13. 13 #2
“Hi ladies, you alright?” she said, smiling and giving us all a small wave. There was a shyness to her I was immediately taken with. “I’m Olivia,” she said as she gave a round of hugs.
Then, as quickly as she appeared, she was gone, back out the door and reshooting her entrance before finally returning to settle in.
Olivia poured herself a drink and took her place on the couch when the door opened yet again.
They were really going full steam ahead with the arrivals.
I thought there might be more down time for production to do whatever it was they needed between contestants, but it seemed like they wanted us all in the villa and mingling as quickly as possible.
A shorter girl with enviable curves walked through the entryway. She would be the last of the girls, if my math and knowledge of how the show worked was correct.
“Hiya,” she said, her confident voice echoing off the floor’s marble. “I’m Jess!”
Introductions were made, and then the entire thing was shot again from a new angle. When Jess finished her takes, she took her place next to me on the couch, and we were all finally able, without interruption, to settle in.
“This is so exciting!” Chiara exclaimed, patting my knee enthusiastically.
“Cheers, ladies,” Jess said, lifting her glass in the air. “To a steamy summer of love!”
Raising my own glass, I looked around and took in the faces surrounding me.
They were the girls I was about to spend every waking hour with.
At least until someone went home or someone new came in.
Regardless, my heart squeezed, and I felt a bit lighter at the thought of making new friends over the summer.
The love the show promised was not something I was keen to pursue, but I knew then and there that at least I wouldn’t be alone in trying to figure everything out.
***
Sitting on the couch, surrounded by my new castmates and drinking champagne, something in my chest loosened.
I was here. I had been on camera for an hour so far, and I hadn’t completely self-destructed or done anything regrettable.
If the rest of my time in the villa was like this, maybe I would make it out in one piece.
Jess was sitting to my left and had been telling me she was from Manchester at the exact same time I realized my knowledge of English geography was nonexistent. All I could do was nod along whenever anyone referred to anywhere that was outside of London.
I was about to ask where exactly, on a map, Manchester was when the doors to the villa swung open.
My heart dropped for a split second, thinking it might be the boys. My mind flashed to Callum, and I wondered where he was at that exact moment.
Probably terrorizing some poor PA.
It wasn’t Callum, though, nor any other boy, but a statuesque woman in a sequined mini dress.
Gemma Row.
Gemma’s face was currently gracing the cover of almost every tabloid I’d passed in the market during my time in England. A model turned television presenter, she had been London’s favorite “It Girl” for the past year.
She was also the brand-new host of Bella Amore, having only just been announced a few weeks ago.
She walked toward us, her caramel hair softly flowing out around her, and I was struck by the realization that she might be the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen in real life. And I’d once worked a commercial shoot with Angelina Jolie.
The two cameramen, who had merely lingered in the doorway while shooting our entrances, followed Gemma all the way into the villa.
One trailed behind her while the other tracked along her left side.
I knew without a doubt as I watched it in real time that they would cut the footage into a showstopping entrance montage. It would kill on TV.
Gemma stopped at the top of the stairs leading down to the sitting room, popping her leg out and resting her hands on her hips.
The rest of the girls beside me were in equal states of awe, all stunned into silence.
“Hello ladies, you alright?” she said, her voice smooth and velvety.
We all nodded. No one was sure exactly what, if anything, to reply.
“Welcome to your first official day in the Bella Amore villa!”
That seemed to snap Chiara out of whatever spell we were all under, as she yelled out a “Woo hoo!” in reply and thrust her glass into the air. It did the trick to break the ice, and we all clinked glasses and shouted out our own cheers.
“Now, if you’ll follow me, there are some very excited gentlemen waiting to meet you just outside,” Gemma said, motioning us to follow her.
Here it was, the part I had been resolutely avoiding thinking about despite it being the whole point of the show.
Boys.
Dating.
Putting myself out there again.
My stomach sank at the thought of growing close to someone, of opening myself up to the possibility of connection.
I was over my ex; had mourned our relationship and the future we would never have.
But there were some hurts I couldn't erase, some wounds that left their mark long after the dust had settled. I wasn’t sure I could ever forget what had happened between us and the pain it caused.
But now I was in the unique position where my job stability depended directly on me doing the one thing I was loathe to do: dating. Not the slow, taking it easy and getting-to- know-each-other type of dating either, but the fast, lightning-bolt-of-energy kind the viewers at home wanted to see.
I would not be afforded the luxury of time to sort things out. I had to adapt, had to figure out a way to play the Bella Amore game without sacrificing the parts of me I was still piecing back together.
I refused to allow myself to get hurt again, that much I was certain of, but that didn’t mean I had to become a nun and never talk to a man again.
I would just focus on keeping it fun and light and surface level.
My storyline didn’t need to be the most romantic of the season; it just needed to be interesting enough to keep me here as long as possible.
Trying to get my head in the game, I stood up from the couch and looped my arm through Chiara’s.
“I hope at least one of them's a bit of me!” she said.
“A bit of what?” I asked, not sure if I had heard her correctly.
“A bit of me!” she repeated.
She must have seen the confusion on my face because she immediately burst into laughter and patted my arm.
“Oh babes, do they not say that in America? It means someone who’s my type,” she explained.
“Yes, of course,” I said, filing away the phrase to remember for later.
We followed Gemma down the hallway to the left of the sitting room, first passing a staircase, which I knew from watching the show led up to the large communal bedroom, and then continuing past a rounded door frame.
The actual door had been removed, likely to keep us contestants in constant line of sight on camera.
Peeking in, I was excited to find that this was the “glam room” the girls would get ready in every day.
Red neon heart signs hung on the walls, and the ceiling had massive studio lights affixed to it, covering the room’s real light fixtures and professionally lighting the space so it would look good on camera.
It was one of the places where the cast members spent most of their time, so it made sense they would light it like a studio.
Scenes in the dressing room were the ones I had most enjoyed during my binge watch, seeing the girls primping for the cocktail parties each night and then talking about what had happened after while getting ready for bed.
It was also where most of the crying happened, since it was a safe space for just the women to use.
I clocked the loveseat in the corner, ready and waiting for one of us to tearfully break down in it.