“Your presence is being requested in room 212,” he says. “Mirabelle will show you there.”
Everly
When we get to room 212…
My blood runs cold and my fingertips turn to ice. My heart starts to beat so fast, it’s about to jump out of my chest.
Who is waiting for me in room 212?
I search Mirabelle’s face for an inkling of what’s to come. But she remains stoic and expressionless.
“Follow me, please.”
I follow her out of the main doors and into the large garden outside.
The air is wet with humidity. For a moment, I lose myself in the buzzing of the insects and the singing of the frogs. As I follow her down a pathway that weaves in between the tall trees and bushes, the leaves of a tall palm tree brush along my arm.
I haven’t touched a plant or another living organism, besides the people in this place, since I’ve been here.
The touch infuses my body with newfound energy.
I pause for a moment to enjoy its rough texture in between my fingers.
In the dark, Mirabelle doesn’t know that I have fallen behind. I press the palm leaf in between my hands and inhale its aroma. Droplets from a recent rain roll off onto my fingers.
I glance up at the moody sky and savor the moment.
Somewhere in the distance, a bird chirps and I yearn for her freedom.
If only I were a bird.
Then I could flap my wings and get far away from here.
“C’mon, I don’t have all day,” Mirabelle says.
“Where are we going?” I ask, fearing the answer.
“You’ll see.”
I doubt that’s a good kind of ‘you’ll see.’
Few things in this place have been that.
I don’t know how long I’ve been in this place, but it has been long enough for me to forget what real freedom means - to wake up every day and live life on your terms.
Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I remember what life used to be like and how much I used to dread going to my job everyday.
I thought that I didn’t have a choice then.
I thought that I had to go into work.
But did I really? I mean, really?
It was all an illusion.
I thought I was trapped when really I wasn’t.
Yes, I needed the job to pay my bills, but I didn’t have to have that job.
If I hated it so much, I could’ve quit and found another.
No one forced me to work there.
Not like here.
Oh, what a stupid little girl I was then.
I made up walls for myself, walls that didn’t exist.
In reality, the world was mine to take.
My life was mine to live.
If I didn’t want to work at Dr. Morris’ office, I could’ve quit.
If I didn’t want to live in Philly, I could’ve bought the first ticket out of there.
I had a bit of savings and I could’ve taken a bus anywhere I wanted - Florida, California, Alaska, wherever.
I could’ve just walked into the first restaurant, coffee shop, or bookstore that came my way and applied for a job there.
Why did I think that I had no options?
Why did I put myself in a corner like that?
Why did I feel like I had to work there just because it’s something that I thought I wanted to do?
Yes, it’s something I wanted to do. But then it wasn’t.
Why was it so hard to say no? To just veer off course.
To trust myself to take a chance?
If I ever get out of here, I’m going to live my life. Really live it.
I’m going to go where the wind blows and do exactly as I please.
Now, I know what real imprisonment is.
This time, it’s not just in my head.
“C’mon, hurry up.” Mirabelle leads me out of the garden where I want to stay forever.
Just let me be.
Just let me stay here.
I can’t go on.
I can’t take anymore of what this place has to dish out.
I follow Mirabelle down a winding pathway outside of the garden. A little bit in front us, I see a large manor house built atop a high, broad, grass knoll surrounded by tall palm trees and tropical pine trees.
Its grandeur complements the estate I just left, but on a smaller scale. As Mirabelle leads me toward the double doors, I take a moment to breathe in the air saturated with salt. The ocean must not be far away.
I stick out my tongue to get a taste of it.
I have not stepped a foot outside in a long time, and I don’t know when I will be able to be outside again.
A radical thought runs through my mind.
What if I run?
Just go for it?
Mirabelle looks like she’s fit, but I know I can outrun her.
I imagine myself taking off and running toward the sand.
What would it feel like to have sand in between my toes again?
“Are you coming?” Mirabelle asks, holding open the door.
I can’t run.
Not yet.
It’s a stupid move.
My best chance is to stay in the competition and enjoy the freedoms that I do have.
“Yes,” I say with a heavy heart and duck inside.
We walk into a spacious livin
g room with a leather sectional couch facing a large television. A large open-concept kitchen is to my left. To my right is an office.
“What is this place?” I ask. “I thought that I wasn’t eliminated. Why can’t I go back to my room?”
“You weren’t eliminated,” Mirabelle confirms. “This has nothing to do with you.”
I shake my head. I am getting really tired of these games. They don’t just play with my head, but also with my body.
“We’re here!” Mirabelle yells out.
I look around.
My heart starts to beat fast enough to jump out of my chest.
Who is she saying this to?
Please, don’t be Abbott.
Please, please, I say silently to myself.
Everly
When I’m surprised…
“Everly?” A quiet voice breaks my concentration.
I had closed my eyes.
When I open them, I see him.
He’s dressed in jeans and a casual gray t-shirt, just tight enough to accentuate his muscular physique.
His hair is slicked back and wet.
A towel is draped over his shoulder.
I take one step back and then another one forward. I let out a big sigh of relief.
“I’m leaving now,” Mirabelle announces and leaves before I say another word.
I turn to Easton.
I’m relieved that it’s not Abbott for a variety of reasons, but most of all because I kind of like Easton.
He has this quiet, mysterious quality to him.
I’ve made a lot of assumptions about him and they have all turned out to be false.
He plays his cards close to his chest and that intrigues me.
“What am I doing here?” I ask.
Easton walks away from me. His bare feet leave little impressions on the parquet floors.
“Where are you going?” I follow him, adjusting the sheet around my body.
I should’ve figured out a way to make this sheet more of a real garment by now, God knows, I’ve been wearing it long enough.
He disappears into a large room with floor-to-ceiling windows and a view of a pool. It’s dark out, but the pool is lit up.
The crystal blue water is calling my name.
“Easton?” I walk into the bedroom.
There’s a large California King bed in the center and Easton is nowhere to be found. I’m reluctant to follow him further into his room.
A few moments later, he emerges with a pair of yoga pants and a t-shirt.
“I thought maybe you’d be more comfortable in these,” he says. “You can change in there.”
I don’t have to be asked twice.
I grab the clothes and disappear into the bathroom.
As I put on the clothes, I spin around to get a better look at the place. To say it’s luxurious would be an understatement.
I’ve never seen a bathroom with its own sitting area and a chaise lounge inside of it. There’s a large glass bathtub in the middle, right in front of a glass window which spans the whole side of the room.
It offers privacy because it looks out onto a thick tropical forest.
When I come out, I expect Easton to be sitting on the bed waiting for me. But he’s not. I walk back into the living room.
Again, I don’t see him.
“Easton?”
“Easton?”
The refrigerator door, disguised as just another cabinet, closes and he emerges from behind it.
“Do you want anything to eat?” he asks.
I nod.
“I’m making scrambled eggs.”
“I’d love that.”
He cooks in silence.
I pour myself a glass of orange juice and wait.
Of all the things that I expected to be waiting for me here, I did not expect this.
When the eggs are ready, Easton carefully gives me a generous portion and we dig in.
“So…what am I doing here?” I ask, devouring my plate.
“Still hungry?”
I nod, feeling slightly embarrassed by this fact. He just shrugs and pulls out a box of bagels.
“Fresh bagels right from my favorite bakery in Brooklyn,” he says. “I have them delivered here. Want me to toast them?”
I nod and grab the cream cheese from the fridge.
“You have them delivered here?” I ask as we wait for them to pop out of the toaster.
“My father has money to burn,” he says. “I don’t take advantage of many amenities here, so I see this as something that he owes me. At least, during my stay.”
I spread a generous amount of organic cream cheese on the bagel and take a big bite.
“Wow,” I mumble. “This is delicious.”
He gives me a nod.
For a few moments, we eat in complete silence. I realize that it’s the first time I’ve felt completely at ease since I’ve been here.
I want to ask him a million questions, but I hate to ruin the moment. So, I enjoy it instead.
“Can I make you some tea?” he asks.
I nod.
He puts the electric kettle on.
When the water starts to boil, he flips on the stereo and gets so close to me that I can feel his breath on my lips.
“I’m sorry that you’re here,” he whispers. “But you have to believe me, I didn’t trick you. I tried to protect you.”
“I know,” I whisper.
I can barely hear myself over the music, and I’m definitely enjoying standing so close to him.
“One of the girls I talked to told me an almost identical story about that guy, Jamie, who took me to the Oakmont,” I add.
Easton nods and looks down at the floor. There’s a sadness and a vulnerability in him that’s irresistible. I dig my fingers into the kitchen island to keep myself from reaching over to him and pressing my lips onto his.
“That’s not his real name,” he mumbles.
“I know.”
He gazes into my eyes. I focus my eyes on his and we get locked in a moment.
He is the first to look away.
“I have to tell you the truth,” he finally says, returning his piercing eyes to mine. I wait.
“I thought you still hated me. I’m glad you don’t.”
“Who said I don’t?” I ask with a smile.
He laughs.
I exhale deeply and all of the tension that I’ve been carrying on my shoulders vanishes. Easton isn’t like the rest of them.
There’s a humanity in his eyes.
A softness.
He’s a stranger here just like I am.
The kettle turns off and Easton lowers the volume of the music. He pours me a cup of tea.
I take a sip and give him a little smile.
Who is he?
Why is he helping me?
“Prince of York, please pick up,” a voice says over the intercom.
Everly
When I meet the Prince of York…
Prince of York? I look at Easton in disbelief.
No, it can’t be.
Not him.
He’s part of this horrible place?
Perhaps I was wrong about him. I should’ve gone with my first instinct. I can’t trust anyone here.
“Not now, please,” Easton says.
“I’ll leave your wine right out here, sir,” the person on the other end says.
“I should’ve known it,” I say, shaking my head.
“What?”
“That you…you’re too good to be true. You are just like the rest of them, aren’t you? You were just pretending to be a nice guy. But now you got us wine and you were, what were you going to do exactly? Get me drunk and then do what Abbott tried to do?”
Easton inhales deeply and walks away.
Again, I’m taken aback by his actions.
I expect him to come over to me and try to convince me of something, but he doesn’t. I watch as he walks over to the front door and brings in the wine that the waiter
left there.
There are two bottles. One red and one white.
I can’t see the labels, but I’m sure that they are expensive and extravagant just like everything else is here.
“Are you going to answer me?” I ask.
“You are a little bit confused about your place here,” he says after a moment. His tone is severe and unrelenting.
“Yes, my name is Easton. Yes, I am the son of the King of York. What else do you want to know?” he asks, opening the bottle of red.
I stare at him.
“So… was that all an… act? Before?”
“No.”
I want more than a one word answer, but I’m not sure if I’m going to get it.
“What am I doing here?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“What can you tell me?”
“That I’m not going to hurt you.”
I nod, but I’m not sure if I believe him.
“Would you like a glass?”
“No,” I say too quickly.
“Suit yourself,” he says and pours one for himself.
Then he takes it to the living room and sits down on the couch. Unsure as to what to do, I follow him there. I have so many questions and he’s the only person who has the answers.
“Is Abbott your… brother?” I ask slowly. I sit on the edge of the chair as far away from him as possible.
“Unfortunately.”
“Is he also a Prince?”
“Yes.”
“What does this title mean?”
“On this island, it means everything. Out there, in the real world, I don’t know. Not that many people know about this place. And the ones who do like to pretend that they don’t.”
We sit in silence for a few minutes.
He turns his head away from me and looks out the window wistfully.
For a moment, I get the feeling that he’s as much of a prisoner here as I am.
Who are you Easton of York?
But then he turns toward me and gives me a stern glance. His dark almond eyes narrow and his jaw clenches. There’s anger behind them.
Discontent.
Is it directed at me?
Or is something else bothering him?
I have no idea.
“What is this place, Easton?” I ask in a whisper.
I want to talk to him frankly, but I know that we can’t. Someone is listening and I don’t know him well enough to understand the subtleties of his metaphors, let alone his silence.
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