Bex
The guilt is eating him alive. I should find one of those secret rooms and tell him it’s okay, explain to him that this really is my fault and he doesn’t need to worry because I know he’s with someone else.
I’d turn it into a joke if I could find a single thing about this amusing.
If I could stop forgetting for one goddamned second the things he said last night.
The way his gaze fell to my mouth as he said, “You’ve made me come so many times I’ve lost count. ”
What I really want to do is ask him why he can’t care about me enough to do it again.
I know I’m not the sort of girl he grew up around.
I picture his complication—probably some duke’s daughter who moonlights as a part-time model.
She’s nearly his height in heels and they look like they belong together.
She doesn’t mispronounce French foods and always has the perfect hostess gift when he brings her to a party.
But…couldn’t I be enough anyway? Don’t we get along so very well that he might look past my failures for another week, another month?
No. Apparently not.
It’s unbearably hot when we climb out of the cool, damp catacombs. The street is thick with tourists. I prefer the home of the dead, which is exactly what Jessie would expect of me.
Paula shoots a concerned look at me and Theo.
We’re supposed to walk through a market next, but based on her whispered conversation with Lars, I suspect she’s worried we’re not going to make it.
My hangover is behind me, but Theo and I have a mountain of other issues right now, and they’ve rendered us mute.
I lean against a tree in the shade—it’s a thousand degrees here, shade or not—and scroll through my notifications.
Brian has texted, but that’s not the thing that has me unlocking my phone.
Theo tagged me on Instagram last night.
Theo, who abhors social media and is also terrible at it, posted a picture of me in my fancy dress, talking to the girl behind the counter at Five Guys.
The caption reads “When your beautiful wife wants Five Guys in Paris, you say yes.” My heart does that fluttery thing again.
Maybe I’ve got some kind of heart defect I was previously unaware of.
Or maybe I like him. Maybe I like him so much that the thought of not winding up with him in real life makes me ache.
I hope it’s a heart defect. At least there might be a solution for that.
“You guys go to the market,” says Caden, winking at the rest of the crew. “Bex and I are gonna go downstairs and find one of those secret rooms. Any footage will be private, however.”
He reaches for my arm as if he’s going to pull me back into the catacombs and Theo’s hand shoots out fast, locking on Caden’s in an iron grip.
“What the fuck did you just say about my wife?” Theo asks.
Ah, there it is again, that warmth when he says “my wife.” It will be my fatal flaw, the warmth, the flutter.
Because it’s one thing to crave sex with Theo—I’m struggling to imagine who wouldn’t—but the warmth warns me that this is more than lust. It’s fondness—it’s infatuation.
Maybe it’s for the best that he shut this down, because those are the kinds of feelings that will fuck you up.
How do you allow yourself to feel that much for someone and remain standing when he hasn’t chosen you?
It was barely a day ago that I was nearly in tears over the fact that he didn’t want me out with him and Peter.
How much worse would it hurt if I let myself fall for him only to discover I am still not what he wants?
Caden smirks. “Fuck off, dude. She’s not actually your wife, even if you wish she was.”
Theo shoves him. “She’s not your bloody wife either, so watch your mouth.”
“Theo, back off,” barks Paula. “And Caden, keep your damn mouth shut.”
Two of the guys step between them and Paula pulls me and Theo aside.
“Look, I’ve talked to Lars. We’re going to skip the market—it’s too crowded anyway.
We’ll go ahead and get the boat ride out of the way, and then you’ll be free, but I need the two of you to get your shit together in the meantime. ”
Easier said than done.
We are loaded into the air-conditioned van. I wanted to be alone with Theo, yes, but only the version of him who smiles as I steal his drink, who says my name as if it’s holy when I pull him into my mouth.
Not the one who says, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
Not the one who can barely stand to look at me.
I let my eyes fall closed, wishing hard, like a child, for my sister.
I picture her in the seat beside me. I picture leaning over to tell her in gory detail about last night, about the fight that just took place, about how sad I am that he doesn’t want me the way I want him.
I guess I’d owe her an apology, too, but I feel pretty sufficiently punished for what I’ve done at the moment.
I hold a hand over my throat. I can’t cry here. We still have hours left and my makeup will be ruined.
“Are you okay?” Theo asks, and I nod, swallowing hard as I realize that what I want more than Bronwyn is him. That all I really want is to lean my head on his shoulder and have him gently ridicule my sadness away.
I look out the opposite window and brush at my eyes.
I don’t have Bronwyn, I don’t have Theo, and it’s been many months since I’ve felt quite this alone.
A few minutes later, we arrive at the Seine and are escorted onto a private boat. Theo hasn’t said a word to me since we were in the van. He’s off talking to LJ about a topic I know he’s got no interest in, simply to avoid me.
He doesn’t return to my side until we are out on the water and he’s forced to play the doting husband. They bring us cheese and champagne, play old French ballads over a speaker.
It’s absolutely miserable.
We’re told to talk but once again, I come up empty. There’s nothing I want to say to him beyond Why are you done with me so soon?
“This is boring,” I say instead, and Theo glares at me.
“Again, Rebecca? We’re being filmed.”
Misery has made me argumentative. Well, more argumentative.
“You know I’m right. This is an experience any family could put together on their own.
There’s nothing about Paris that’s difficult.
They’ve got Uber, it’s easily navigable, everyone speaks English.
Vietnam or the Arctic Circle…that’s difficult.
That’s worth paying someone to do the planning for you. ”
“I’m not saying you’re wrong,” he mutters under his breath. “But as the entire reason we are here is to sell the company to viewers, perhaps there are better times to criticize us than when we’re on film?”
Was it intentional, the way he made a point of reminding me the show is why we’re here?
Our conversation remains so strained that eventually Lars decides to focus on gathering B-roll instead until the godforsaken ride is over and we can finally climb off the boat.
LJ is still filming us, but I’ve had it with this entire trip.
I’m unclipping my battery pack, though no one’s said I can, just as Caden’s arm lands around my shoulders again.
He’s just trying to get under Theo’s skin, probably as payback for what happened outside the catacombs, but given the mood Theo is in, it could very well work.
The real question is why it would work. Theo has made it pretty fucking clear he isn’t interested in me going forward, so why does he care so much if someone else is?
“You’re about to be a single woman in Paris,” Caden says. “What’s that expression? ‘When the cat’s away, the mice will play’?”
Theo steps forward and wraps his hand around Caden’s neck, pushing him backward into the grassy riverbank. “Touch her again, motherfucker, and I’ll make sure you regret it.”
I expect Caden to do what he’s done in the past—to slink away, to turn it into a joke. Instead, he leans in, whispering something only Theo can hear and…suddenly Theo is lunging forward, grabbing Caden by the shirt, landing a punch straight to his jaw.
Caden falls backward, the picnickers behind him barely managing to scatter out of his way before he hits the grass, and Theo is on top of him while Lars and a guy from the boat rush to pull him off.
“Theo, stop!” I cry, but he doesn’t seem to hear me. He’s got one hand grabbing Caden’s collar, the other fisted and swinging toward his face.
I jump in front of the camera. “Stop filming!”
LJ shakes his head, moving around me to get the shot.
It takes me a long second to understand why: Lars and Paula anticipated this fight, perhaps even hoped it would happen.
Of course they fucking did. They saw how Theo reacted earlier and were praying they’d strike gold twice.
What could make better TV than the jealous husband attacking a member of the crew?
Except Theo’s the head of our company, the company we’re hoping to save, and positioning him as a short-tempered, jealous husband is not the look we want. Caden’s now bleeding and screaming that he’s going to sue, and it’s all on film.
The guys pull Theo off him, but Theo’s expression remains mutinous, his chest heaving as if he’s a prizefighter preparing to go back into the ring. I cross to where Lars and the guy from the boat are still holding on to him. Theo’s nostrils flare as he glances at me and looks away.
I can’t tell if he’s disgusted with me or himself.
“You can’t use that footage,” I tell Lars. “It’s in the contract that you can’t use anything that casts the company in a negative light.”
Lars gives a disgruntled laugh. “As negative as you both being too hungover to do your job? I doubt it.”
“Get him out of here,” Paula says to a guy from the boat, nodding Caden’s way before she turns to me and Theo. “Theo, we’ll see you in Norway. Bex, we’ll be in your room in the morning to do the interview.”
I call an Uber with shaking hands, and Theo’s jaw remains locked, as if he’s not sure he’s done enough damage.