Chapter 7
At eight o'clock that night, Eleonora walked into her Beverly Hills mansion and kicked off her heels.
In the center of her massive bedroom, two enormous Rimowa suitcases lay open on the Persian rug.
Maeve was kneeling on the floor, carefully folding and packing stacks of expensive silk pajamas.
Eleonora walked out of her closet carrying a massive pile of yoga pants and athletic gear. She dumped the entire pile onto the bed.
Carrie sat in a single armchair in the corner, her eyes locked on an iPad as she rapidly scrolled through tomorrow's itinerary.
Eleonora stared at the mess on the floor. "Why are we packing all this useless junk?" she complained, rubbing her temples.
Carrie didn't look up. "You are going to be locked inside a villa for an entire month. You need a wardrobe."
Eleonora rolled her eyes. She walked over to the corner of the room and bent down. She wrapped her hand around the thick handle of a massive, black cast-iron dumbbell.
She carried the heavy piece of gym equipment over to the half-full suitcase, intending to shove it inside.
Maeve gasped, her eyes going wide. "Eleonora, no! That dumbbell is way too heavy. The suitcase will be over the weight limit."
Eleonora ignored her. She flexed her arm, and with a casual, terrifying display of physical strength, she lifted the fifty-pound dumbbell with one hand. The sleek muscle definition in her arm popped briefly before she gently set the iron weight into the corner of the suitcase.
Maeve swallowed hard, staring at Eleonora's arm in shock.
Eleonora dusted off her hands. She turned to look directly at Carrie. "So, how exactly does this shoot work? Is it like the other shows? Do they hand us a script in the morning, and then we get to go sleep in a hotel at night?"
At that question, Carrie's finger froze on the iPad screen.
Carrie slowly lifted her head. She shot a rapid, incredibly guilty look at Maeve.
Carrie cleared her throat. She picked up her coffee cup and took a slow sip, using the physical action to hide her micro-expressions.
"This show focuses on 'authentic reality'," Carrie lied smoothly. "There is no script. You just act naturally."
Eleonora didn't catch the lie. She turned back to her suitcase and started throwing in bags of low-calorie snacks.
"Fine," Eleonora asked casually. "Are there blind spots where the cameras can't see us? Like the bathrooms or the closets?"
Carrie shifted her gaze, looking out the window instead of at Eleonora. "The bedrooms and private areas are generally camera-free."
Carrie deliberately omitted the massive, terrifying truth: the entire show was a 24/7, unedited live stream broadcast to the entire world.
Maeve's palms were sweating. She kept her head down, pretending to be intensely focused on folding a shirt so she wouldn't give the secret away.
Eleonora, satisfied with the "safe" answer, grabbed the zippers of the Rimowa suitcase and pulled them shut.
She stretched her arms over her head, letting out a relaxed sigh. "Whatever. I'll just treat it like a free, boring vacation."
Carrie stood up and tucked the iPad under her arm. Her face was deadly serious. "The car picks you up at seven a. m. sharp."
As Carrie reached the door, she turned back. "Control your temper, Eleonora. Do not create a PR disaster on camera."
Eleonora waved her hand dismissively, practically shoving Carrie and Maeve out into the hallway. She locked the door behind them.
She walked over to the window, looking out at the city lights. She felt a strange, lingering sense of unease about tomorrow's "vacation," completely unaware of the trap waiting for her.
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