A/N: We finally get to meet the boys eleven chapters later! YAY!

The Thing About Mornings

The thing about mornings was, they ruined perfectly good dreams.

Soft, warm sunlight filtered through linen curtains, signaling the start of a beautiful new day. Delia had been dreaming the most wonderful dream, something about flowers and ferris wheels and Misa's smile whenever she said something particularly clever. Or, maybe she was just remembering the carnival they went to last night, cutting through the countryside underneath a sky full of stars to ride the tilt-a-whirl and eat cotton candy until they shut off all the lights. It was a magical experience, something that only happened in the movies, and yet it happened to Delia of all people.

Delia couldn't quite believe that it was real. Which was why she was so reluctant to open her eyes.

However, the smell of bacon was impossible to resist, drawing Delia's head out from the covers quicker than any alarm.

She took in her surroundings, not that there was much to take in of the small loft. The bed she slept on was no more than a mattress sat on the wooden floor. There were fairy lights strung across the ceiling and a few of those neon plastic stars as well. Potted plants sat in every available corner in various stages of life and death. There was no television, but there was a bookshelf crammed full of texts ranging from the history of Egyptian mummification to cheap romance novels. And, of course, a large desk sat in the corner piled high with case files, knick-knacks, and miscellaneous papers.

The clothes strewn all over the floor created a path to the kitchen where Misa stood in front of the stove in nothing but an oversized white button-down, obviously the source of the heavenly bacon scent.

"Mmmm, smells good."

At the sound of her voice, Misa turned around, her grin small but flirtatious as she plucked the bacon from the pan, put it on a plate with eggs and toast, and walked it over to Delia's side.

"Breakfast in bed? You shouldn't have."

"I have a, uh, friend. Bella. She taught me the basics to survive."

Delia mulled this over as she chewed her toast. "So, you globe trot, you teach, you cook...is there anything you can't do?"

"You make my life sound so glamorous."

Misa walked off and grabbed the clothes sitting across the back of her desk chair. She had no shame in getting ready right there in the middle of the room, pulling on a pair of hose and tucking her button-down into the body-hugging pencil skirt. On anyone else, the outfit would have looked like she was trying too hard to be the 'bad teacher' in a porno. Misa's confidence in knowing how good she looked was what pulled it off.

Delia swallowed.

"That's because it is. You know, you're basically like the female Indiana Jones."

"Please, Indiana Jones wishes he could be me," Misa scoffed, slipping on stilettos far too high to have any business walking through a university campus. She sauntered over to the edge of the bed and bent at the waist, giving Delia a good show before placing a kiss to her forehead. "Now, get up."

"I'm so comfy," Delia protested, snuggling deeper into the sheets, which should have been impossible seeing as though all Misa owned were thin hotel sheets and a ratty woven blanket.

Misa laughed, ruffling Delia's hair with one leather-glove-clad hand, sounding so close yet so far away. "But you have to wake up."

.o.O.o.

The thing about mornings was, they ruined perfectly good dreams.

Delia opened her eyes, expecting the eclectic London flat. All she got was her palace bedroom.

She closed her eyes, smothered a pillow to her face, and screamed.

"Wake up!" came an irritatingly familiar voice. Delia had not heard the intruder come in, but she knew if she lifted this pillow, she would see her Elodie's lovely face. And by lovely, Delia meant red-splotched and vicious. Because that was the only way any of her siblings looked at her these days.

The curtains were torn back, letting in an onslaught of brightness and heat. Delia recoiled from it.

"Ugh, what the fuck is that?"

"The sun," Elodie replied shortly. Great. Not even five minutes into Delia's day, and Elodie was already in a mood. She must not have had her coffee yet. "You were supposed to be up two hours ago for breakfast."

"Mmm, must have slipped my mind."

"The Selected ate breakfast with us...alone." Delia looked up to see that the dark circles underneath Elodie's eyes were especially pronounced, and that one eye was twitching. She crossed her thin arms from underneath her cream colored blazer. "Do you have any idea how mortifying that was?"

"It's just breakfast."

"There were cameras," Elodie hissed, unamused. "They came to tape you and your Selected, and instead got an hour's worth of the most stilted small talk I've ever experienced. I've already been through a Selection. I'm not going through yours for you."

"Stop being so fucking dramatic."

Elodie ripped off the covers, a chill taking over Delia. She immediately sat up to claw the blanket back, but Elodie was too fast, too used to dealing with this from her own child. The blankets were piled up in Elodie's death grip, her eyes promising murder if Delia did not get out of bed right this second.

"Tea is being served in the Men's Room in an hour. If you are not there with your hair and makeup done, I promise I will make your life a living hell."

"Yes, Mom."

For a moment, Elodie went so deathly still that Delia thought she had finally caused her sister to have an aneurysm.

"You know, I told Dad that you weren't ready for this kind of responsibility, that he was crazy for letting this Selection happen. I just didn't expect to be proven right so soon."

Elodie might as well have slapped her. Delia knew that her siblings were tired of her antics, that they didn't approve of a lot of her choices recently, but hearing it put such a blunt way hurt.

No more word were exchanged as Elodie exited the room, slamming the door shut behind her. For someone who liked to act so mature, Elodie sure was acting childish. Something had to have happened, something with that shitbag husband of hers. Delia hated Felix as much as everyone else, but hey, if Elodie didn't give a fuck about hurting her, then who was Delia to try to save Elodie? Let her suffer. It would serve her right.

Delia got up from bed as soon as Elodie was gone (well, maybe not as soon as Elodie left. Maybe she took a couple dozen minutes to scroll social media). It took every ounce of energy in her to make it to the bathroom, dread for what the day would bring weighing her down. Maybe Dad was right. Maybe he was crazy for letting Delia have a Selection. She was already resenting it, and she hadn't even met anyone yet.

She looked in the mirror and studied her reflection. Honestly, she wasn't much to look at, no beauty that could not be found on every other girl you passed on the street. She had long dark hair that held a curl if she forced it, hazel eyes that wavered between a muddied green and amber brown, and relatively clear skin dotted with the occasional freckle. Nothing extraordinary. Nothing special.

Delia hated her reflection. She hated it so much.

A pair of scissors sat in a cup by the sink. They called to her, made her fingers itch with the urge to destroy. Delia gave in. She grabbed them out of the cup, yanked a portion of her mud brown hair in front of her eyes and snipped. Long locks fell into the sink, coating the porcelain with the promise of clogging the drain should she try to flush away her mistake.

Delia looked up.

Bangs. She had given herself bangs. And not the cute kind, either. These were the kind of bangs that five-year-olds gave each other when the teachers weren't looking and they had yet to understand the permanence of cutting something off. The ends were jagged, longer on the sides than in the middle, and very uneven. The center pieces hiked as far as half way up her forehead.

It looked so bad she could cry.

Delia hated her reflection even more, but she didn't have time to fix anything now. She had twenty minutes until the hell Elodie promised would descend upon her shoulders. At least Elodie didn't say Delia had to have her hair and make up done well.

A few swipes of mascara and some chapstick later, Delia was bounding down the stairs in twos. By the time she got to the Men's Room door, she was out of breath and slightly sweaty. But she had made it there on time. Take that, Elodie!

Speaking of Elodie, she looked less than impressed with Delia's appearance. Delia swore her eyebrows actually shot off her forehead at the sight of the bangs. The rest of Delia must have been deemed acceptable: oversized off-white sweater, pale denim jeans without any kind of tears, and the cleanest pair of sneakers she owned. Nothing was exposed and there were no vulgar sayings or symbols, so Elodie was appeased. Except for the bangs. Elodie could not stop staring at the bangs.

"So, what now?" Delia asked, breaking the silence. She rocked back on her heels, looking at her sister expectantly.

"Now, you go in there and do interviews," Elodie said, returning her attention back to her tablet with noticeable effort. "And try not to make a fool of yourself."

"I thought you said this was tea?"

"Yes, tea and interviews," Elodie stressed, as if Delia was stupid. And okay, maybe she didn't read the Selection requirements like she promised Dad she had, but interviewing thirty-five random dudes like this was a job instead of a relationship was just plain weird. Who the hell came up with this stuff? "It's the first step of getting to know your Selected. It lets you know who you do and don't connect with."

"And if I don't connect with them?"

"Usually there is a round of eliminations after the interviews. I cut seven Selected after my interviews, but Dad didn't cut any if I remember correctly. Then again, he only had twenty Selected, so it was different."

"What if I don't connect with any of them?"

It was a legitimate fear, one she hated that she voiced aloud. Delia flinched at how small she sounded, how uncertain. It betrayed everything she was trying to make herself be. She didn't want to be some clingy, needy, emotional girl. She didn't want to be exhausting. She didn't want to be burden. She didn't -

"Purposefully sabotaging the Selection is not going to get you out of it," Elodie said harshly, jumping to the worst case scenario. She was always jumping to the worst case when it came to Delia. Everyone did. "Just...be anything but yourself. And try not to embarrass the whole family while you're at it."

Terrible, angry feelings churned in Delia's stomach at being dismissed so cruelly. Of course, Elodie didn't know she was being cruel, not that Delia would tell her anyway, or that Elodie would believe it. So, Delia was stuck with this loathing like poison running through her veins, eager to destroy.

Elodie thought she was embarrassing? Oh, she'd show Elodie embarrassing.

Delia pushed through the double doors like a woman on a mission, head held high and cocky. Thirty-five pairs of eyes were immediately on her, watching her as she sauntered through the room to the two large chairs set up perfectly for interviewing. The chairs were angled towards each other, a coffee table in front, and posed facing a nice view of the gardens out the bay window. So romantic.

She picked the chair closest to the window, foregoing any kind of propriety in favor of sitting with her legs crossed on the cushion. There was a cup of tea waiting for her, made specifically how she liked it. She picked it up without waiting for someone to join her, taking a large, loud slurp. The tea was scalding, burning her taste buds, but she refused to choke lest she ruin her charade. She could feel Elodie's eyes boring holes in the back of her skull. Perfect.

"So, who's first?"

Delia hoped the cameras captured her smirk.

The first unlucky bastard - Selected, sorry - was a jittering, nervous mess. He had unruly hair, tanned skin with just the right amount of dark beard kept close to the jawline, and an unhealthy love of plaids if his shirt was anything to go by. Still, with puppy dog eyes wide and eager to please, Delia almost had to second guess what she was about to do.

"And your name is?" she asked, extending a hand.

Plaid shirt guy looked like he might faint at the thought of touching her. But he still took her hand, shook it once, and Delia pretended she couldn't feel the tremble.

"Teo. Fernandez." He said his name like he forgot he had to provide both.

"You know, my sister is married to a guy with the last name Hernandez. How funny is that!"

Teo didn't know what to say. Delia saved him by waving her sister down.

"Hey Ells! If I marry this guy, we will have similar last names! Wouldn't you just looovveee that?"

Elodie shot Delia a look that said if she didn't shut up and take things seriously, Elodie would choke her with her tea.

"M-marry me?" Teo stuttered, and poor thing, he did choke on his tea.

"Well, let's not get ahead of ourselves just yet." Delia said sweetly, patting his knee. Teo looked like he was going to pass out. It was kind of funny that she could reduce a guy standing at six feet and broad with muscle to a puddle of nerves. "There's still all the competition to get through, and what kind of woman would I be if I didn't give everyone a fighting chance?" Delia pouted out her bottom lip. "But you don't want to hear about the competition, you're here to talk about us. So, tell me about yourself."

Delia tuned out a bunch of blather about how he spent his summer leading tours on some preserve, getting down and finding himself in nature. Honestly, it all sounded like hokey bullshit, but hey, if he found peace out in the trees with the mosquitos, then maybe it was worth a try. Maybe when this whole Selection thing was over, she would take a trip into the middle of some woods, light a blunt, get really high, and look up into the stars until this shitty universe made sense.

"Personally, I don't like nature," Delia said as they wrapped up their interview. She only had five minutes per guy, and Teo was way over his allotted time. Or maybe the torture of having to do this over and over again with thirty-five guys was making time drag on longer. "But thanks for the chat!"

Teo got up, dazed but not in the star-struck way this time, and went back over to the rest of the group. He picked a chair all his own near the window. So, he was a loner too? Interesting.

The next guy up was pretty attractive with dark skin and equally dark eyes. He was dressed more formally than Teo in a blazer, slacks, and dress shoes like this really was some kind of job interview. The way he sat in the chair, reclined with one leg resting comfortably on top of his knee, spoke of a confidence Delia envied. Right now she was faking her bravado. How did this total stranger feel so at ease right now?

His name was Dante Wallace-Chavaria, and if that wasn't a mouthful, his job certainly was. Or, that was, the job he could have had.

"You gave up medical school...for me?" Delia asked, her mind unable to process what she was hearing.

"I didn't give it up, just deferred." Dante shrugged his shoulders like that wasn't a big deal to put his dream on hold for her. Delia didn't like the way it made her feel, like the acid of all her bad intentions was crawling up her throat.

"I'm sorry, but that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," she snapped, unable to inject even a little bit of levity in her voice, because who the fuck did that? He didn't even know her!

Dante blinked, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. "Excuse me?"

"You'd put becoming a doctor on the back burner for some woman you've never met? Stupid. That medical school should rescind its offer."

Dante looked like he was trying hard to remain calm. Delia commended him on his restraint. He was doing a far better job then her.

"Where are you from?" she asked, trying to divert their attention to a topic a little less inflammatory. Dante played along well enough, but he was far more tense than he was when he first sat down.

"Carolina, but Dominica originally."

"Oh, so you know how to salsa dance and make those spicy mangos on a stick?"

Dante only frowned, deep lines furrowing into his forehead as he replied, deadpan, "I'm not that kind of Dominican."

"Pity. Could have been a fun date."

That's pretty much how Dante's interview ended before the five minutes were through. He got up and gave Delia a perfunctory nod of his head before rejoining the rest of the group.

The next guy to walk Delia's way was familiar in a way models in catalogues were familiar: vague but recognizable. He wore an expensive three-piece suit with matching cufflinks, pocket square, and pocket watch with a silver chain. Everything about him screamed money, and the bored expression on his face as he sat primly in the chair across from Delia screamed privilege. The only thing that was off about him was the fact that his hair was clearly died blond. Delia knew of zero New Asians with natural blond hair.

"I know you."

The words came out of their own accord, Delia's filter slipping. Instead of being alarmed, the guy across from her relaxed in his seat, looking at her like he expected this.

"Do you?"

"Yeah, you're that diplomat's kid. I've seen you in the tabloids."

Jaesung Kim, the name came back to her. Yeah, that was him. Granted, he was a lot more put together than she was used to seeing him: sweat-drenched and ruffled, high or drunk out of his mind and stumbling out of the newest club or bar. He was an even hotter mess than she was, and had been running the party scene longer. How funny it was to have him in her Selection. Was she being punked?

"What a coincidence. I've seen you there too," he replied smoothly, amused. She probably looked way more put together than he was used to seeing her as well. "Maybe we were meant to be."

Delia snorted and rolled her eyes. "Why are you here? You're popular, famous, and loaded. What could you possibly have to gain from dating me?"

"You're right. My life is pretty perfect." Jae flashed a winning smile, his perfectly white teeth on display for the cameras. "But why wouldn't I want the chance to win the heart of a beautiful princess?"

Was this guy high right now? Had he seen her bangs? Delia fought not to roll her eyes twice in a minute. "Wow, what a compliment. Just what every girl wants to hear."

"What do you want to hear, then?"

Delia thought about it. What did she want to hear? Definitely not some waxed on, bullshit poetics about how much of a pretty princess she was. The actual answer was one she didn't even try to vocalize. It wouldn't do her any good. So, she stayed quiet. But the longer she stayed quiet, the longer Jae looked at her like she was the most fascinating thing in the world. Delia didn't like it.

"Why are you staring at me?"

"I'm trying to figure you out," he said, cocking his head to the side in thought. Delia tried not squirm at the feeling that he was looking right through her. "Why is the beautiful princess so sad?"

"Why are you?" she fired back. It took one to know one, after all. She was the expert in blasé exteriors to hide broken interiors, and this guy? Well, he must have been pretty damn broken to put up a front this strong.

Jae, the smug bastard, only smiled. Delia could almost hear him humming a laugh under his breath.

Then the timer ran down to zero, and Jae was getting up and moving on, that barely-there laughter following him back to the group.

His assessment hit far too close to home. Delia's heart was beating erratically, adrenaline coursing through her system by the time the next guy sat down. She was so shaken that she didn't hear him approach. Which was probably the reason why she jumped when she saw his face...not the myriad of spots that decorated. Judging by way this guy's smile immediately fell from his face, he probably thought she was shallow and judgy. Which she could be. But not about something like someone's entire face.

She couldn't be mean to this guy. Not after that.

"Sorry, dude, I'm an asshole but not that big of an asshole," she apologized, taking a sip of her tea that was still hot enough to burn the lingering panic away.

"Nah, I get it," he said as he relaxed in the chair. Out of all the guys she had spoken to so far, he was dressed the most casual in a tee shirt and a pair of well-worn jeans, his sneakers covered in tiny scuff marks. He looked comfortable. Delia was slightly envious. He took a look around the room before looking back at her. "This must be stressful."

"You have no idea," Delia sighed, trying not to sound bitter and failing. "I wish I could just fast forward to the end and get this over with."

"The interviews?"

"The Selection."

The look on his face said it all - all the questions he wanted to ask, all the thoughts and endless possibilities swirling in his mind. It was the one thing that everyone wanted to know: why did you do this, Delia? Why choose to have a Selection? It was the one question she refused to answer, especially to some guy she did not know and had no real intention of ever getting to know.

"Don't," Delia warned, her voice taking on a gravel tone. She had already been pushed too close to the edge once. There was no telling what would happen if she got there again. "If I wanted help, I would ask for it."

"Who said anything about help?"

Fuck.

That was a poor choice of words. Way to go Delia, just dig yourself deeper in the hole!

Dark brown eyes started into hers, wide and empathetic. Delia looked away. She didn't want anyone to look at her like that, like she was something to be fixed. Like she was some charity case.

Instead of talking for their last thirty seconds, her companion took the time to scribble down their name and number on the back of a napkin. He passed the napkin to Delia, his friendly face going serious.

"If you ever want to talk, or something, you'll know where to find me."

With that, he got up and walked off. Delia stared down at the napkin, fighting the urge to crumple it. Yeah right, like she would be seeking out Andre Thompson any time soon.

Next up was another of the friendly sort. He had short brown hair and a wide open smile that cued sunshine and rainbows to pour from the sky. It almost hurt to look at how chipper this guy was. He perched at the edge of his seat, little anxious lines pulling around the corners of his smile. He must have gotten the casual message from Andre, dressed in jeans and a tee. Somehow, having multiple Selected so dressed down put Delia at ease for choosing her own outfit. Take that, Elodie!

With a face like that, Delia thought that he would be a talker - one of those guys that rambled on and on and on without end. So it was pretty awkward when no one spoke for two whole minutes. The guy stared at his hands, studying the ridges of his knuckles like he had never seen them before, and Delia stared at the clock, wondering how excruciatingly slow the three remaining minutes could pass by.

"So, that weather, huh?" she tried, hating herself just a little because the weather? Honestly?

"Yeah, it's, uh, nice."

Both of them flinched as conversation immediately died. Jesus, this guy was worse at small talk than she was, which was saying something.

"Perfect day for interviews."

"I wish it was raining." That...was a new one. Delia gave him a look that prompted an explanation. "It's just, all the sunshine and warmth, I'd rather be biking."

"Biking?" Delia asked, reassessing every assumption she had made about this guy. Try as she might, she couldn't picture him in leather. "Didn't take you to be the Harley Davidson type."

"No," he laughed, the tense lines of his shoulder relaxing as he slipped into more familiar territory. "Mountain biking."

Ah, that made sense.

"You and Teo over there should start a nature-lover's club." She jerked her head back toward the plaid-loving nature guide. Of course she would get stuck in a house full of crunchy guys.

And then, at the thought of bikes, she started to hum a song under her breath. I want to ride my bicycle, bicycle, bicycle...

His eyes widened significantly. "You know Queen?"

"My dad's obsessed with that old-school crap."

"Hey! Queen is not crap," Ezra fired back. By the look on his face, Delia might as well have insulted his mother.

"Cool your jets, Freddie Mercury," she said, holding out one hand to fend him off in case he went rabid in his haste to defend the dead singer's honor. "I was going to say that my dad owns a bunch of first edition albums. Maybe he'd let you take a look."

"Really?"

It was funny how fast a switch could flip, and instead of a mildly offended fanboy she was faced with a star-struck puppy.

"Maybe...if you ask very nicely," she said in a voice far more seductive than necessary. Then, she chanced a glance at the clock, and her smile turned into a simper. "Sorry Freddie, but your five minutes of fame are up."

The guy looked genuinely concerned as he said, "My name's not Freddie."

"Hmmm isn't it?"

'Freddie' didn't argue as he left hot seat. He merely accepted his name change in exchange for the promise of touching dusty old records. Were these boys defective?

The next guy walking - no, sauntering - her way was unique for sure. He had more colors sewn into the pattern of his suit than a rainbow. His hair was long and wavy, reaching just past his shoulders, and his eyes were a vibrant green. He carried a book in his ringed hand, opening it and returning where he left off as soon as he had draped himself over the chair. He was reading Antigone, his pink-painted nails tapping on the worn cover.

The whole thing was so odd, it took a moment for Delia to reel in her thoughts.

"What's with the suit?"

He gave a glance at the bright paisley, then shrugged. "I like my clothes to have life."

"Obviously," Delia huffed. She was going to go blind looking at the ensemble. He seemed unfazed by the question, but Delia couldn't help but poke the bear. "Bit of a bold choice, don't you think?"

Bright suit man looked up from his book, giving Delia all his attention. However, the look on his face told Delia that was the opposite of what she wanted. He looked like he was studying her, scrutinizing her every detail.

"What is all this about?" he asked, green eyes focused on her with all the hardness of emeralds. "I've seen you. You've poked and prodded at all of us. What's the point?"

"I'm just having a bit of fun."

"There's a stark difference between having fun and making a fool of yourself." Bright suit man passed his judgement briskly and without emotion. He snapped his book closed, stood up, and smoothed down the fabric of his shirt. The way he looked at Delia, not angry like Elodie nor scandalized like so many other people, was pure disappointment. Like he had found exactly what he knew he would but didn't like it. "I think we've had enough fun for one day, don't you?"

The interview was over with four minutes to go.

Delia, who usually had a plethora of witty comebacks, didn't know what to say. She just watched him walk through the Men's Room and out the door.

Everyone's eyes were on her now, including the camera which were still rolling.

The entire nation just saw Delia get rejected on live television.

Great.