One To Watch(91)

“I’ve spent a lot of time falling for people who weren’t really available,” she said carefully. “Which means, sad as it sounds, that a lot of my romantic life has taken place in my own imagination. Picturing what it would be like if we were together, extrapolating meaning from subtext, from things left unspoken. But then you go and tell me that you love me, and …”

“And what?”

“It’s like, all of a sudden, I’m confronted with what I’ve been missing. Like, do other people actually live this way? They just fall in love, and they tell each other, and they never have to be ashamed, or embarrassed, or certain the other person doesn’t feel the same? And then—if you’re in love with me, and if I could really fall in love with you, does that mean I have to learn how to need you? To depend on you? What happens when you disappear on me like everyone else always has?”

“There’s always the other option,” Sam said pointedly. “The one where I stick around.”

“And that doesn’t scare you?” Bea prodded.

Sam’s face changed. “Bea, no, not at all. Before, in my other relationships, it’s always been like, I knew there was a timeline for a natural endpoint, when we’d graduate college or leave a certain job or whatever. I needed to know there was a timeline so I could be comfortable. With you, it’s the opposite. I don’t want to think about a timeline for this ending, because I don’t want this to end.”

“But Sam, you’re only twenty-four! I don’t know, don’t you want to live in Japan for a year, or join the circus or whatever?”

“First of all, clowns are terrifying, and I’m already dealing with one fear right now, you know, high above the Earth, so I’ll thank you not to compound things.”

“Sorry, sorry.”

“But to answer your question—you make me feel like a whole different person. Not in a bad way. It’s like I’ve spent my entire life in a building, but just on one floor. And I’m like, Cool, I’ve got this ranch house, it’s got everything I need, I could live here forever. But then I meet you, and you show me this thing has an elevator, and we’re going all the way to the top. It turns out that I’ve been living in a skyscraper this whole time.”

“That makes your fear of heights pretty ironic,” Bea whispered.

“Haven’t you noticed?” He leaned in to kiss her. “When I’m with you, I’m not afraid.”

It was dark by the time they made it to their hotel, a beautifully converted eighteenth-century manor with a face of carved white stone. Bea and Sam’s last scheduled shot of the night would be of them entering their shared room, a lavish suite, no doubt. The cameras would leave them alone for eight uninterrupted hours as soon as they hung the Do Not Disturb sign on the door—or, since this was France, Ne pas déranger.

But before they got to that part, Bea had to officially invite Sam to spend the night together, and he had to accept. This part of the evening was basically a formality: On Main Squeeze, couples didn’t always have sex, but they always, always spent the night.

At least, that’s what Bea was telling herself to calm her nerves as she and Sam stood on the hotel’s grand front steps, bathed in artificial light.

“Sam, I had a great time with you today.”

“Me too—despite the persistent fear of death.”

“What can I say? I bring out the best in people.”

He laughed, and she held out a clunky brass key tied to a red ribbon. It wasn’t the actual key to any room in this hotel—it was the same symbolic prop that had been used for dozens of similar invitations throughout Main Squeeze history.

“Sam, I’ve loved getting to know you, and I think we’re ready to take the next step. Would you like to spend the night together?”

Sam opened his mouth, then closed it. “Actually, I’ve been thinking. I know that in the past, men have treated you like you weren’t worthy of a real relationship. And I know you’re concerned about me—as young as I am, whether I’m ready for a commitment. Bea, I want to prove to you that I’m taking this seriously. I’m not just here to have fun, I’m not feeding you some line so you’ll sleep with me. Let me show you that I’m ready for this, for us. Let’s wait.”

Bea’s stomach dropped, and her body felt suddenly cold. She understood his rationale—in Sam’s mind, he was showing her (and all of America) that he really was grown-up. She didn’t know how to tell him, here, with the cameras rolling, that no one watching this show would think he was declining to sleep with her out of some sense of chivalry. They’d simply think he didn’t want her.

Maybe he doesn’t, a voice in her head rang out.

Bea shook this off—of course he wanted her. Hadn’t he made that clear in the hammam? She assured herself that this decision wasn’t a matter of Bea’s insecurity, but Sam’s immaturity. He and Bea hadn’t had a single moment together off camera, and here, with the possibility of a whole night to get to know each other better—hell, just to be alone in a room together for the very first time—he was saying “no thanks” for the sake of an ill-thought gesture. Was this really a man who was ready for a serious relationship, let alone marriage?

She told him she understood, and he kissed her passionately, as if to erase her doubts, but something about it felt wrong, felt like performance. Before they parted ways, he hugged her one last time and whispered into her ear.