Chapter 4
Oliver
After his interview with Paige, Oliver went to lift weights, hoping to quell his rising anxiety with exercise.
No matter what she had said, he knew he could never be himself in this sort of environment.
He hadn’t felt like himself in months.
The Manhattan Ballet audition had renewed his sense of purpose, and now he only had to wait for the letter that would determine his fate.
‘All right?’ He looked up mid-rep to find Niall grinning at him.
‘Fancy a spot?’
Oliver glanced pointedly at Niall’s chest. ‘I’m not sure I can keep up with your programme.’
‘’Course you can,’ Niall said, offering a hand.
‘I’m not nearly as strong as I look.’
He let Niall pull him up, sure that he would persist in his friendliness until Oliver gave in.
He tried for a smile.
‘What should we start with?’
As if in response to his question, a chime sounded over the loudspeakers.
Niall frowned in disappointment as the contestants gathered around them.
‘Lovers, the truth hurts,’ Darcy’s voice rang out.
‘Only the most daring among you will make it to the end. Get ready to weed out the competition.’
Niall looked comically distraught by the interruption to their planned workout, and Oliver smiled, liking Niall more and more.
‘Come on,’ Oliver muttered.
‘We’ll pick it back up as soon as we have the chance, yeah?’
‘Right,’ Niall said, slinging an arm around Oliver’s shoulders as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
‘Let’s see what they have in store for us.’
What the producers had in store, of course, was a game of truth or dare.
Paige corralled them into a semi-circle around the firepit, a cameraman on each end, and, after a few minutes of awkward silence, Darcy’s voice resumed over the loudspeakers.
‘Lovers,’ she said, ‘it’s time to get personal.
To get us in the sharing mood, each contestant will reveal their body count.’
Oliver’s stomach dropped.
After a beat where the group glanced around nervously, Jack chuckled.
‘Well, I’ve got nothing to hide,’ he said, sitting back and throwing his arms around the contestants on either side of him, Declan and Maeve.
He waited, building suspense, before saying, ‘Twelve.’
He turned to Maeve, raising an eyebrow.
‘Oh,’ she said, glancing at the closest camera.
‘Seven?’
Holly gave her an encouraging smile.
‘I’ll go next, but I have to admit I lost count somewhere in the low fifties.
Such is the life of a bartender.’
She rolled her eyes good-naturedly, nudging Stella.
Stella considered the question for a moment.
‘Physically? Twenty-seven,’ she said.
‘But I’d like to believe I’ve had many spiritual partners.’
She didn’t prompt anyone to follow her, and there was another tense pause.
Oliver stared at his feet, wondering how production would edit the challenge to make it seem fun.
When he looked up, he accidentally made eye contact with Declan.
He alone seemed unbothered by the silence, leaning back with a cocky smile.
Oliver felt a pang of dislike, a familiar sensation from the other times he’d found Declan studying him as though he were some sort of fascinating zoo animal.
‘I’ve had sex with 200 women,’ Callum finally announced.
Niall stifled a laugh, catching Oliver’s eye, and Callum turned on him.
‘And what about you?’
Niall shrugged.
‘Couldn’t say,’ he said easily.
‘I’m not very good with numbers.
Oliver?’
Oliver’s face reddened as the others turned to him.
He didn’t even contemplate lying.
‘One.’
‘One?’ Callum echoed incredulously.
‘Are you taking the piss?’
Before Oliver could respond, Declan cut in.
‘Mine’s twenty-five.’
Oliver blinked at him in surprise – it was hardly the same as admitting to having only slept with one woman, but it seemed low for a semi-famous athlete.
Declan turned to Lara.
‘Your turn.’
As Lara gave her answer, Declan winked at Oliver.
With the small interaction, he was certain that Declan had lied, presumably to avoid looking like a player.
Oliver resented how naturally he had done it.
Lying would have saved him a great deal of embarrassment.
Zoe was the final contestant to answer, and her number – three – assuaged some of Oliver’s anxiety.
‘Stella,’ Darcy said next, ‘tell the Lovers about the craziest date you’ve ever been on.’
Stella stared dreamily at no one in particular, an expression Oliver was beginning to associate with her.
‘He made a compelling pitch to me about organic farming over dinner and convinced me to come and see the plot of land he had his family working on up in Dundee. I ended up staying for a year. In hindsight, I think it may have been a cult.’
Jack laughed loudly, opening his mouth like he wanted to ask more, but was cut off by Darcy.
‘Time for a dare! Jack, choose a Lover for Holly to kiss,’ she said.
Jack looked around deviously, not seeming to deliberate before saying, ‘Callum, would you do the honours?’
Holly glared at Jack.
‘But darling,’ she said, faux-sweet, ‘aren’t you worried about me falling for another man?’
Jack grinned. ‘I’m feeling quite secure about it, actually.’
‘No need to sulk,’ Callum said, standing.
‘It’ll be the best kiss of your life.’
Holly rolled her eyes, standing and chastely pecking Callum’s lips, which he tried to extend unsuccessfully, snaking an arm around her.
‘That’s enough of that,’ Holly said sternly, swatting at his hand.
They both sat, and Darcy called on Declan next.
‘How long was your longest relationship?’ she asked.
A small crease appeared between Declan’s eyebrows as he heard the question, but he immediately smiled so brightly that Oliver forgot his frown.
‘Ah, well,’ he said, rubbing the back of his neck in what Oliver was sure was an imitation of self-consciousness.
‘I’ve never been in a relationship.’
‘Can’t commit to one woman?’
Jack asked jovially.
Declan shrugged. ‘I think I’m finally ready to give it a try.’
Oliver translated this to mean that Declan was only interested in stringing girls along but wanted the audience to find him sympathetic.
‘Niall,’ Darcy said cloyingly, ‘choose a boy to kiss Maeve.’
Maeve straightened, glancing around as Niall frowned at the loudspeaker.
When Niall said nothing, Jack spoke up.
‘Come on, then. Who’s the lucky lad?’
Niall raised his eyebrows.
‘If you’re so eager, why don’t you do it?’
Maeve blushed, not looking at anyone.
‘Oh, um, I don’t—’
Jack cut her off, gently taking one of her hands and slowly bringing her palm to his lips.
‘Should’ve been more specific,’ he said, with a small smile.
Maeve flushed a deeper red, pulling her hand away.
Darcy called on Holly next.
‘Why did your last relationship end?’
Holly’s face froze.
‘Well,’ she said finally, raising her head with a firm expression, ‘he wasn’t very nice.
Constantly accusing me of cheating, needing to know where I was all the time, not trusting me at work…
You know, the usual.’
Oliver studied his hands, troubled by the dark turn in conversation.
He was certain Darcy had known about Holly’s ex, and her callousness worried him.
The producers knew things about him that could be used to elicit a similar emotional response, if they chose to use them.
Maeve hugged Holly from the side.
‘On to better things, babe.’
‘Oliver,’ Darcy’s voice said, and he waited with trepidation.
‘Kiss the fittest boy in the villa on the lips.’
He was so relieved it wasn’t a question about his break-up that he barely registered the words until he noticed the other contestants’ expectant faces.
‘Er – fittest… boy ?’ he echoed dumbly, hoping someone might tell him exactly what to do.
His eyes fell on Declan for a half-second too long, and he ran a hand through his hair distractedly.
Declan’s mouth twitched downwards, and Oliver had the fleeting thought that if he kissed him, at least he could make the other man as uncomfortable as he was.
He took a deep breath.
‘Niall, how about it?’ he said, trying for a nonchalant tone, as though he kissed men for a laugh all the time.
Niall stood, radiating good humour.
‘I’m honoured.’
Oliver took two quick steps towards him, grabbed his face and pushed their lips together.
‘Aw,’ Jack said, as Oliver broke away and took a step back, ‘now that’s the couple to beat.’
Oliver sat, glancing anxiously at Niall, who grinned back at him, unfazed.
‘Final dare, Callum,’ Darcy cooed, ‘choose a girl to kiss Declan.’
Callum scanned the group, his eyes coming to rest on Oliver as a grin spread across his face.
‘Zoe.’
It took Oliver a moment to realise why Callum was looking at him, having temporarily forgotten the entire conceit of the show in his panic over what he would be forced to do or reveal next.
Based on Callum’s smirk, he had chosen Zoe to cause drama.
Oliver wondered if he could drum up the energy to care, but as Declan stood, he found anger came naturally.
The feeling was entirely misdirected, since Declan was only following the rules of the game.
But he didn’t have to do it so arrogantly.
Zoe faced Declan, smiling shyly.
As Declan leaned down to kiss her, Oliver let himself stare at where his hand rested at the nape of Zoe’s neck, tendons flexing as he pulled her closer.
The tic in his jaw as they broke apart and the smirk playing on his lips made angry heat rush to Oliver’s cheeks.
When Oliver woke at another ungodly early hour the next morning, Declan was already swimming laps.
It was a semi-psychopathic hobby, getting up at dawn to exercise in a tiny, oblong pool, but Oliver supposed everyone had their vices.
In his state of total fatigue, he kept reaching for the phone he no longer had to check for texts that wouldn’t be there anyway.
He wondered if Sophie was as out of sorts as he was, not being able to talk.
He had so much he wanted to tell her about the show – she loathed reality TV, and he could hear her colourful commentary about his castmates already.
He wanted to go home, to call her, more than he wanted practically anything.
But the one thing he wanted more kept him rooted to the spot.
‘Everything okay?’ came a voice from behind him.
It was Paige, studying him curiously, some complicated-looking camera equipment in hand.
‘Yes,’ he said, his tone clipped.
‘Just tired.’
‘Right,’ she said.
‘You’re a bit of a night owl?’
There was something in her expression, an understanding, that threw him off.
He didn’t think he’d mentioned anything about his sleep habits in the interview process.
‘I tend to be.’
‘Your ex, she’s in New York, right?’
He blinked at her.
‘She is,’ he said stiffly, thinking of the late-night phone conversations that had kept him up for months.
He had adjusted his life to accommodate for the time difference.
‘One of your mates mentioned that you kept in pretty close contact after her move,’ Paige explained, pushing a stray curl behind her ear.
Oliver cleared his throat awkwardly, surprised that Will knew how often he and Sophie spoke.
‘We talk,’ he said finally.
‘The move’s been hard on her.
She’d lived in London her whole life, her friends are there, her family…’
Me , he thought.
‘That’s big of you,’ Paige said.
‘I mean, most people…’ She trailed off, uncomfortable.
He was used to that – no one wanted to say it outright.
‘Most people don’t forgive their ex who announced a break-up and a cross-Atlantic move in one breath?
Who secretly auditioned for and accepted a role in the ballet company that we’d planned to apply for together?’
He gave her a wry smile.
‘Yes, I’m unique in that sense.’
Her eyes widened.
‘I suppose that’s the more mature way of going about things.
Me and my ex, we’d row every day if we talked at all.’
He couldn’t tell her that he and Sophie never rowed.
That she had been happy to see him in New York before his audition, and it had given him hope that if he moved things could go back to normal between them.
It didn’t seem like a wise thing to confide in a producer trying to manufacture a love story for him.
Instead, he told her a different sort of truth.
‘She’s my best friend.’
As Paige struggled to reply, Oliver noticed Declan approaching over her shoulder.
Water dripped from the ends of his hair down his broad chest, disappearing into the waistband of his swim trunks.
‘Hiya, Paige,’ he said, smiling his brilliant smile.
He didn’t greet Oliver, though he was now directly in front of him.
It was the closest they’d been since the plane, and Oliver glanced over the slight crook of his nose and the pout of his mouth, trying unsuccessfully to read his expression.
‘Hi,’ Paige said. ‘Sorry about the shape of that pool – I don’t think a contestant has ever tried to use it for exercise before you.’
He shrugged. ‘I’m not much of a swimmer, so I’ve nothing to compare it to.’
‘Your dad’s gym probably has a more functional model, if you’re taking up the sport,’ Paige said.
Oliver was relieved to hear her talk like that with the other contestants.
It was like she was testing the waters, quizzing herself on their lives.
‘I’m not quite ready to give up on boxing,’ Declan said, winking.
‘I’ve got a couple of good years in the ring left, no matter what the tabloids say.’
‘Are you swimming because it’s easy on your wrist?’
Oliver asked, trying for some common ground.
Ballet dancers often had their careers cut short by injuries, and he could sympathise with Declan not being in the best headspace after the fight.
‘Nah,’ Declan said, not turning towards him.
‘My wrist is fine. Just felt like a change of pace.’
‘Right,’ Oliver said, not believing him.
‘What have you got in store for us today, then?’ Declan asked Paige, and Oliver got the feeling he was being dismissed from the conversation.
‘It wouldn’t make for good TV if I told you,’ Paige teased.
Declan laughed, throwing his head back and showing off the long line of his throat.
‘Fair enough,’ he said.
‘I’m gonna grab a shower.
Gotta look my best for the cameras, right?’
Paige nodded, and Oliver’s eyes followed Declan’s retreating form.
‘I’d watch out for that one,’ Paige said.
Oliver pulled his gaze away from Declan with considerable effort, wondering what he could have possibly done to offend him.