Will’s hat must really be lucky, because barely five minutes have passed before a frazzled-looking guy in an apron emerges and jogs toward one of the vans. Will’s on his feet in a flash, and he manages to catch the kitchen door. Before I have time to make a conscious choice, I’m slipping inside behind him.
The kitchen is at least fifteen degrees warmer than the outside air, and it’s swarming with a chaotic mob of caterers opening bottles and plating appetizers. Will leads me behind a rolling rack of silver trays and pulls me back down into a crouch. “Can you see the door to the dining room?” he whispers.
I peek around the edge of the rack and see a server pushing through a set of double doors on the other side of the room. “I think so,” I whisper back. “But there are, like, twenty people between here and there. We can’t exactly make a run for it.”
The doors slam open, and a red-faced man storms in and starts shouting in Greek. I don’t understand a word he’s saying, but it’s obvious none of it is friendly. I grip Will’s arm and squeeze farther behind the rack. “That guy is going to eat us,” I whisper.
A slow smile spreads across Will’s face. “Don’t worry, everything’s fine.”
The voice is getting closer now, and a few feet from us a metal tray crashes to the floor so hard it must have been thrown. “Will, I really think we should go.”
He shakes his head. “No need. It’s time for Plan B.”
Before I can ask what Plan B is, Will grabs my shoulders, pulls me out from behind the rack, and presses me up against a refrigerator in full view of the entire catering staff. And then his arms are around me, and his mouth is on mine.
Will Divine is kissing me.
My brain’s first reaction is to panic—I’m so completely unprepared for this—but my body has other ideas. Before I’ve even processed what’s happening, I’m pulling him closer and kissing him back, just like I did in my dream last night. His hand slides up my spine and cradles the back of my neck, and I fear I might melt into a Claire-shaped puddle on the floor. His mouth is soft and urgent, teasing my lips apart, and he tastes like peppermint. Nerve endings I didn’t even know I had ignite like matches as my fingers slip under his hat and tangle in his hair. I never, ever want this to stop.
Not nearly enough time has passed before I hear the angry Greek voice again, and a pair of rough hands separates us. My mask has been knocked askew, but out of half an eyehole, I see Angry Catering Guy, flecks of spit flying from his mouth as he bellows at us in Greek. I look around frantically, unsure which way to run.
But Will seems totally calm, even as Angry Catering Guy grips him by the front of his T-shirt with fingers thick as salamis. “Miláte angliká?” Will asks innocently. It means “Do you speak English?”—it’s the one Greek phrase we got our cabdriver to teach us on the way from the airport to the beach. I have no idea how Will was able to remember it under pressure.
Angry Catering Guy looks confused for a second, and then his face turns the color of a boiled beet. “Stupid kid!” he sputters. “No! No kiss here! Out!”
He shoves us toward the dining room. Will grabs my arm, and we stumble across the kitchen, through the doors, and straight into the party.
“Yes!” Will whisper-screams. He pumps the air with his fist, then picks me up and spins me around. “That was brilliant! You were brilliant! Well played, Claire.”
I wasn’t playing, I want to say as he sets me back on my feet, and for a second, I worry that the kiss was just a ploy, not a romantic gesture. Maybe he would’ve kissed anyone with that same passionate intensity if it meant getting into the party. Then again, I’m not sure it’s possible to fake those kinds of feelings. Maybe he’d been wanting to kiss me since we started off on our walk, and he was just waiting for the perfect dramatic moment. The way he’s looking at me now, his eyes full of excitement and tenderness, makes me believe it was real.
I hope my mask covers enough of my face that he can’t see how flustered I am. “Good Plan B,” I say, still a little out of breath.
Will reaches out and unwinds a strand of my hair from the peacock plumes on my mask. “Sorry, I tangled you up a little.”
He certainly did. “That’s okay,” I breathe.
His lucky hat is slightly askew where I pushed my fingers under it. I think about fixing it for him, but I like being able to see the evidence of our kiss on his body, so I leave it as it is. A word pops into my head to describe how I feel as I gaze at him: smitten. It’s hardly my fault. Whole religions have been founded around divine beings smiting things.
Will smiles as he looks around the room. “This party looks even better from the inside, huh?”
I’ve been so focused on him that I haven’t even bothered to look around. But it is pretty amazing. There’s a live band in the corner, a guitarist and a drummer and a guy playing what might be a mandolin, all of them singing in warm, caramel-rich voices. There are about a billion candles on the bar and the small tables lining the edges of the room, and the orange glow makes everyone look young and beautiful. The smells of meat and fried cheese and alcohol waft through the air and vie for my attention.
Quietly, Will slips his hand into mine and holds it tightly. Before this moment, he’s only ever held my hand to quell a panic attack, but it feels natural to do it just for the sheer pleasure of pressing our palms together. It feels like something we do every day.
Someday, I hope it will be.
A waiter glides by, lithe as a shadow, and puts a glass of red wine into my hand like I’m just another guest. I don’t really like wine, but I hold on to the crystal goblet anyway—it makes me feel more sophisticated, more like I’m part of things. I know I’m an impostor here, among all these elegant Greek women and laughing men in expensive suits. But at this moment, with the candlelight dancing on my face and my fingers twined with Will’s, I feel like I could belong anywhere.
We return to the beach just in time to see the sky brighten into a mural of pastel colors over the ocean. As the rest of the teams begin to pack up their sleeping bags, I lean against the wooden gate next to Will and stare out at the waves, happier than I’ve ever been. Though I know it’s a cliché to watch the sun rise over the ocean with someone you’ve just kissed, that doesn’t make it any less romantic. I wish he’d kiss me again now, but I understand why he’d be more hesitant in front of the cameras and the other teams. So I press my shoulder against his, knowing I’m starting my day right where I should be, and wait for that first perfect sliver of sun to slip over the horizon and bathe us in gold.
But it doesn’t come. The sky is pretty light now, and I finally say, “So … where is it?”
“Where’s what?”
“The sun.”
Will stares at me. “Seriously? We’re facing west, genius.”
So much for romance. I try to think of a snappy comeback so he’ll think I was kidding, but before I can, a Greek man with a droopy mustache arrives along with two producers. I’m grateful for the distraction, and we move away from the gate so he can unlock it. When he pulls a stack of pink envelopes out of his back pocket, all twelve of us pour out onto the sand and surround him like puppies eager for our breakfast. Miranda’s standing near me, and I try to catch her eye, but she avoids my gaze like I’m not even here.
Well, fine. If that’s how today is going to be, I’ll ignore her right back. If she wants self-sufficient Claire, that’s what she’ll get. I turn my back to her as I rip open our instructions, just to make a point.
Before a Greek wedding, it is traditional for a bride to pull a teenage boy into her lap and bite a biscuit ring hanging around his neck. In this challenge, the male competitor must wear a pastry ring around his neck, and the female competitor must eat it off of him without using her hands. You must complete this challenge while riding double on a horse. Proceed five hundred meters north along the beach, where you will find your pastries and mounts.
For a second, I stand there considering the summer I was supposed to have, serving soy c
hai lattes to the yuppies of Braeburn. In my wildest, weirdest dreams, I could never have imagined that I’d end up on horseback on television, licking pastry crumbs off Will Divine. I so wish I could press pause and call Natalie.
“Do you think these bizarre wedding traditions are even real, or is the network just inventing stuff to make us look stupid?” Will asks as we head up the beach.
I automatically reach for my phone so I can look it up before I realize it’s in New York, not in my back pocket. “I miss the Internet,” I say.
“In any case, this is totally unfair. How come I don’t get any pastry? I’m starving.”
“They must know you’re watching your girlish figure,” I say, and he sticks out his tongue at me. It’s amazing how relaxed I feel right now—four days ago, I would have been dying of embarrassment at the thought of this challenge. Maybe I still would be if I were paired with someone else. But things are different with Will, who has welcomed my closeness even off camera. Now that he’s shown how much he genuinely likes me, this doesn’t seem scary at all.
Will and I choose a brown horse with a white star on its nose, and he stays with its handler while I retrieve our pastry ring. I’m not sure what to expect, but they turn out to look like necklaces sculpted from glazed pretzel dough. There’s some confusion as the producers distribute them—apparently, Tawny needs a special gluten-free ring—but I finally return to Will with the pastry. It’s still warm and dripping with honey, and it smells amazing. “So, I guess I should just … put this on you,” I say. “You might want to take your hat off.”
Will tucks the lucky hat into his pocket, then pokes at the dough to test its consistency. “Oh God, this is really sticky.”
I’m not sure what comes over me, but I suddenly want to see how far I can push things between us. “Maybe you should take your shirt off, too,” I say.
If Will is surprised by my boldness, he doesn’t show it. He just smiles and says, “You’re in charge,” then peels off his shirt and tosses it onto his pack. The other day at the pool, I was careful to look away before he caught me staring. But this time, I unabashedly drink in the sight of his bare torso, which glows in the early-morning sun. He’s so gorgeous I can barely stand it. I slip the ring over his head and settle it against his collarbones, letting my hands linger against his skin a little longer than necessary.
A couple other teams are already up on their horses, the girls behind the guys. Janine’s having no trouble taking bites out of Steve’s pastry necklace, since she’s eighty feet tall, but Zora is much shorter than Martin, and she can’t even reach his neck unless he leans way back in the saddle. They barely seem to be staying on their horse as their handler leads them down the beach at a slow walk. “I think I should go in front and face you,” I say.
“Ooh, smart. Are you okay riding backward?”
“I trust you to keep me from falling,” I say.
We explain to our handler what we want to do, and he helps us up into the double saddle. I can’t put my feet in the stirrups in this position, but Will grips my legs tightly with his and holds onto the pommel behind me, and once I put my hands on his waist to steady myself, I feel pretty secure. When the horse starts walking, rocking us gently back and forth, I can feel Will’s muscles shifting under my hands as he works to balance us. His face is very close to mine, and he stares right into my eyes—if I leaned forward a few inches, I could close the gap between us. I have to work very hard not to look at his mouth.
“Ready when you are,” he says.
I lean forward and take my first bite of the dough necklace. It’s soft and sweet, and it melts in my mouth like a croissant. When I lick a drop of honey off Will’s neck, he draws in his breath sharply, and I feel intoxicatingly powerful. I can tell how hard his heart is beating, and mine speeds up in response.
“No, God, Samir! See how Claire’s doing it?” I hear my sister’s voice say behind us. “Why don’t you ever listen to me?” She sounds like she’s on the verge of tossing him off their horse and into the ocean, and for a second I feel bad for her. But that doesn’t dampen my excitement that she’s just held me up as an example on camera for the first time. The pastry in my mouth suddenly tastes even more delicious.
I make the challenge last as long as I reasonably can, but when I see Miranda and Samir getting off their horse, I hurry up and take my last few bites. When I finish and smile up at Will, he’s looking at me with wonder in his eyes. “That was hot, Dominique,” he whispers. But until he says it, my brave, sexy alter ego hadn’t even crossed my mind. I haven’t needed her today—it’s always been plain old Claire up on this horse. And Will Divine still thinks I’m hot.
Our handler helps us down and hands us our next envelope, and I rip it open as Will pulls his shirt and hat back on.
Make your way by train to Corinth. At the station, choose one of the marked Around the World cars and drive yourself to Acrocorinth, where you will find the ruins of the Temple of Aphrodite. Here, you must snip a small lock of your hair as a sacrifice to the goddess of love and fertility, then make a private romantic wish.
There’s a new buzz of intimacy between Will and me now, and I wonder if our crew guys can feel the electricity zinging through the air as we crush into a cab and head toward the train station. I know I’m probably getting a little ahead of myself, but as we board the train to Corinth, I can’t help daydreaming about the future. Will has one more year at NYU, but Braeburn’s only four hours from the city, and we could easily visit each other on weekends. And during the week, we could Skype and email and text. If we wanted to, we could make it work. Will sits with his thigh pressed against mine, and every time he smiles at me, heat rushes through my body. If it weren’t for the cameras, I’m pretty sure we’d be all over each other right now, regardless of all the Greek strangers around us.
The ride to Corinth is so beautiful the scenery doesn’t even look real. There’s a steep drop-off alongside the tracks that leads right down to the ocean, which is the same bright blue as Will’s eyes, and if I squint I can see a smattering of islands shimmering in the distance. At the station, we buy a road map and choose one of the cars waiting for us in the parking lot. Will slips behind the wheel, and I climb in back to navigate, wishing I could sit beside him and hold his hand. Not all the street signs have English transliterations, so we get lost a few times, but we eventually find the turn-off to Acrocorinth and creep up the steep hill toward the massive citadel perched on top.
It’s a good thing we choose to leave our packs in the trunk, because even the climb from the parking area to the first gate is shockingly steep. We pass through two more huge gates, and then we’re inside, zigzagging up through the crumbling ruins. The sandy stone walls and turrets look like they’re growing straight out of the rocky hillside, and flowers have taken root between the stones, adding bright, startling flashes of red and yellow and purple. Will and I are too out of breath to talk as we climb, but after everything that’s happened last night and this morning, I still feel like we’re connected even when we’re silent. The sun is warm and the breeze is perfect, and for a while, it’s easy to forget about the cameras and imagine that we’re out hiking together just for fun. When Martin and Zora pass us on the way back to their car and give us a friendly wave, I wonder if they can sense how things have changed between us.
The view from the summit is totally worth the effort—miles and miles of ocean and city and distant mountains are spread out before us like a patchwork quilt. A single pillar of the ancient temple stands at the peak of the hill, and a producer in a pink shirt has set up a makeshift studio at its base. Miranda is sitting across from her, making her wish, and Samir is waiting off to the side, meticulously picking tiny pieces of lint off his shirt. “You want to go first or should I?” I ask Will when the two of them start heading back down, ignoring both us and each other.
“You can go,” he says, so I climb the slope and snip a small piece of my hair into the wooden bowl at the base of the pillar. Then
I sit down in the folding chair across from the producer, a woman with a million tiny dreads and lipstick so dark it’s almost black.
“Hi, Claire,” she says. “What I need from you is a wish that has to do with love or romance. It can be anything you want, but the more specific you are, the more exciting it’ll be for our viewers. For example, if there’s another racer you’re interested in, now would be a great time to mention it. Do you need a minute to think about it?”
“No,” I tell her. “I know what I want to say.”
“Great. The camera’s rolling, so go ahead whenever you’re ready.”
I look straight into the lens. “I wish that Will Divine and I can be a real couple once this race is over,” I say, loud and clear. “He’s the most amazing guy I’ve ever met, and he seems to like me, too. I want him to be my boyfriend.” It’s the first time I’ve voiced that thought out loud, and it feels terrifying and wonderful in equal measures.
The producer beams at me. “That’s perfect, Claire. You’re all set. Go ahead and send Will up.”
Will’s gone for a lot longer than I was. He and the producer seem to be having a heated discussion, but even when I edge closer, I can’t hear what they’re saying. Finally, the producer hands him a pink envelope, and he climbs back down. “What took you so long?” I ask.
“Oh, nothing. She just wasn’t happy with how I phrased my wish at first.”
He tears open our instructions, but I’m not quite ready to be done with this topic yet, even though I can see Tawny and Troy making their way up the hill. “What did you wish for?” I push, hoping it was about me.
He gives me a mysterious smile. “If I told you, it wouldn’t come true.”
For Real Page 18
