One To Watch

by Stayman-London, Kate

  “I don’t want to bring us down right away, but I do have some bad news I need to share.”

  “Yeah? What’s up?”

  “On our last date, at the hammam, I took off my clothes to impress you—”

  “Oh, is that what happened?”

  “Yeah, and it worked too.” Sam grinned.

  “Okay,” Bea teased, “confidence, I like that. So what’s the bad news?”

  “Well”—Sam affected a hushed, serious tone—“this is a place of learning. For children. So I think it behooves us both to keep our clothes on.”

  “Maybe we should just go back to Morocco.” Bea leaned close to him.

  “I think that’s a really good idea,” he whispered, then pulled her in for a kiss. “We just gotta do something first.”

  “Oh?” Bea raised an eyebrow, and Sam took her hand and led her through mural-covered hallways toward the school gym. She expected he might introduce her to the basketball team, but when he opened the door, she saw the room was absolutely packed with people—dozens of adults and kids sitting in rows of folding chairs with a long aisle spaced out in the middle—and they all started clapping and shouting as Bea and Sam walked in.

  “You guys doing all right?” Sam shouted, to general assent.

  “Sam, what is this?” Bea asked as he escorted her to a seat in the front row.

  Sam stood in front of the audience, and spoke into a handheld microphone. “Bea, when I told the girls on the basketball team I coach that you were coming to visit, and suggested that maybe we could do something special to welcome you, they said, ‘Coach Sam, tell us about Bea. Who is she? What does she like?’”

  The whole audience turned toward Bea as if to divine this information by looking at her, but Sam kept going.

  “And I told them, ‘Bea is a very beautiful, very funny, very smart lady. And she loves fashion—she writes about fashion for her job.’ The kids loved that. So they wanted to know if they could welcome you to our town with their very own fashion show.”

  On cue, the lights changed in the gym, Lizzo started blaring over the gym’s loudspeakers, and the aisle between the rows of chairs turned into a makeshift catwalk.

  “Oh my God!” Bea cheered and applauded as each little girl strutted her stuff down the aisle, all while Sam served as emcee.

  “Keria is wearing a hand-draped outfit, that’s her nod to traditional Grecian dresswear,” he explained as a little girl with a very fierce attitude worked her bedsheet creation.

  “Keria, that looks excellent,” Bea shouted, and Keria tossed her hair and spun in a perfectly timed pivot when she hit the end of the runway.

  “Sam, where did you learn about Grecian draping?” Bea called to him.

  “I read about it on a very informative blog,” he answered, and Bea flushed with pride.

  When the show was over, the kids and their families all crowded around for pizza and juice, and Sam introduced Bea to his many adoring former students and colleagues.

  “It’s a good thing Sam found some ten-year-old girls to play ball with, because he cannot hold his own on the court,” one middle-aged teacher ribbed.

  “Easy now, I’ve got some game,” Sam retorted.

  “Oh yeah? What do you think, Bea? Does Sam have game?” The teacher winked in Bea’s direction, and she turned to Sam and grinned.

  “I don’t know, Sam. Maybe you should show me this supposed game of yours.”

  “You want to see my game?” Sam called out. “What do you guys think, should I show Bea I’ve got some game?”

  The crowd cheered, and Bea thought he was going to go off and find a basketball, but she was absolutely shocked when he took her in his arms and kissed her instead. It wasn’t a quick peck either—it was a long, sexy kiss while he dipped Bea backward like they were old-time Hollywood stars and this was the grand finale. The crowd whooped and whistled, and Bea could feel herself blushing bright red, but she also reveled in the moment, how good it felt to kiss Sam.

  “So, what do you think?” he asked softly as he lifted her to her feet.

  “I concede it.” Bea kissed him again, gently. “You’ve got game.”

  That night, Bea was meeting Sam’s family for dinner at their home in Short Hills. Though just twenty minutes away, the wealthy town was a far cry from the crowded, vibrant streets of downtown Newark. These avenues were wide and tree-lined, and the colossal houses were set so far back that Bea could barely make them out in the lingering daylight.

  “Holy shit,” Bea gasped as they went through the gate and up the long driveway of Sam’s family’s house—it was a gorgeous whitewashed brick colonial with dark shutters and a copper roof that had faded to a deep, rich patina.

  “You’re judging me a little less for crashing with my parents now, aren’t you?” Sam laughed as he met Bea on the porch.

  Walking into the lavish home filled with sculpted ceilings, wood-paneled walls, generously proportioned furniture, and a staggering art collection, Bea was thankful she’d changed her clothes for dinner. Jeans were fine for a tour of an elementary school, but now Sam was wearing trim charcoal slacks and a dark silk sweater, and Bea was glad to look equally presentable in wide-cut raspberry pink Prabal Gurung trousers paired with a crisp red shirt.

  “You look like Valentine’s Day.” Sam kissed Bea on the cheek.

  “Does that mean you’re going to be mine?” Bea teased.

  “I hope so.” Sam was all bravado as usual, but Bea couldn’t help but notice how full of anxious energy he seemed as he led her into the formal dining room, where his family was waiting.

  Sam introduced Bea to his father, Steve, a vice president of a big Wall Street brokerage firm, and his mother, Claudette, who was the chief cardiac surgeon at Mountainside Hospital. His sisters, Zoe and Jessica, had joined as well. They were an imposing group: razor-sharp, impeccably dressed, each more accomplished than the next. Bea understood how living with these people could give you an inferiority complex—she felt a sudden rush of appreciation for her own family and their simple, unyielding support for one another.

  Steve and Claudette employed a cook, who’d prepared a gorgeous spread of salmon roasted with oranges, asparagus, and scalloped potatoes. They ate at an antique Queen Anne table and drank Sancerre from balloon glasses made of crystal. Bea enjoyed it all as much as she possibly could while praying, quite fervently, that she wouldn’t spill.

  “So, Bea, where were you at school?” Steve asked as he helped himself to another glass of wine.

  “UCLA,” Bea answered. “I studied art history there and at the Sorbonne my junior year—Paris is still my favorite city.”

  “You go back often?” Jessica asked.

  “I do, for work.”

  “Bea writes about fashion,” Sam said proudly.

  “Really?” Claudette looked mildly impressed. “For one of the magazines?”

  “No, I have my own site.”

  “Very entrepreneurial of you,” Steve commended her. “You’ll have to lend Sam some of your industrious spirit.”

  “Dad,” Sam objected, but Steve rolled on.

  “Tell us, Bea, if you hadn’t made a career for yourself, do you think your parents would have supported you indefinitely? When do you think it’s right to shove a chick out of the nest?”

  Bea looked to Sam for guidance, but his eyes were downcast, his expression stony.

  “Come on, Dad,” Zoe cajoled her father. “Let’s have a nice dinner, okay?”

  “I just have some skepticism—as does your mother—about what’s actually happening here. Bea seems like a competent woman with a thriving career, whereas our son has been unemployed for the better part of a year, has turned down the various positions and internships I’ve procured for him—”

  “Because I don’t want to work on Wall Street.” Sam scowled.

  “And his best idea for his future is to go on reality television.”

  “I’m so thankful he did,” Bea interrupted, unable to stay silent any l
onger.

  “Oh?” Steve asked, an edge to his voice. “Enlighten us.”

  “Well …” Bea looked to Sam, but his face was inscrutable. “I don’t know how much of the show you’ve watched, but it hasn’t been the easiest experience. Some of the men I’ve met were really cruel to me.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Claudette said sincerely.

  “There were times when it got so bad, I even thought about quitting. But right from our first date, Sam has been such a source of joy and compassion. Obviously he’s incredibly smart, but he never rubs your nose in it. He always finds a way to make me laugh, no matter how awful I’m feeling. He’s been patient, and caring, and never rushes me when I need to take things slowly—which is kind of an alarmingly rare trait in men.”

  “And it doesn’t bother you that he’s unemployed, living at home?” Steve prodded. “If you two get engaged at the end of this ridiculous exercise, you’re planning to support him financially?”

  “I mean, I don’t know how happy he’d be if we had to make things work on my salary.” Bea laughed. “But I have faith in him. He’d figure it out. We both would.”

  Sam looked over at her with a pained, hard-to-read expression, and she reached under the table to squeeze his hand. The rest of the meal was polite, but reserved—and Sam barely said a word, leaving Bea to wonder if perhaps she’d done something horribly wrong by sticking her nose in the middle of a family squabble.

  At the end of the evening, Sam walked Bea outside to where the production van was waiting to drive her back to New York—they’d shoot the kiss-off ceremony there tomorrow.

  “Bea,” Sam said, taking her hands, “I need to say something to you.”

  Suddenly, Bea’s heart was thumping—was everything okay?

  “I don’t know if you really meant everything you said to my dad in there, or if you were just trying to stick up for me, but either way, it meant a lot.”

  Bea looked up to meet his gaze—he seemed shifty, nervous, so unlike himself.

  “And I know that some of these other guys you’ve got here, they can offer you a lot more than I can. They’ve got careers, got their lives together. And as you saw today, I really don’t.”

  “Sam,” Bea broke in, but he put a hand on her shoulder to stop her.

  “I’ve liked you from the beginning,” he said. “I’ve never met anyone who could be so tough and so sweet at the same time. You never let anyone tell you what to think—not the idiots we met on the show, not the producers, not even my dad. And tonight, watching you stand up to him, all I could think was, Sam, you idiot. You’re in love with this girl. And you have to tell her.”

  Bea’s breath caught in her throat. “What?”

  “I’m in love with you, Bea.” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “I love you.”

  An amazed grin crept across Bea’s face. Her first impulse was to doubt Sam, to tell him he didn’t know what he was feeling, that it couldn’t possibly be love. But as they kissed and held each other, Bea had another, more powerful—and, frankly, much more terrifying—thought: What if this was working?

  What if this was real?

  @Reali-Tea Okay team, we ready for a kiss-off ceremony?? Bea looks HAWT in that bronze dress, here’s hoping whoever she sends home this week doesn’t turn into a raging monster.

  @Reali-Tea This is the most difficult ceremony yet, blah blah blah, all these men mean so much to her, WHO CARES BEA, GET TO THE GOOD STUFF!

  @Reali-Tea Here we go! First name called is Asher, obvi. Ugh those two are so sweet together, and how much did you love Bea with his KIDS???

  @Reali-Tea Next is Sam, no surprises there—hard to get sent home after you drop the L-bomb. Awww, he looks *so* happy, nicely done!

  @Reali-Tea Meep, that just leaves Luc and Wyatt! HMMM. Who will it be????

  Bea stood in her artfully draped Maria Cornejo gown, which she’d selected as a nod to Keria’s creation from the day before, wearing this week’s shade of lipstick (Ain’t Life Peachy?), looking from Luc to Wyatt, Wyatt to Luc.

  She had no fucking idea what to do.

  This was the first kiss-off ceremony she’d gone into without a clear plan, which Lauren hadn’t liked at all.

  “Bea, I need to know where to point the cameras before you make your decision,” Lauren explained for what felt like the billionth time.

  “I don’t know what to say.” Bea threw up her hands in frustration. “You’re telling me we’re an hour behind schedule, and I’m telling you I don’t know yet.”

  Lauren pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers and closed her eyes.

  “Keeping Wyatt is the smart play,” she said. “You’ve said it from night one, and your conversation in Oklahoma confirmed it. He’s the one you can be sure will stand by your side at the end. No fuss, no drama.”

  “And you don’t think it would be the same old problem?” Bea pressed. “People disbelieving our relationship, saying I look miserable?”

  “Bea, when you’re with Wyatt, you don’t look miserable. You look totally at ease, like you’ve finally found a man who lets you be yourself. Trust me, with the big swelling music and the gorgeous light at sunset, you two are the picture of fairy-tale romance—exactly the kind of couple I’ve been selling to the public for years.”

  “I guess that’s the whole point of fairy tales.” Bea’s tone was sour. “They aren’t real.”

  Lauren approached Bea and put a hand on her arm, eyes full of concern. “I know that you’ve come to believe you can find love on this show, and I hope it works out for you, I really do. But you and I are the only two people who know just how fragile these relationships are, and if they fall apart in the next two weeks? I don’t want to film a season finale where you end up alone. I don’t want that for the show, and I don’t want it for you.”

  Bea nodded—she knew that Lauren was right, that it would be insane to cast aside her picture-perfect safety net. But she couldn’t say goodbye to Sam, not after he’d told her he loved her, and ending things with Asher was a complete non-starter. Which meant she had to choose between Luc and Wyatt—both of whom were staring at her now with apprehension, and she was still no closer to making her choice than she’d been with Lauren half an hour before.

  “Bea?” Johnny urged. “Bea, we’re going to need a decision.”

  Looking at Luc, his anxiety plainly evident on a face that was usually so self-assured, Bea honestly couldn’t tell whether he was nervous about leaving the show or losing her—and since the two outcomes were hopelessly intertwined, there was no easy way to parse them.

  Wyatt, by comparison, looked calm and steady, same as always. Usually, just looking at him helped Bea feel more calm too—but not tonight. Tonight, her insides roiled, and absolutely nothing could make them stop.

  “Bea?” Johnny tried again.

  Everyone was looking at her—the crew was getting restless. She just had to choose. Lauren raised her eyebrows expectantly: You know what to do.

  She did. She knew the right thing to do. The only thing left was to do it.

  “Wyatt,” Bea said out loud, then closed her eyes. She couldn’t look at Wyatt coming toward her. Couldn’t possibly look past him to find out how badly she’d hurt Luc.

  “Hey.” Wyatt was there, taking her hand, smiling down at her in his warm, reassuring way.

  “Wyatt.” Bea’s voice sounded hollow. “Will you stay another week?”

  “Of course.” He beamed, leaning down so she could kiss his cheek. That was it, decision made. All that remained was to say goodbye to Luc.

  Luc.

  She looked past Wyatt’s shoulder, and there he was. He looked shocked. He looked wrecked.

  Wyatt took her hand and squeezed it, gave her a jolt of encouragement.

  “It’s okay, Bea,” he said, his voice low. “We’ll keep each other safe.”

  Was this safe? Was safety sending away a man for whom she had real feelings, choosing a façade instead? Was standing
next to Wyatt and pretending to love him the safe choice, or was she just proving Jefferson right—selling a lie, telling every person who admired her that she still, after all of this, didn’t actually believe that she was capable of finding real love?

  She looked over at Luc again—she had to. She had to walk him out to say goodbye.

  “My Bea.” He looked devastated. “I do not know what to say.”

  “Luc, I …” Bea shook her head; she felt numb. Wyatt had taken his place with Sam and Asher. No. This was wrong.

  “I’m sorry, wait,” she said, but no one seemed to hear her—there was too much happening. She raised her voice. “Can everyone please wait just one second?”

  All the buzz and activity in the room stopped instantly—it was pin-drop silent now.

  “Wyatt, I—I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Can we talk for a minute?”

  Wyatt looked totally bewildered—even if he didn’t have feelings for her, the viewers at home wouldn’t know that. Bea absolutely hated herself for humiliating him like this.

  As he walked back toward her, she inhaled deeply. She couldn’t break down while she did this—it wouldn’t be fair.

  “Bea, what’s going on?”

  “Just now,” she began, “when you said to me that you would keep me safe. It was a perfect thing to say, because that’s how you’ve made me feel this whole time, you know? I could always count on you to listen to me, to comfort me. And you helped me come out of my shell, Wyatt. In Ohio, especially—you helped me see how different the men here were than the men in my past, and that I had a chance here to actually be happy. But only if I was willing to risk getting hurt.

  “So now I think—I think I have to take your advice. Even if what I really want is to make this safe choice of spending more time with you, of knowing how easy it would be, because we’ve become such close friends. And maybe this is selfish of me, but Wyatt, I really hope we can stay friends, even if this is the end of our road on this show.”

  “Bea,” Wyatt broke in, “I can’t let you do this.”

  “What?” Bea was shocked. “What do you mean?”

  “I can’t let you come off like you’re the villain here, when the truth is that I—no.” He shook his head. “You’re being brave, and I need to be brave too.”