One To Watch (45 page)

“Hey,” she interrupted a junior producer, “do you know where Lauren is? I’d like to check in with her before the ceremony.”

The producer scrunched her face up. “She hasn’t been on her walkie, but she’s probably in edit bay? I know she was up cutting pretty late last night. They’re set up in Room 108.”

“Great, thank you!” Bea chirped, and headed down to the first floor. She knocked on the door of Room 108 a couple of times, but there was no response—maybe Lauren had fallen asleep? Bea felt guilty waking her, but after all the millions of times Lauren had invaded her privacy at all hours of the day and night, she decided it was justified. The hotel was a gorgeous old place that had no magnetic keycards, just regular, actual keys—which meant you could leave your door unlocked. So Bea gave the doorknob of Room 108 a try, and she found that it opened right up.

The big room was mostly dark and filled with scattered desks and tables covered in laptops and monitors. Lauren always brought a mobile editing unit so they could cut footage on the fly and upload it for the main edit bay back in L.A.—it was the only way they could cut the episodes quickly enough to be ready for air just days (or sometimes hours) after they finished filming. The room looked empty, but a crack of light was spilling out from the bathroom, whose door was ajar, and Bea heard voices.

She took a tentative step closer, but stopped short when she heard a moan—that was definitely sex, and it was definitely Lauren.
Wow,
Bea thought,
guess everyone’s getting lucky today.

Bea truly didn’t mean to spy, but as she turned to leave the room, she caught a glimpse of the bathroom mirror: Lauren was perched on the vanity, her legs wrapped around a man—his face was obscured, but Bea’s eyes went directly to the clearly visible tattoos running down his arms.

She took an involuntary step back—and slammed right into one of the editing tables.

“Shit!” she screeched, pain throbbing through her thigh.

“I
said
to give me twenty, who’s in here?” Lauren called.

Bea tried to scramble out of the room as quickly and quietly as possible, but she wasn’t fast enough—Lauren came out of the bathroom and flipped on the light.

Luc was right behind her.

“Oh fuck, Bea.” Lauren stepped toward her, still buttoning her shirt. Luc stood stock-still, looking dumbstruck.

Bea closed her eyes. “This isn’t happening. Even my luck can’t possibly be this bad.”

“Bea, I’m so sorry,” Lauren spluttered, “you can’t imagine—I’m absolutely humiliated right now.”

“Oh, I think I can imagine exactly how humiliated you feel,” Bea said coldly.

“Shit.” Lauren brought her hands to her temples. “Bea, you have to believe me, I never intended for you to find out about this—”

“And what?” Bea laughed, feeling crazy. “What, it was just totally fine for you to sleep with Luc behind my back as long as I didn’t know it? What the hell were you thinking?”

“Clearly, I wasn’t!” Lauren pleaded. “We were just talking one night, early in the season, before you were actually trying to date any of these guys, and I know it’s cliché—believe me, I know how ridiculous I sound right now. But we’d both been drinking, and, well, you know how Luc is. It just happened.”

Bea set her jaw. “It’s not early in the season now.”

“I know.” Lauren agreed. “I know I should have stopped this the second it started. It’s just—you do something once, and then twice, and then it gets easier and easier to justify going on with it. And with how mixed your feelings were for Luc, I never imagined he’d still be here this late in the game. I thought my thing with him would end when you sent him away.”

“Is that why you told me to send him home last week?” Bea demanded. “To make this easier for yourself?”

“Partly, maybe,” Lauren admitted. “But also because I know you’re looking for a committed relationship, and I obviously know that Luc can’t give that to you.”

Bea turned toward Luc for the first time in the conversation. It hurt just to look at him, to take in the mouth, the arms, the body that had been intertwined with hers only a few hours prior. His eyes were downcast now, his face clouded with guilt and shame.

“Is that what you thought too?” she asked. “That a relationship wasn’t possible for us?”

“
Non,
” Luc spoke softly. “For me, you are very special.”

“How special can I be if you’re sleeping with other people?” Bea asked bitterly.

“And you are not?” he countered. “You were with two other men just this week!”

Bea’s face burned—she couldn’t bring herself to tell him that, as a matter of fact, she wasn’t.

“Bea”—he took a step toward her—“you must believe that with us, it is different. With Lauren, with other women—”

“There are others?” Bea interjected.

Luc sighed. “For me, this was just fun, yes? Just a way to pass the time. But with you, the way we talk, the way I feel when I am with you … This makes me so happy, my Bea. Don’t you think we could be happy together, after all of this is done?”

“Does that happiness include you sleeping with other people?”

“For me, love is not possessive,” he said simply. “I would never ask this of you, and I hope you would not ask it of me.”

She looked at him, wondering how it was possible they’d never discussed this. Was she foolish to feel hurt? Did she even have a right to assume some modicum of monogamy while she was openly dating two other people?

“Bea,” Lauren broke in, “I need to say again how truly sorry I am.”

“I can’t,” Bea interrupted. “I’m sorry, I just—I need some time, okay?”

Bea willed her body into motion. She walked out of Room 108 and back into the hall, through the lobby, and to the elevator that would take her up to wardrobe. As she waited, she realized with bitter irony that her visit with Lauren had precisely its intended effect: Bea now knew without a doubt exactly who she was going to send home.

Three hours later, Bea was standing in the hotel’s lovely courtyard surrounded by marble fountains and intricate topiaries under an overcast sky, wearing a curve-hugging Brandon Maxwell black velvet wrap dress with a low neckline and a high slit, her hair in sleek Veronica Webb waves, lips painted vivid red:
Miss Scarlet in the conservatory with a knife
. Sam, Asher, and Luc were standing in front of her—Sam looking nervous but excited, Asher tight-lipped and tense as he always was at these ceremonies, Luc staring down at the ground.

“Before we get started,” Johnny said as the cameras started rolling, “Bea has something she’d like to say. Bea? The floor is yours.”

Bea nodded and stepped forward. She felt sick with nerves, the image of Luc and Lauren in the bathroom fresh in her mind, the feeling of Luc’s hands etched in her skin, the memory of Sam’s and Asher’s rejections stinging in her gut. She knew that if she was going to move forward with any of these men, it was time to say out loud what she wanted. Without that, none of them stood a chance.

“This was a really tough week,” she started, her voice quivering. “We had a lot of miscommunications, and though I know it wasn’t your intention, all three of you hurt me, and badly. And I know that’s partly on me, because I haven’t been totally clear with you about what I want. So. So I’m going to do that now.”

She took a deep breath and looked up at the men, all three of whom were staring at her intently.

“I want to fall in love,” Bea’s voice broke, “with someone who loves me. Who wants a committed relationship with only me. To figure out if we’re right for each other, and, hopefully, to build a life together. And if you don’t want that, too, well. Then I want you to tell me. And I want you to leave. Okay?”

The men nodded, everyone looking uneasy, and Johnny gave Bea the cue to begin the ceremony, in the order they had discussed.

“Sam?”

Sam exhaled and walked toward Bea, his expression more serious than she had ever seen it.

“Bea”—he took her hands in his—“I am so, so sorry that I hurt you this week. You know I didn’t mean to, but that’s on me for making a decision that affected both of us without talking to you to see what you wanted. I hope you can forgive me for that, and I hope you want a future together as much as I do.”

Relief mingled with the tension Bea was feeling as Sam leaned down and she pressed her lips against his cheek. She still wasn’t remotely sure whether he was ready for a serious relationship, but at every turn, he exceeded her expectations, and she was grateful they’d get to spend another week together.

“Okay, Bea,” Johnny prompted. “You can only bring one more man to the finale. Who’s it going to be?”

Bea knew who she wanted to bring—she just didn’t know if he was ready for this next step. She called Asher’s name, and he looked considerably less pleased than Sam as he approached her.

“I don’t know why you keep doubting this,” he said tensely. “I’m not sure what else I can do.”

“Asher, you have to understand,” Bea pressed, “this whole time, it’s been so hard for me to know what’s real. I just—I have to know that we’re on the same page, that this isn’t me wanting something you’re not ready to give.”

Bea knew Asher had a right to be frustrated, but the truth was that she was getting pretty aggravated herself. Sam had no problem expressing his devotion to Bea—hell, even his love for her—so why was it so damn difficult for Asher?

He exhaled heavily, like he was reading her thoughts—or maybe just her face.

“I know.” Asher smiled. “I know how hard it’s been for you. And I want you to know how excited I am for us to live our lives outside of this. No cameras. No pressure. Just us. Okay? That’s what I want.”

He leaned down so she could kiss his cheek, and she lingered near him, breathing in his assurances, hoping they would steel her for what was coming next.

“Luc, I’m sorry.” Johnny affected his most serious tone. “That concludes our ceremony. Please take a moment to say your goodbyes.”

Walking toward Bea, Luc looked, if possible, even more handsome than he had that first night of filming. He looked worn now, more tired, more sad. But he wasn’t a stranger anymore, Bea thought. She knew him, and he was much more beautiful for that. No matter what he’d done, it was going to be terrible to say goodbye.

“I know I let you down this week,” he murmured, “and for this, I cannot forgive myself. You must know that our night together was perfect; for me, this is one of the best nights of my life. I hope you believe it’s the truth?”

Bea’s throat felt too tight to speak—but she nodded. Luc took her in his arms and hugged her close; over his shoulder, she saw that Asher’s face was stony, and her nerves started churning again. Was he thinking of Vanessa? How angry was he to learn she’d spent the night with Luc?

“My Bea,” Luc said, brushing a loose curl away from her face. “I still believe you should have everything you want. I am only sorry I cannot be the one who gives this to you. We both know why I must be the one to go today. But I wish I did not have to.”

Bea smiled at him sadly. “It should honestly be illegal to be that charming.”

Luc laughed softly, his great, throaty laugh, and it hit Bea how much she was going to miss him.

“I have to say goodbye to you now,” she whispered.

“Don’t say goodbye,” Luc teased gently. “Say ‘
adieu
.’”

“Oh my God.” Bea laughed. “You are so fucking French.”

“
Mais, bien sûr
.” Luc grinned, and with that perfect familiar glint in his eye, he walked off and disappeared into the hotel.

Bea sighed—that was it, right? The hard part was done; it was time to wrap the ceremony and load the vans to drive to Paris for their final week of filming. But the cameras were still rolling, and everyone held their marks.

“What’s going on?” she asked. “Aren’t we finished?”

“Not quite,” Johnny said, and paused dramatically. “Because we have one more man we need to bring out.”

“What?” Bea blurted. “Who?”

Bea looked wildly around, but she didn’t see anyone—and Johnny was still talking.

“Bea, all of us at
Main Squeeze
admire how brave you’ve been in your search for love. We want you to find the right man to be with for the rest of your life, so even though it’s unorthodox, when we heard we might be depriving you of a serious option, we felt that bringing this man here was the right thing to do.”

Johnny gestured toward the hotel doorway, where Bea saw that a figure was approaching. It wasn’t anyone she recognized from the show—but there was something familiar about his height, his gait. As his features slid into focus, an unspeakable dread took hold of Bea.

It was Ray.

Bea’s insides seized up and contracted—she couldn’t breathe. There he was, walking toward her, the first time she’d seen him since they’d slept together nine months ago, a ghost, a bomb, the shrapnel of him still radiating pain throughout her body.

“Asher, Sam,” Johnny was saying, “I apologize for this unusual turn of events. This is Ray, a man from Bea’s past, and he believes he may belong in her present.”

Bea tried to read Asher’s and Sam’s expressions—Sam’s face was shocked, Asher’s frighteningly dark—but then Ray was in front of her, taking her hands.

“Hiya,” he said, and she could see that he was a mess too; his hands were shaking.

“What are you doing here?” She fought for breath.

“I was trying to get in touch with you for weeks, but none of my messages went through,” he explained. “I finally emailed the producers and told them I had to see you.”

“Even though you’re engaged?” Bea asked before she could stop herself—shit, she shouldn’t have said that on TV. But if Ray was here, then surely … She looked into his eyes for confirmation of the thing she’d wanted so much for so many months, the unspoken, fervent wish that had made her feel so disgustingly guilty.

“I broke off the engagement,” Ray confessed. “I moved out last week; I should have done that a long time ago. And I know—listen, I know how bad this timing is, it’s not how I would want to do this for you, for us. I wish we could have more time. But they told me you could be getting engaged next week, and I just—I couldn’t let that happen. I had to come and see you. So, here I am.”