16. 16
The cocktail party felt like two nights crammed into one and was filled to the brim with small talk and sore feet.
I spoke to each of the guys one by one, repeating the same questions over and over. “Where are you from?” and “How many siblings do you have?” came out of my mouth more times than I’d thought possible. The whole thing was like speed dating on steroids.
In a shocking twist that came as a surprise I’m sure to only myself and no one else in the villa, I was actually beginning to have something close a good time. I might even dare to say I was teetering on the edge of fun.
Well, not fun, exactly. But I hadn’t had a complete mental breakdown all night. In here, for me, that was tantamount to having the time of my life.
The paranoia I felt earlier over being continuously recorded became more of a dull white noise as the night went on, and I became more comfortable not only in my surroundings but with my fellow castmates.
I guess that was the entire point of a hidden camera.
“Out of sight, out of mind” had never rung truer, and while I was still very much aware I was on a television show, the lack of actual cameramen worked wonders for my anxiety.
It was—I had come to realize very quickly—the perfect condition for an entertaining show as the whole setting lent itself to the feeling that we were in our own little bubble.
As the night wore on and after moving from the fire pit to the pool loungers to the daybeds and then back to the fire pit again in a dizzying progression of one conversation after another, I found myself chatting with Chiara and Adam.
I was sitting in the middle of the two and the longer the conversation went on, the less and less I contributed.
The pair kept leaning in toward each other, bypassing me altogether.
Picking up on their budding chemistry, I swiftly extracted myself and left them alone.
Needing a break from talking, I headed toward the kitchen.
It was a godsend that I could get something to eat without getting in trouble for going off camera, and I silently thanked whatever production designer had come up with the idea to build out a full kitchen outside.
The “Golden Rule” of Bella Amore, so I had been told by Harry a few dozen times, was that all Bellas had to be in sight of each other at all times.
Being that we were only ever supposed to be out in the garden, that basically meant no popping into the villa for anything other than recording confessionals or using the bathroom.
Moving the kitchen outside, then, was, in my opinion, a brilliant use of free will and a smart production hack.
Walking across the lawn, the kitchen came into focus, and I realized it was already occupied.
Callum stood with his back toward me, making a cup of tea.
I paused for a moment, unsure if I should turn around and go find someone else to talk to or if I should approach him.
We hadn’t spoken since we were matched earlier in the day. Neither one of us had sought out the other so far, and I had barely even seen him all night.
Somehow, between our first encounter on the ferry and now, a line had been drawn in the sand, and we stood firmly on opposite sides of it. I wasn’t even sure how we got to this place of silently-but-clearly disliking each other, but here we were.
And there he was.
The good manners my mother had drilled into me as a kid took over as I stepped into the kitchen.
“Hey,” I said, immediately annoyed at how small and shy I sounded. I cleared my throat, trying to get my confidence in check.
Callum tilted his head to look over his shoulder and nodded at me before turning back to the kettle.
Was he serious? Would he rather watch water boil than speak to me?
I pressed on, moving around the kitchen and trying to appear busy. His brusqueness triggered my own stubbornness, and I was suddenly determined to proceed as if he wasn’t being a total dickhead. He could be silent and weird all he wanted, but it didn’t mean I had to follow suit.
“How’s your night been?” I asked as I opened a drawer, searching through it for nothing in particular but simply needing my hands to be doing something.
The tea kettle clicked off, and he picked it up, poured the boiling water into his cup and then, finally, turned around to face me.
“Ya, good. Yours?” he said.
Three words. What a chatterbox.
“Splendid,” I said.
I was still bustling around, opening cabinets and drawers, trying to make it appear as though I had a very important reason for being in the kitchen.
“Looking for something?” he asked, a hint of a smile cracking through his otherwise serious face. If I hadn’t been on a tear to appear unbothered, I would have commented on the fact that it was the first trace of happiness I had yet to see from him.
“Yes,” I said.
I could feel him watching me, could sense his eyes boring into the back of my head. Pretending to look through another cabinet, I suddenly felt ridiculous. The determination I had to remain indifferent to his rudeness began to wane. Now, I simply wanted to be anywhere but near him.
I grabbed a bag of chips off a shelf in the pantry. Shaking them in his direction I said, “Found it.”
“Crisps?” he asked. At least I think he was asking; he seemed to just throw the word my way with no real intention.
“Chips,” I replied.
“So American,” he said. The look on his face told me he did not consider that high praise.
I turned and walked out of the kitchen. Let him be a moody prick by himself.
***
It was another hour before Ben, Callum’s producer, appeared at the far edge of the yard. I had been sitting on the curved bench surrounding the fire pit when he seemed to step out from between two bushes just feet away. I jolted in place at seeing him suddenly appear.
“The smoking area is back there,” Chiara said to me.
I didn’t smoke, so this was the first I heard of any such thing.
Looking closer, I could see that what I thought was a solid wall lining the edge of the yard was really a fence, with an opening off to the side of the fire pit just far enough away from where any of the action normally went down that it wouldn’t appear on camera.
“Bellas, can you all head inside, please?” Ben yelled out.
I didn’t wait for him to say it again, happily jumping up and teetering across the lawn toward the villa. I was thrilled, having spent more hours in heels than I had in the last five years combined.
The girls got to use the bathroom first and as we all crowded into the small space, I let the hum of gossip from the others wash over me. The ping-ponging girl talk was comfortingly familiar.
“Where’s your head at with Callum?” Jess asked from next to me.
“Uh, yeah, so far so good.” I didn’t want to give anything away—that we had met before filming started, and that I found him to be the absolute worst.
If I was being honest, I also didn’t want to be the first Bella to admit their match was not working out.
If watching the show taught me anything, it was that single girls did not last long in here.
Those who immediately didn’t like their partner garnered the impression of being picky and were often sent home within the first two weeks.
Conversely, if I tried too hard to get to know too many of the guys too soon, I could be seen as flighty and unserious and then still get sent home early.
I needed to be here as long as possible, so neither of those storylines were going to work for me.
Moving on from Callum would need to be done carefully and strategically.
“He’s not much of a talker, is he?” Jess said.
“Oh, you know, it’s still just day one.” I was trying to project lightness, to act like Callum was just a bit shy and simply dealing with the nerves of the day.
Inside, however, a feeling akin to relief rushed through me.
Maybe it wasn’t just me he was cold with. Maybe that was just his personality.
After what seemed to be every skincare step ever invented was applied, we gathered at the bottom of the stairs.
Nervous anticipation welled in my chest as I stood in the hallway in my pajamas.
I was about to share a bed with Callum.
It was another staple of Bella Amore: every match slept together in the same bed.
On top of that, all Bellas slept in the same large, communal bedroom.
When I binged the show, I loved watching that part.
I thought it was a riot that ten grown adults had to sleep in the same room, like they were at sleep away camp.
The setting also happened to perfectly facilitate the spiciest bits of the show.
Production used high-tech night vision cameras that could pick up anything happening in the darkened room.
Every bedtime make out or under-the-covers romp was captured in high definition.
The setup was pure, reality television gold.
Being about to live it, however, was something I was not particularly keen on at the moment. I had signed a contract agreeing to it, knowing exactly what I was getting into with my sleeping arrangements. I had even wondered if I would get one of those butterfly-inducing nighttime kisses.
The reality of my current situation could not be further from what I had fantasized.
A producer’s voice rang out from the ceiling’s speakers, letting us know we could head upstairs. “Don’t take your mic packs off until lights are out,” they said.
I couldn’t imagine there would be any kind of conversation between Callum and me that my mic would need to record, but I nodded along anyway, giving the camera nestled up on the ceiling at the base of the stairs—one of the clearly visible ones—a thumbs up.
I was immediately scolded for doing so. “Don’t look at the camera, please, Poppy,” the speaker voice sang out. Not wanting to get told off a second time, I put my head down and quickly headed up the stairs.
When I reached the second floor and stepped into the rectangular bedroom, my immediate thought was that it felt smaller than it appeared on TV.
Everything else in the villa had been exactly how I expected it.
The bedroom, however, with its five double beds all in a line against one wall, felt more intimate than I anticipated.
Any other thought after that seemed to fall out of my brain immediately when I looked around and found Callum already in our bed. Shirtless.
Shirtless, as in nothing covering his smooth, tanned skin. Not one stitch of fabric over the wide shoulders and defined abs that were currently peeking out above the comforter.
I paused for a moment, trying to collect myself and calm my nerves. He was a prick. I could not let his hot body distract me from ignoring him.
Avoiding eye contact as best as I could, I crossed the room and slid into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin. The comforter felt like my only line of defense.
I rolled over onto my side, putting my back to him and trying to scoot over to the edge of the bed as subtly as possible.
The bedroom’s blazing overhead lights were still on, and the couples around us were all chatting.
I had made an effort to talk to Callum in the kitchen earlier and was essentially shot down.
That would not be happening again. I closed my eyes and pretended I was so tired I had immediately fallen asleep.
The lights finally went out and soon enough the neighboring pillow talk died down. I slipped off my mic pack, letting it drop to the floor next to me, and rolled onto my back.
Blinking up at the darkened ceiling, I listened to the soft snores surrounding me and thought back on the whirlwind the day had been. It felt like I had been in here for a month, not just a few hours.
I thought about everything that happened and everything that would come. Mostly, though, and to my own chagrin, my mind kept wandering to the man sleeping just inches away from me. I rolled back over to my side, forcing my eyes shut and all thoughts of him out.
It was no use. I could feel the warmth of Callum radiating across our shared bed, reminding me of his presence right up until I finally drifted off to sleep.