Hey! You guys (might) know I'm a sucker for an enemies-to-lovers plot, but I'm trying my hand here at true, non-problematic romance (ha, still enemies to lovers but I digress) — as Muggles! Wahoooo! Let's see how it goes :D

I have to give a shout out to elanev91 and her masterpiece Eligible. If you have not read it yet, RUN — do not walk — over to it right now. You will not regret it! It is a master class of tension and amazingness where James is the Bachelor and Lily's a producer and absolutely inspired me to write my own Jily Bachelorette fic. I swear, every time I read it, I cry. So, so, so good.

Also, if behind-the-scenes of The Bachelor is your thing, I recommend season 1 of the show UnREAL.

Shoutout to my girl RelyingOnOldShips for all my teacher facts and her early encouragement!

Warning: This story is an AU — meaning I have taken liberties to change things about these characters. For example, since Lily is the bachelorette, she dates multiple people at once. Some could construe this to mean that Lily is cheating on James. I do not view it that way, but I could see how you might. That does not mean that this author condones cheating, as she doesn't even interpret this scenario as cheating — but either way, this is a premise she is playing around with. If this plot point, or any other, make you uncomfortable in any way, I understand why you may not wish to read this story, and you are perfectly within your right to not read it. You don't have to tell me you won't read it, you can just… not. That's cool by me. Please just be respectful of the fact that maybe other people do want to read it.

Also, The Bachelor franchise has always been plagued with problems sexist, racist and even homophobic in nature. While this story touches upon some of these issues (because I think it would be super unrealistic for it not to given the angle I'm taking), it is not meant to serve as any sort of academic take — this is just written for fun. This author also hopes that you already understand that racist, sexist, and homophobic things are wrong, even when not explicitly being told to do so by a story on the internet. This story is not an education, it is a form of entertainment.

Additionally, just because the author writes a bad character saying something bad, does not mean that the author believes the bad thing being said. She could just be showing that a character is, in fact, bad. That is how bad guys work — they do and say bad things.

I'm also an avid watcher of the American Bachelor series — so that's what I'm basing this off of! I'm sorry if other countries' versions of the show are vastly different!

Round-up warnings: mentions of alcohol abuse, body-shaming, sex-shaming (I'd say slut-shaming, but that needs a warning of its own), sexism, racism, homophobia, bullying, manipulation, and assholes being assholes. The ush.

Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter. Art work by the super talented blvnk-art (tumblr) aka potterbyblvnk (insta)

I'm on tumblr as TiffanyToms

Casting

Bachelor Mansion

"Your mark's here," a voice said making Lily Evans jump right before she was unceremoniously dragged a few centimeters to the left. "Stay on it."

"Right, sorry," Lily mumbled to the man's retreating back, even though he was already immersed in fixing the cables to the light that shone directly on her face from above.

About a dozen voices were all speaking at once, there were three cameras on her at different angles, and Lily… was bloody overwhelmed. What am I even doing here?

"Lily?" a voice she actually recognized asked tentatively. Her producer's kind smile broke through the haze of insanity unfolding all around her. "The first limo is arriving now. Are you ready?"

"Not really," Lily admitted with a borderline hysterical chuckle.

Her producer's smile only grew more genuine. "It's normal to be nervous right now. Just remember why you came on the show. To find true love, yes?"

Lily straightened her back, her ivory dress barely being able to accommodate her curves and the mic pack burning hot on her back. "Right. Of course."

Cokeworth — 3 Months Prior to Filming

"Learn how to take a joke, Lily. God, you are so stuck up!" Petunia shrieked, well, in a stuck up manner, as Lily snatched a paper out of her hand from across the table. Lily had long ago realized that her sister's insults were far more reflective of her own personality and flaws than Lily's. It was almost as if Petunia tried to get ahead of any complaints that Lily might have about her by slinging them first.

Lily's eyes darted back and forth across the page, verifying that her sister had indeed submitted her to a frigging dating show. "It's not a joke, Petunia. You can't just sign people up for reality shows. You're messing with my real life—"

"Oh, relax. As if they'd ever actually pick you to be the lead of anything."

"Girls, please," their mother Joan begged as she tightly clutched onto her cup of tea, "not today. Can we please have at least one day of civility?"

"Of course, mother," Petunia simpered, throwing Lily a smug little look that their mum missed entirely. "I was only trying to help Lily-dearest out. We all know how nice it would be for her to finally settle down and start a family of her own."

Lily grabbed her mug for something to squeeze lest she reach over and smash her condescending sister's face instead. "I've told you, Tuney. I'm doing just fine." It was a lie, a bold-faced lie.

"Uh huh." Petunia's voice went up another notch in the ingratiating scale, sending their mum a fake smile now that she had her attention. "I'm sure it's easy to meet single men at all your parent-teacher conferences. So many children these days must have single fathers, wouldn't you say?" Just like with everything Petunia said, she couldn't help the judgement from dripping off of her statement. "Wouldn't that just be perfect for you? Another woman's scraps."

Lily closed her eyes and took a deep breath in through her nose. Sure, her sister might have a point about the lack of single men in her line of work, but like hell was she ever going to admit it. Lily was an elementary school teacher, and therefore interacted with a whole bunch of mostly female — and one happily married male —colleagues and the predominantly older parents of her students. Realistically, she supposed that there was nothing stopping her from going out on the weekends and finding a boyfriend, except for the fact that she was exhausted beyond belief and usually just preferred to curl up with a good book and a very large glass of bubbly by Friday night.

"Lily, darling, I think your sister is only trying to look out for you, that's all," Joan said naively, trying to keep the peace amongst her children. She was never one to make a scene, especially at her favorite lunch spot in town.

Petunia grinned into her salad.

"She only wants you to be happy. We both do. She has Dudley and Vernon—" Lily kept from rolling her eyes, as if that man was someone to be proud of, "— and I had your father…" Joan's voice trailed off as her eyes went a little hazy. Lily knew that her mother still had a hard time talking about her very recently deceased dad.

"Of course," Lily agreed, reaching out for her mother's hand. Some things really weren't worth the argument. "I want to find someone too. But I don't want you two to worry about me." She took her hand back and picked up her fork, digging into her pasta. "It will happen when it happens. I'm not worried," she lied.

"Your 30-year-old eggs are," Petunia chimed in. She just couldn't help herself.

Lily stabbed a rigatoni extra hard. Don't fight back, don't fight back, she chanted in her head. Lily was fairly certain the stress of holding her tongue and trying to be the bigger — even if younger — sister was going to take at least five years off of her life.

London

"You want me to do what?!" James Potter cried out, practically falling out of his seat in his public relations manager's lush office. The view outside of the twenty story window went from looking picturesque and calming to oddly appealing in a heartbeat.

"You heard me, James," Jonathon said solemnly, clasping his hands together on his desk over a mountain of papers. "I've already cleared it with your agent. You're doing the show. It was either this or Big Brother, but we decided the romance angle would be better suited to rehabilitate your particular," he grimaced, "concern."

"But— you already—" James' mouth opened and closed dumbly. "No, that can't be right. I'm a footballer! Not an actor, this is—"

"They don't want actors, they want real people—"

James scoffed. What a load of bullshit. "Okay, but I'm still a footballer—"

"No one is saying that you're not, James, but you understand why we have to clean up your image, yes?"

James sat across from Jonathon in disbelief, willing him to crack and say, 'Gotcha!' or 'Just kidding!' or 'Happy April Fools' Day in March!' His rep did none of those things. James slowly got to his feet and ran a hand through his unruly hair. "This is crazy. I was trying to help that—"

"I know, James. I believe you. The public, however, does not."

James started pacing. "There's no way Ricardo cleared this," he reasoned thinking of his fanatical agent who lived, breathed, was everything football. Ricardo understood James' dreams. Ricardo understood James. Football was who he was. He couldn't waste his time doing dumb side projects that would get him nowhere; he had his career to think of. The same career he had sacrificed almost everything for — especially all his time and relationships. James knew realistically that an end would come eventually as he aged out of the league, but not now. Not yet. There was just no way—

"He did," Jonathon replied, eyes never leaving James. "No one wants to sign you right now. Your brand is too tarnished. This is the only way we can get you back on the field."

James numbly ambled to his seat and collapsed back into it. "This is mad."

Jonathon gave him a pitying look. "Sorry, mate." He leafed through his stack of papers and pulled out a thick contract before handing it over to James. "Good news is it only shoots for seven weeks."

James snorted as he began flipping through the pages at random. "Right. Perfect amount of time to find myself a wife," he said dryly before freezing suddenly and pointing to the top of a paragraph. "Hang on. Why's this say, 'contestant'?"

Jonathon tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

James' eyes went wide. "I won't even be thee Bachelor, but one of the suitors?"

Jonathon flinched. "Yes, well," he began softly, "it's the girl's season—"

"Oh for fuck's sake—"

"And they're going for a more relatable girl this time so she's an unknown to the franchise and—" James buried his face in his palms, "—I got you exempted from most of their usual protocols," Jonathon said as if that would somehow keep James from firing him on the spot. James couldn't help it, he rolled his eyes behind his fingers. "You don't have to do any of their precasting interviews, background checks, or any of the personality tests, you just have to show up." James was about to interject, so Jonathon desperately tacked on, "I cannot emphasize enough how much shit you're in right now, James." There was a staleness to the air that James despised. "You need this." He resurfaced from behind his hands with a defeated sigh, stealing a pen from off of Jonathon's desk and hastily signing the last page of the contract.

"You should really read all that—"

"Isn't that what I hire you to do?" James grumbled as he stood up.

"My assistant will bring you to the clinic now," Jonathon said turning oddly red as he placed the signed paperwork into a manilla envelope.

James looked back at him, trying to catch his eye. "The clinic?"

Jonathon seemed intent on ignoring him as he picked up his phone and dialed for his assistant. "Maria, Mr Potter is ready now."

Seconds later, a sprightly young woman in a plum jumpsuit appeared at the door. "Mr Potter, right this way!"

James looked skeptically between her and his manager. "Why do I need to go to a clinic?"

Jonathon scratched behind his ear. "Because you have to get an STI screening done. I couldn't get you out of that one."

"A what?" James spat out. Sure, he'd had his fair share of dalliances being an international sports superstar, but he'd always kept it safe. He wasn't an amateur.

"It's standard procedure given the nature of the show, James. Nothing to get upset over," Jonathon squeaked rather meekly.

James glared at him as he stalked off through the door. "As if I'd ever shag someone who willingly went on a show called The Bachelorette," he muttered under his breath. Maria excitedly scurried along behind him.

Cokeworth — 2 and a Half Months Prior to Filming

Lily's hands shook as she reread the email for the third time. "We would love to have you be our Bachelorette, please call us…"

What.

WHAT?!

Lily hated when she actually sided with Petunia, but in this case, she felt like she was also in agreement with sanity itself: who the hell would choose her to be the lead of a hugely successful television show?! She was nobody special; she was just your average 20-something, fine, newly 30-year-old, woman trying to make it in an increasingly harsh world. She couldn't date a small army of men; she could clearly not even date one man successfully! What were they thinking picking her!? Suddenly Lily was overcome with the need to have a word with their casting director because obviously they were unqualified to be making such momentous decisions all willy-nilly with the trajectories of people's entire lives.

"Lily, darling, are you all right? You look rather pale."

Lily nearly jumped out of her skin upon realizing she was still standing in her mother's home, vodka clutched in one hand, and her phone tightly grasped in the other. She'd been telling her mum off for how much she'd been drinking since her father's passing, but truth be told, she'd been using alcohol as just as much of a crutch. Somehow, drinking in pairs seemed less problematic than as a party of one in her flat.

"Yeah," Lily started unsurely, eyes squinting as she decided reading the email for a fourth time would never hurt anybody. "I think they picked me?"

"Who did?" her mother asked nonchalantly.

"The Bachelorette."

"The who?"

Lily looked up at her mum. "The show? They picked… me?"

In the blink of an eye, Lily heard a glass shattering, a high-pitched scream, and then was immediately engulfed in an exuberant hug. "That's amazing! I knew they would!"

Lily awkwardly patted her mum on the back, completely confused. "You… did?"

"Of course I did! Who wouldn't pick you?"

"Mum," Lily sighed, extracting herself from a death grip that only seemed to be tightening more by the second, "you have to say that because you're my mother."

"Hogwash! I'm saying that because it's the truth, Lily. They'd be dumb as a doorknob not to pick you!"

Lily blinked several times, staring at her uncertainly. "You realize this is a national show, yeah? Will be on every television in Britain? It's not like a local pageant?"

"I know, darling, everyone knows what The Bachelorette is!"

Eh, okay, so her mother had officially lost it. Lily wanted her mum to realize the gravitas of the situation without making this whole thing even more intimidating and terrifying for herself. Not everyone watches the show… right? "No, they don't."

"Well, Tuney and I do! We watch it together every Monday."

Oh fuck. "You do?"

"Of course, dear. Your sister hosts me every week. We make a whole night of it while Vernon takes Dudley out to the driving range. She would invite you, but she knows how you don't like to do things on school nights." She hurried on as if to salvage Lily's nonexistent feelings on the matter, "You're still on our minds though, because I always say what a wonderful Bachelorette you'd be and Tuney always agrees with me!"

Of course that's what she tells her, Lily thought dryly. Conniving sister aside, Lily couldn't believe her ears. This had gone from a dumb idea to a dumb emotionally-charged idea. "Mum—"

"Oh, I can't believe it! I mean, I can, but I'm so excited! We're going to be watching you finding love!"

"Mum—" Lily tried again, to no avail.

"I knew you'd be perfect for the show! I knew it! I'm so glad that Petunia submitted—" she stopped mid-sentence, briefly pausing her manic stupor. "Have you thanked your sister yet?"

Lily would rather die. "Mum, she submitted me as a joke—"

"Oh hush, you. You know your sister loves you. And look!" she squealed, ramping her energy right back up to unstoppable levels. "It worked! You're going to be the next Bachelorette of Britain! This is so incredible! We have to ring Petunia at once—"

"I'm not going to do it," Lily rushed out, wanting to cut her mother off before she gained too much steam. The result was so pitiful, however, that Lily regretted it instantly. It was like watching a balloon deflate in slow motion.

"You're not?" her mum asked quietly. "Why not?"

"Because!" Lily yelped like that should be enough of a reason, because truly, it sure felt like it should be. "Just because, mum, I can't be on a reality show—"

"Sure you can. Why not?"

Lily looked around the room as she floundered. "Well, I'm a teacher for one."

"Exactly, and they shoot over the summer holidays! You won't have to take a single day off!"

"But, I'm a teacher. What if one of my new students saw me on it?"

"Well, I'd sure hope 8 year olds aren't watching that—"

"But that's exactly my point! It isn't like I'll be modeling ideal behavior. I'll just be snogging a bunch of blokes around the world." Lily could have sworn her mother's eyes lit up at her words. Lily shook her head, definitely not liking where this was going. "No—"

"Lily! It will be an adventure! You could fall in love! You'll get to travel to all of these amazing places! What an incredible opportunity this is for you," she cooed.

Lily scoffed. "So you're saying I should just accept it for the free vacation?" She was really hoping her mum would laugh along with her… She didn't.

Joan grabbed Lily's hands and stepped right in front of her, looking into her eyes dead on. "I know you act tough sometimes, dear, but… I know you want to find love. And you deserve it. You more than deserve it."

Lily did not want to be having this particular conversation right now. She knew she should have cut her mother off after her second glass of wine. "Mum, please—"

"I'm your mother, Lily. You don't have to lie to me. It's natural to want to fall in love. It's what your father would have wanted for you."

Lily winced, trying to look away, but her mother squeezed her hands, drawing her back. Lily knew her mother loved looking at her eyes. They were, after all, her father's. She willed herself not to cry at the thought of him, at least not in front of her mother. "Of course I want to find love, mum," she whispered vulnerably. "I just don't think that I'll find it on a television show."

Joan let out a big sigh, ending their moment as she left for the pantry to find a broom and dustpan for the shattered glass on the floor. "Very well. But I hear they pay quite handsomely," she said over her shoulder.

Huh. Lily hadn't even considered that part. She quickly looked back at her phone, scrolling to the show's offer and gasping when she found the big, fat sum spelled out to her in simple, black text.

"What?" Joan poked her head back out from behind the pantry door.

Lily looked up from the email with eyes as large as saucers. "They're offering me ten years' worth of teaching salary."

Her mother gave her a devious little grin before disappearing once more. "Sounds like it's settled then."

Fuck. It kind of sounds like it is.

"You're lying, give that to me!" Petunia was taking the news of Lily's casting just about as well as she had predicted she would — aka, not well at all. Lily released her phone into her sister's greedy hands before she lost her patience and clawed it from her grip instead. "They can't actually have chosen you."

"Isn't it wonderful!" Joan chirped, sitting between her daughters the following weekend. Lily had been able to convince her that they should tell Petunia in person after Lily had made her decision. "I can't wait to tell all my friends!"

"Mum," Lily gave her mother a stern look, "not yet, remember?"

Joan patted Lily's knee, "Of course dear, the—" she leaned in and whispered proudly in a voice that was somehow more carrying than her normal tone, "—confidentiality papers! I haven't forgotten."

It was a good thing Lily was still not 100 percent convinced she should do the show, because with the way her mother was going, there was a very high chance that she could be booted before she ever even got to set.

Petunia's jaw fell wide open as she read Lily's correspondence with her new producer. "You're not actually going to do the show though… are you?" Her voice was a melodic mix of criticism and fear.

"Of course she is!" Joan cheered, picking up her tea. "She's off to London tomorrow to get fitted."

Lily rubbed her temples. "Mum…" Perhaps she really should stop telling her everything going forth.

"Fitted?" Petunia glared at Lily.

Oooh, she is so jealous, Lily realized. And why wouldn't she be? Lily was about to get an entirely new wardrobe and fly around the world. Without the whole aspect of pimping out her love life for millions to see, it was going to be a fairly sweet gig. Lily closed her eyes for a prolonged moment, willing herself to not focus on the bad. She had already taken a couple weeks to ponder things over and rationalized that the pros outweighed the cons. After this, she might finally be able to move a little closer to school, or at the very least buy a new car that didn't break down every winter on what was inevitably the coldest day of the year.

"Yep. Meeting with the show's stylist tomorrow, I guess they have to decide upon," Lily put up air quotes, "my look." Her mother positively beamed at her.

Petunia was oddly silent the rest of the afternoon, but Lily had a feeling that Vernon would be getting an earful that night.

"Lily?" a woman about her age with dirty blonde hair and grey eyes asked as soon as she stepped out of her chauffeured car at a studio in London. Lily had never been in such a fancy car before, but she really didn't think they needed to work that hard to impress her — the mere fact that the windows were automatic instead of rollup already did the trick.

"Yes," Lily responded, grinning nervously from ear to ear, "hi."

The girl put her at ease with a warm smile of her own as she held out her hand for Lily to shake. "Hi, I'm Petra. I'm your producer."

"Oh! Yes, we've been emailing."

As soon as Lily let go, Petra took out a clipboard she'd had stashed under her arm and flipped to the second page of a large packet as she talked. "Exactly. How was the ride?"

"Wonderful, thank you so much for sending it."

Petra struck Lily as the type of person who had a million things on her mind at all times. "Of course," she said without looking up. Petra turned on the spot and started walking inside an industrial looking building. "Come with me, please." Lily did so, taking in every last detail of the large open room they'd just walked into. "So first we have to meet with the stylist — he's not the most important meeting we have today, but he certainly thinks that he is, and he's a bit of a connoisseur, so we have to keep him happy. He says he only has a very small window to meet with you. Then, I'll introduce you to the show runners, they already love you, so no worries there, try not to be too intimidated—"

Oh god.

"—then we have your nutritionist and trainer introductions right before lunch—"

"Sorry, my what?"

Petra looked up from her clipboard as though remembering she was actually talking to someone else. "Pardon?"

"You said trainer. Like… a fitness trainer?"

Petra blinked at her blankly. "Yes?"

Lily self-consciously pushed away imaginary wrinkles on her skirt. "Oh."

Petra seemed to catch on to what was happening. "Oh! It's nothing personal! We all think you look gorgeous, naturally, we just do this with every lead. It's so you feel confident and look your best on camera. It really does add weight on screen."

Lily tilted her head, only slightly mollified. She definitely had heard that saying before. "Okay."

"Grand." Petra went back to rattling off the contents of her clipboard, with Lily only half following along in her own little overwhelmed world of terror. "Then we're going to go through your preferences. Obviously, we've already narrowed down the lot from ten thousand to our top one hundred, but we'd love your input for what you're into to go from there."

Lily nodded along dutifully. "Into for what?"

Petra shot her a little side-eye. "For men?" she said slowly.

Lily's eyes went wide. "Did you say ten thousand men?!"

"Yeah, that's around how many applicants we get each year." Petra laughed. "But don't let it go to your head." She winked. "None of them knew it was going to be you when they applied."

Lily chuckled good-naturedly. Right, because it's all a show.

Petra stopped walking and, Lily thought rather unexpectedly, put her hands on Lily's shoulders, turning her towards her. "Hey. It's all going to be all right. I got you. Making sure you're okay is literally my job."

Lily nodded awkwardly. The gesture seemed sweet, even if a little abrupt, but she supposed she'd never really been all that great at hiding her emotions. Her discomfort at the situation might as well have read like a blinking sign plastered across her forehead. "Thank you, Petra."

Petra smiled, seemingly proud of herself. "No problem. Now let's get to work."

Oh boy. This was going to be a long day.

Turned out long didn't cover half of it. Come 5 pm, Lily had been poked and prodded, measured and weighed, and talked with and at for hours on end. Her favorite part had been seeing all the fancy dresses and precious jewelry she'd get to wear for all the cocktail parties. Her least favorite part had been when the snooty designer had told her that they'd be putting her in clothes a size too small because they wanted her to be motivated to take her 'fitness journey' seriously. Lily had seriously considered sticking her boot up his arse, but Petra had given her a wink over his shoulder and it had oddly calmed her down. It turned out that production wanted her to look like 'your typical girl next door' whilst still being 'aspirational'. Real, but also drop-dead gorgeous. Attainable, but apparently only through the use of a team of specialists that would be catering to her every whim and need, you know, like your average woman. Lily had a feeling that their insane expectations were going to make her head explode before all of this was over.

Despite everything, it turned out that Lily actually rather liked Petra. Over lunch, Lily had learned that the girl had just gotten a promotion and that this was her first time producing the lead of the show. Lily supposed that the standoffish energy she had exuded in the morning had been a result of her own nerves and attempts to have everything go perfectly. Lily could sympathize with such a plight and was happy to have someone in her corner.

"So, I'm not supposed to tell you this," Petra said as she walked Lily down yet another hallway. "But…" Lily leaned in closer. She might not have known Petra for much time, but she'd already learnt that the girl loved a little drama in her life. "You're getting a celebrity suitor."

Lily's head jerked back. "Okay, but you mean like, he's already been on another reality show kind of thing, right?"

Petra cracked a wicked smile. "Oh no. Like a real celebrity, and he's proper fit too."

Sure, so Lily's interest was definitely piqued. "Who?"

Petra's smile stretched. "I can't tell you. But…" she looked up and down the hall, "… he may just be a footballer." Lily snorted, which was clearly not the reaction Petra had anticipated. "What?"

"A footballer?" Lily whispered back. "So you mean a playboy?"

Petra opened her mouth, but then thought better of it and merely shrugged her shoulders instead. "Possibly. But he'll definitely be some nice eye candy in the meantime. Footballers are always so sexy." Lily smiled. She couldn't really argue with her there. "But a little heads up: you have to keep him until at least week five."

Lily stopped, breaking their lock step. "What? I thought you said elimination picks were my choice?" They'd had a horrendously tedious meeting about how the show worked only a few hours before.

"I know, I know, but my hands are tied for this one. It's coming from the big man on top." Lily had met that 'big man' before lunch. She hadn't liked him. The show runner had cold, soulless eyes and barely any nose at all. "Apparently it's expected to be a huge ratings boost. Plus, it's part of the footballer's contract."

This guy already sounded like the biggest diva on the planet. "But what if he's a total douche? He'll make me look like an idiot for keeping him!"

Petra waved off her concern. "That's what the leads think every year, but the audience is pretty forgiving. They just think you don't see that side of him like they see on TV, or whatever. But trust me, you'll want to keep this one. The man is a snack."

Lily laughed. "So I take it you're single too?"

Petra shot her a wink. "No. But that doesn't mean I don't have eyes, Lily."

Lily smiled as Petra pulled open a door for her and ushered her inside. "Touché." Lily looked around the room and realized it had two chairs facing each other. "What's this? I thought we were done for the day?"

"Nope, just one more quick thing."

"Okay…" Lily replied skeptically. "What is it?"

"Your interview. Remember? We talked about it in your media training seminar?"

Fuck. Lily had totally zoned out for most of that meeting. It had been right after the other one. (And right before the other other one.) It turned out that Lily could focus for hours on end on things that she liked, but about point zero five seconds on things that she didn't. She suddenly felt an extreme surge of affection for some of her more difficult pupils. "Oh. Right."

"Just remember, Skeeter practically decides whether or not the audience likes the lead, so just play along and everything will be fine." Oh fuck. Uh oh. Petra nodded encouragingly, pushing Lily into one of the chairs despite her legs trying to lock up in protest. "Remember, nice big smile, answer whatever she asks…" she instructed, "and whatever you do, don't lose your cool."

Lily nodded, completely freaking out on the inside. "Right. Cool and calm." It wasn't like she was notoriously short-fused or anything.

Petra was totally on to her. "You don't remember anything from the training, do you?"

"Not a damn thing," Lily admitted all in one breath.

"Okay," Petra almost sounded a bit panicked herself, which most definitely didn't help Lily's nerves, "okay, here, let me give you a refresher really quickly—"

But it was too late, because a middle-aged woman with a bright lime handbag and long, acrylic red nails had just strut into the room, her tight, blonde ringlets swinging wildly. "Ah, you're already here. Wonderful." She plopped herself in the chair in front of Lily. "I'm Rita Skeeter… obviously." She lowered her narrow, angular glasses to the tip of her nose and pulled a notepad and neon green, feathered pen out of her bag. How she was about to write with those nails of hers, Lily had no idea, but she supposed that was currently the least of her concerns. "Let's get started, shall we?"

Lily gulped and looked at Petra for help, but her producer was already halfway out the door.

"Okay! That's all we have time for today! Lily has another interview right now that we have to get her off to!" Petra declared, Lily thought about twenty minutes too late, right when she was starting to daydream about just how much the ancient practice of hari-kari would actually hurt and whether or not it would be worth it in this very moment.

Skeeter, who had just begun to really ruffle Lily's feathers through her quick-fire barrage of intrusive questions, objected. Her upper lip was positively quivering with excitement over the sight of freshly drawn blood. "Oh, that can't be right." She looked down at her watch. "We still have another 40 minutes on the books."

"Sorry!" Petra declared, pulling Lily out of her seat and dragging her towards the door. "We double-booked her, massive oversight on our part!" She opened the door and called over her shoulder as she pushed Lily through it, "We'll see you again soon though, Rita! Thank you so very much!"

As the door clicked shut behind them, Lily exhaled the largest breath she hadn't even realized she'd been holding in. "Please, tell me we're not actually doing another interview," she moaned.

"No, Lily! I was saving your arse back there, holy crap!"

Lily winced at seeing Petra so agitated. She knew she didn't really owe her anything, but she didn't care to be such a colossal disappointment so soon in her Bachelorette career. "Sorry?"

"I know you said you didn't remember anything from your media training lesson, but, my goodness—"

"Hang on, how did you know the interview was going so poorly?" Lily asked. She knew she was drowning and about two seconds away from returning Skeeter's barely thinly-veiled barbs herself, but how would anyone who wasn't in the room know that?

Petra pointed to her ear as though it was obvious that the audio receiver had always been there. Right. Get used to constantly being recorded, Lils. "I've got your back, remember? As if I was going to let you go into an interview without backup."

Lily felt oddly grateful. "So… that bad, huh?"

Petra extended her arms out wide. "Are you serious? Lily," she said earnestly, "that was a train wreck. She's going to write a scathing article about how you are somehow both an obtuse commoner and an evil, manipulative genius who schemed her way into a role you didn't earn at the same time, mark my words."

As far as insults went, Lily didn't think that genius was the absolute worst, even if Lily had never felt further out of her element in her life. "Okay, but why would she say that? If anything I was just being stubborn about not letting her walk all over me. She kept bringing up that I was from Cokeworth like the fact that I don't come from money automatically makes me stupid."

"She'd say that, Lily," Petra answered clearly, leaving a little space between every word, "because you didn't kiss her arse. Everyone kisses her arse! It probably pissed her off that you didn't respect her position in Bachelor Nation and so now she'd love nothing more than to watch you burn."

Bachelor Nation? Lily would handle that statement later. Right now, she couldn't believe she'd made such a fierce enemy on practically her first day on the job. She thought everyone knew that respect was a two-way street — Rita couldn't blindly expect it when she acted like such an entitled brat in return. That's not how respect and common decency worked. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. Why would I kiss her arse? She just seemed like your average schoolyard bully masquerading as a dignified reporter to me."

Petra closed her eyes, finding the strength to talk to her. Lily recognized it as a move she often performed right before disciplining her class' biggest troublemakers and immediately felt ashamed. I can't be as bad as Calvin… "Lily, I'm only saying this because I like you, but there are rules in this franchise. I know you're new, and I know you didn't mean to start trouble—" she added hastily when Lily was about to interject, "— but you have to play the game here. Skeeter has her own little cult following, and what she says goes because she's their 'Queen' and the people who read her articles are her little 'Beetles.'" The way Petra laid out the facts made Lily think that she wasn't the first lead Rita had given hell to. (And she most certainly wouldn't be the last since Rita's rudeness was going completely unchecked.) It seemed as though the woman was a continuous thorn in the show's side. "She posts a bunch of pretentious opinion pieces and then throws in a few zingy, underhanded insults on the contestants, of how they're all losers, and how society is better than needing this sort of trash for entertainment. This makes her and her readers feel like they're better than them — sorry, you — and she gets away with it, because she's hiding behind the guise of 'telling it as it is,' as though she's the feminine reincarnation of Perez Hilton. The fans gobble it right up — even as they continue to watch our show. It makes the more squeamish fans believe they're smarter and more sophisticated than the average viewer even though they're all consuming the exact same media. They just feel like they're the enlightened ones in need of an escape from reality and everyone else is an undereducated plebeian who thinks that this," she made an upwards circle with her pointer finger, "is all normal. When, obviously, anyone with a single brain cell can tell that it's not. We run a reality television show — of course we know what we do isn't normal in real life. You're allowed to suspend your disbelief when watching our content and simply enjoy yourself." Petra rolled her eyes. "And liking The Bachelor doesn't mean you're some sexist guppy who thinks that all men should be allowed to date twenty-five women. People aren't that dumb."

Lily's face morphed in confusion. There was so much to unpack here, and she knew there was a bigger picture to focus on, but she was getting a little lost in the details. "Reincarnation of who?"

"Not the point!" Petra cried out, Lily thought rather reasonably. "The point is you pissed off a woman who could tank your whole image on the show before we even start filming!"

Truth be told, Lily thought she'd handled herself rather admirably considering the vitriol Skeeter had thrown her way. "She was asking about my sex life, Petra; no, she was demeaning it. As if that's a normal thing to dissect with someone the first time meeting them!"

"Lily, it's The Bachelorette, of course sex is going to be brought up! And of course Skeeter is going to try to shame you for it, even while she salivates over the Fantasy Suites—" Lily remembered this was the episode where the leads were finally 'allowed' to have sex with their top three contestants, as if that was the definitive point where they reached an acceptable threshold of intimacy, "—and she cheers as you undress your hotties on camera with the rest of us. It's the classic Bachelor conundrum: give the guys a free pass to sleep with all of their women if they so wish, but vilify the bachelorette for doing the exact same thing because she's supposed to hold herself to a higher standard and not succumb to such basic instincts as desire." Petra threw her hands up in the air, and Lily had to admit that she had a newfound respect for just how much thought her producer had given all of this. "But if you didn't sleep with any of them, Skeeter would probably just write an article about how you're a prude with intimacy issues that's not giving any of the guys a chance. You're never going to make these people happy, Lily. But," she paused and let out an almighty sigh, "you still have to play the game."

Lily turned scarlet. Okay. So she knew that, but it was still such a horrible experience to be sex positive and proud of who she was and her choices as a woman, and then be told she had to hold back her real thoughts while another woman sat across from her and sneered as she asked why anyone would debase themselves to be on a television show that glorified promiscuity and cheating. Lily had felt nothing but cornered, blindsided, and attacked for promoting ideals that she never even said she believed in in the first place — because she didn't. Rita had formed inaccurate opinions based off of her own jaded perspective and absolutely weaponized them against Lily. "Okay, but there's asking questions respectfully, and then there's just asking 'what in your life made you want to be such a slut in the public eye?'"

Petra smirked, despite herself. "Okay, she didn't say that—"

Lily held her ground. "It was implied."

"Fine. It was, but it doesn't matter," Petra reinforced. "What matters now is you have to write an apology letter to her—"

"No," Lily declared, already hating where this was going.

"—say that you were nervous to be in the presence of such a brilliant writer—"

"No."

"—and that you'll never say or do anything that she doesn't approve of again."

"I'm sure I will if she thinks as obtusely as that," Lily grumbled under her breath and hooking a thumb in Skeeter's general direction behind them.

"Lily—"

"No, Petra, I'm sorry. But I won't do it. She was awful, and it was so obvious that she was only trying to tear me down to feel better aboutherself. And what, I'm just supposed to sit there and take it because she's in a position of power and might bad-mouth me to her readers?"

Petra jutted her head forward. "Yeah. Yeah, that's exactly what you should do, because that's exactly what show business is. You take a beating and say, 'please' and 'thank you' for it all while showing off those pearly whites we're about to bleach even whiter."

Lily was going to ignore that little reminder that production had a whole slew of cosmetic 'spa treatments' lined up for her. "I can't. I'm sorry," Lily said, defiantly. "Sorry, but I always teach the kids in my class to be kind, but to stand up for themselves and never let the bullies wipe the floor with them. I can't give up on my principles before the show even starts. If she wants to talk shit about me, that's her prerogative and shows her character, but I won't grovel, and I sure as hell won't apologize for having boundaries."

Petra stared at Lily for a full five seconds until she saw that she was holding firm on this. "You're gonna make my job really hard this season, aren't you?"

Lily gave her a genuine smile as she threw her arm around the smaller girl's shoulders. "Nah, you told me all day you wanted a 'relatable woman,' didn't you? This is what we look like. Resilient and strong."

Petra snorted, shaking her head and pushing Lily's arm off. "Fine. I'll see if the show runner can smooth things over with Skeeter. I think they used to run in the same circles in university — but you owe me. Big time." It didn't surprise Lily in the slightest that the show runner and Skeeter were old buddies. They seemed like two birds of a feather.

Lily nodded. "Got it."

Frankly, Lily knew that her interview with Skeeter had been an unmitigated disaster, but luckily, she didn't have too much time to dwell on it over the next few months as every moment she wasn't at work she was now doing interviews, shooting promotional videos, or working her ass off — quite literally. She was afraid they were trying to get rid of the damn thing entirely through all her grueling workouts. Lily almost wanted them to bump up the filming schedule so that she could break up with her trainer, because surely they would be far too busy during filming to continue putting her through such rigorous workouts… right?

"What do you want me to do again?" she asked in the park close to her home a week before they were set to move into the Bachelor mansion. They'd been shooting her intro package all day, and Lily was running out of ways to, 'stare into the void and think about how nice it would be to find a husband.'

"Just walk towards the swings and remember how alone you are right now," Petra called back.

Lily snorted. "Got it." She tried not cracking a smile as she did what she was told. She could already imagine them overlaying this footage with her interview audio where she talked about her past failed relationships in vague, relatable terms. Or maybe they'd use a clip from her mother, who had been so enthusiastically interviewed the weekend before that Lily was nervous she was going to pass out. Lily cringed thinking about all the possible personal things she could have divulged on camera.

"That's great, Lily, more of that."

She cringed harder remembering she was still on camera herself.

Lily couldn't believe she was actually doing this.

London — 1 Day Before Filming

James couldn't believe he was actually doing this.

How had his life come to this? Where had it all gone wrong?

Taking his headshot for the show hadn't been out of the ordinary for him; he was naturally quite used to cameras considering his profession, even though the experience had been thoroughly demeaning. He could already imagine this 'Bachelorette' lighting it on fire — or ripping it to shreds, or whatever they did to portraits once they got rid of contestants — in a dramatic scene. It would be so embarrassing. Why did he have to debase himself to go back to playing the sport he loved? No, back to doing my bloody job?

Of course they'd wanted him to film a hometown package to be aired during the pilot as a way for the audience to get to know him, and Jonathon had encouraged him to be his more goofy self for it, but like hell James was going to give this crew of new people a look into his private life like that. James kept his personality close to the vest, just like he liked to keep all of his personal life private. He loved that his opponents on the field thought he was some cold, ruthless obstacle that they could never quite overcome. It was a sort of anonymity not afforded to him at boarding school growing up given everyone's constant proximity, but he'd loved having it ever since he went pro. He used this mystery like a weapon, wearing the unknown around him like a cloak of some kind — a cloak of anonymity if you will.

So he gave the crew some shots of him playing football, but drew a hard line in the sand when they asked if they could film him taking a shower afterwards. What the fuck kind of perverted show is this? he'd thought.

"James, nice to see you, man, how was your drive?" Colin, his producer, asked as he greeted him at the hotel. "Did you like the car I sent you?"

James had had a lot of ass-kissers in his life, but Colin might just take the cake. James didn't trust him for shit. "Yeah, it was great, thank you," he responded cordially.

Colin shifted his weight from foot to foot, clearly intimidated by him. "Sorry, man, but I'm gonna need to take your phone now."

Right. The big moment that James had been dreading since he'd actually sat down and read the contract Jonathon had sent him a dozen times since he'd signed it. This was the 'absolutely no outside contact or media of any form' clause. Aka the reason that James would be without his phone for the next seven weeks. "I left it with my manager," he responded honestly. As if any sane person would leave their device, with access to all their photos and contacts, in the hands of a producer they barely even knew. James had been burned far too many times to make such a rookie mistake.

"Come on, man," Colin said grimacing. "I really need—"

"I promise, it's not on me," James said, opening up his black jacket and showing off his inner pockets. "You can search me if you'd like."

Colin just smiled awkwardly. "Okay, well then, let me show you to your room."

James followed him and they had a very silent trip in the elevator.

James hardly got any sleep that night, and before he knew it, he was in a makeup chair, getting powder added to his nose and hands run through his hair. The last bit he was fairly used to — most hairdressers got a little carried away when they were finally allowed to touch his luscious locks.

"Everyone, please wait here," Colin said as he brought James to two other men, also dressed to the nines in suits. "I'm going to see what the hold up is with the limousine." James had to say, Colin had seemed like a ball of nerves all day, constantly on his walkie-talkie as he herded him from location to location.

"Allo," James said casually to the men who he assumed were the other two contestants Colin was producing.

"Hey," the shorter guy said, offering his hand to shake, "I'm Paul."

"James," he replied, turning to the other. He was scruffier, yet just as attractive as the first guy. James figured this was probably going to be a theme tonight. "And you're…?"

"Remus." His handshake was firm as hell and James tried not to wince. The guy didn't look like he did it on purpose, but was probably just a bit of a clumsy bloke who didn't know his own strength. "So you're the last of Colin's test subjects?" The corner of his mouth twitched as he spoke.

James smiled as he began uncapping his bottle of water. "You could say that."

"What's your grand entrance going to be, then?" Paul asked curiously.

"Grand entrance?" James questioned in turn.

Paul's face crumpled. "Really? They aren't having you do one?"

"What are you talking about?"

Remus chuckled to James' right. "Colin worked really hard to convince us that we each had to have this elaborate way to introduce ourselves to the Bachelorette, because otherwise she'd never remember us in a million years, and how can she fall in love with us if she doesn't even remember our name?" He still had a bit of a sly smirk on his face as he glanced at James.

Paul let his head fall back in frustration. "Exactly. So he tried to tell me I should come in doing a Chinese dragon dance or some shit. You know, just in case she couldn't figure out I was Asian otherwise."

James spat out his water, unprepared for Paul's level of dry humor this early on in the game. He had to admit, he already respected the hell out of him for it. He coughed and tried to recover. "That's— ahem, sorry— that's fucked up, mate."

Paul gave him a shrug. "Yeah, I know. The worst part is I'm not even Chinese." James was at a complete loss for words. He knew the show was bad, but this bad? "I was able to talk him down though. So now I'm just gonna give her a personalized stamp with her name in Korean." He fixed his cufflinks. "They get to highlight my race, and I get to keep some of my dignity. I guess it's as close to a win as I'm going to get on the first night."

James twitched unsurely, suddenly feeling woefully unprepared. He hadn't been told to arrange any sort of entrance— hell, he didn't even know this girl's name.

Paul gave him a weird look. "They're really not having you talk to her in Spanish or anything? You know, to show how diverse their castings are nowadays?"

James' eyebrows flew up his forehead. Sure, he was part Spanish thanks to his mother, but most people couldn't tell with a hundred percent certainty just by looking at him. Then it hit him: of course. "You guys know who I am, don't you?"

Remus scratched the back of his ear. "Yeah… sorry, mate." He swallowed tensely before giving Paul an admonishing glare that told James he was hoping they'd last longer than a minute before revealing themselves. "We just didn't want to make you uncomfortable, s'all."

While James appreciated the gesture, he at least felt a bit better knowing he still had it. "Thanks mate," he joked, clapping Remus on the shoulder, "but honestly, you're a terrible liar."

Paul started laughing as Remus blushed. "What gave me away?"

A server came out of nowhere and took James' empty water bottle and offered them each a glass of champagne instead which they happily accepted. "I dunno, you just seem like a good guy," James answered truthfully. He was glad. He really was worried he was going to be surrounded by a bunch of attention-seeking morons for the next few weeks until he was blissfully cut from this shitshow.

Remus gave him a shy smile. "Well, the way Colin describes it, 'I'm the sensitive type.' That's why they have me coming in and reading her my favorite poem."

They all shared a laugh as more and more groups of men lined up at the veranda of the hotel, waiting to be shuttled to the mansion. James got a bad feeling about a really snooty, platinum blond bloke who was huddled next to what looked like the Tweedledee and Tweedledum of brunette beefcakes. He had a pointed face and kept sneaking glances at James as though he was a prize to be won. James hoped to all things holy that they wouldn't be placed in the same limousine.

But since when had luck gone his way lately?

"There's the first one, in we go, in we go!" Colin declared as he ushered his three contestants forward towards the first vehicle, followed closely by the blond's group. "Remember James, you're the first one out, all right?"

"Oh, that's good for you," Paul whispered genuinely as they ducked in and scooted along the leather seats. "First one out is normally always one of the frontrunners." James got the feeling that Paul actually knew quite a bit about how this show worked. Perhaps he wouldn't be a bad person to stick around with.

The blond guy sat in the back of the car, with one bulky man on either side. If he hadn't been such a caricature of a strongman, James might have appreciated how he had seemingly already gotten two strangers strangely under his influence.

"Okay everyone! Champagne is in the ice bucket right there. The ride should be about half an hour. See you there! Good luck!" Then Colin slammed the door, thumped on the roof to signal the driver, and the car lurched forward. While James had felt comfortable before, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled now, and he was hyperaware that he'd been mic'd up just minutes before joining the group. They wouldn't already be filming now, would they? He didn't see any camera people, but he wouldn't put it past production to sneak a tiny GoPro somewhere in the ceiling of the car. His eyes darted there to check.

When his gaze came back down, he found blondie already had his sights set on him. "So, Potter," he drawled, clearly not even pretending like he hadn't recognized him from the get-go, "I guess you're the celebrity contestant this year."

What a gross way to think of oneself. "Yup." James hoped his unenthusiastic response would be enough to cut off the conversation from the way it was inevitably about to go.

Blondie pushed his hair back, even though not a single strand had fallen from its over-gelled, slicked-back fortress. "Then again, you could also say that I am a bit of a celebrity myself." He gave a self-satisfied grin to the man to his left. The man paid him little mind as he had just claimed a bottle of champagne for himself and seemed to be trying to chug it all in one go. Blondie looked back at James as though the misfire in eye contact had never happened. "But maybe not as well known to gentleman of a certain calibre like ourselves." James couldn't believe that this arse was actually trying to… what, win him over through classism? "My father runs Primark," the guy blurted out as though the five seconds in which James hadn't asked had spanned an eternity for him. "Of course only riffraff shops there, but hey: you can't account for lack of taste, only sell to it, am I right?"

To James' left, Remus stiffened in his seat. James had a strong suspicion that if he looked at the tag of his suit jacket, it would have 'PRIMARK' labeled across it in baby blue. His blood boiled at the blond's words. James didn't respond, but he felt his jaw twitch as he reached for a fresh bottle of champagne and refilled both Paul and Remus' glasses before topping off his own. If he wasn't playing football right now anyway, he might as well allow himself a few indulgences that he normally couldn't.

Blondie continued, either not sensing the tension that had filled the air, of blatantly ignoring it. "I hear you're a free agent this year."

James grit his teeth. He didn't know what would be worse, not acknowledging his football career, or acknowledging how royally fucked it currently was.

"That's a pity, because clearly you're good, you know, if you hadn't had that little mishap of getting caught." James wouldn't even dignify the man's insinuations with a comment. He knew the truth. "I'm Michael, by the way. I suggest we stick together through this whole spiel. We can help each other get farther and earn some good publicity for both of our careers."

James looked at Michael's soft proffered hand with disgust. "I'm good, thanks." Somehow clinking his glass with his two new friends' felt like a declaration of war, but truly, he really didn't give a fuck. One more arsehole hating his guts he could definitely live with. Hell, it was when the arseholes started liking him that he knew he should actually be worried.

The rest of the ride was a lot less boisterous than James had been expecting, but hey, at least this was on track to be one of the worst experiences of his life. Just survive it, James thought. It's only a few weeks, just get through it. You've gotten through worse.

By the time they pulled up to the freshly watered driveway of the Bachelor mansion, James couldn't wait to get out first. Though the windows were heavily tinted, he could see about twenty people milling about on one side of the driveway, walkie-talkies in hand, with a few camera people crossing over an invisible line, ready to capture the suitors as soon as they got out of the limousine. The lights overhead could rival those at his old stadium, the mansion looked impressive… and then there was a girl. She was standing all by herself in front of a small fountain, turned off undoubtably to get clean audio, but she was just standing there, looking nervous, and slightly cold, and… absolutely gorgeous. He was so distracted, he barely registered that one of his new friends was thumping him on the back, saying, "Break a leg."

"Okay, James, you're up," he heard Colin yell over a megaphone outside of the car from some unknown location, and before he knew it, the chauffeur was opening the door and he was ungracefully stepping out and re-buttoning his blazer and…

Holy shit. She was the most stunning woman he'd ever seen… and she was watching him in a sequined white dress whilst shooting him a cheeky little grin that was equal parts adorably shy and 'I'm about to bloody ruin your whole life, watch out.'

What the fuck.

Next Chapter: Night One