32. 32
“Hello, Bellas!” Gemma yelled out.
Behind her, a cameraman struggled to keep pace and not trip along the sandy beach. Gemma was making the walk look easy, even in four-inch heels.
She paraded to the edge of the beach setup and stopped.
“Are you all having a bit of fun in the sun?” she asked.
Weak yeahs were called out. The mood on the beach had turned rather frosty upon seeing her.
“Can you all please join me at the beach lounge?” She motioned for us to follow her before turning and walking back across the beach, away from us.
She made it a few paces before someone called out, “Cut!”
Gemma paused mid-strut, kicked off her slip-on platforms, and walked past the cameraman. Onto the next setup, I guessed.
Harry, Ben, and a few other producers quickly descended on the scene, ushering us from our current spots back to where we shot introductions earlier.
“Just walk that way,” Harry called out. “The cameras are going to capture some b-roll, so don’t be weird.”
And then we were all walking down the beach, cameras trailing behind us.
A second set came into view as we approached the patch of beach where we had filmed earlier.
It looked exactly as Gemma said: a lounge on the beach.
Teak flooring had been brought in and laid out in a large square on the sand.
Five high-top tables were arranged around it, with two bar stools and glasses of champagne at each.
Tiki torches lined the edges of the deck, casting a soft glow over everything, even with the sun still high in the sky.
I was amazed by the set but even more amazed production had managed to build it so quickly. We couldn’t have been at our beach chats for that long.
There was no time to mull over the logistical details as we were instructed to sit one matched pair per table. Soon enough, the cameras were up and rolling again.
“A toast,” Gemma called out from where she stood in the middle of the deck. She was backlit by the sun and looked so beautiful that, for a moment, I wondered if she was real or some kind of animatronic. “To connections!” She raised her glass, and we followed suit.
I clinked mine with Callum’s, and we exchanged a look. Something bad felt like it was lurking just around the corner.
“Not all connections are built to last,” Gemma continued. “Bellas, this past week the public has been voting for the connections they believe to be the strongest”—she looked around at all of us—“and those they think to be the weakest.”
Here it was: the bad I had been waiting for.
“Today, there will be an elimination. Two matches have been voted least compatible by the public and will be going home.”
My stomach dropped as my heart squeezed in my chest. They were going to send home four people. Would that include Callum and me? Could this all be over in a few moments?
On After Amore, Gemma had read positive messages about us, but those could have been in the minority—only a few nice ones pulled to sound good on TV out of lots of bad. Even still, that had been a whole week ago. Did the public still care?
Gemma produced a gold envelope from out of nowhere and opened it.
There would be no time for new set ups or reshoots, it seemed. We were getting right into it.
“Bellas, the match who has been voted most compatible and are therefore safe is . . . ”
She glanced around for effect. It was a tactic that was probably taught in TV hosting school, one that I had grown to particularly loathe. I wanted her to get on with it.
“Chiara and Hugh!”
Everyone clapped, and I beamed over at Chi. There was relief in knowing that at least she was safe and would have more time with Hugh.
“The next matches the public have voted most compatible are . . . ”
Another pause, another anxious waiting game.
“Olivia and James, and Ella and Liam.”
My stomach dropped as my brain did the math. Callum and I were in trouble.
“The remaining matches received the least number of votes,” Gemma pressed on. “Callum and Poppy, Jess and Mike, and Adam and Amy, can you please come stand by me?”
I slid off my bar stool and crossed the teak deck to stand next to Gemma. Callum followed close behind, his hand on my lower back. His touch was a comforting presence, anchoring me in the moment.
We lined up on either side of Gemma, facing the cast members who had been deemed safe. Across from us, Chiara was wiping her eyes, tears already starting to fall.
There we were, the bottom couples on display for all to see. Harry’s words from earlier in the week, teasing me about having not kissed Callum again, echoed through my mind. Had that hurt us? Could it have been what led to this moment?
Callum moved his hand up from my back and gently placed it around my shoulder. I couldn’t help but lean into him, absorbing his warmth and taking comfort in the embrace.
When Callum had chosen me over Sara, I thought it had bought us some breathing room; time to settle into our deal and give ourselves a good shot at going all the way. I didn’t think that only one week later I would be back on the chopping block.
Standing here now, waiting to learn if I’d be going back to the villa to stay or to pack my bags, I once again felt very silly for having thought I could ever get ahead of the show.
Maybe I would finally get the hint that Bella Amore waits for no one to catch up.
It was a well-oiled machine, with one great force that was outside of any effort we might make: its viewers.
The voting public was fickle, and I knew from living in the internet world of reality television that public favor could turn on a dime.
We might have been the UK’s favorite one day and their villain the next.
I’d have to add “keep the fans entertained” to the growing list of things for Callum and me to focus on.
It might not even matter; we could be sent home in the next few minutes, rendering any plan or lesson learned in the moment irrelevant.
I inhaled deeply, filling my lungs with fresh air, my breathwork instinctively taking over at the mention of going home; and yet, the thought of having to leave didn’t send an immediate chill of panic down my spine like it had in the past. Sure, there was a mountain of real-world problems waiting for me on the other side of this moment, should we be eliminated.
I would have preferred to continue ignoring them at all costs.
But standing here with the sun beginning its afternoon descent and the salty sea air breezing through my hair, all the things I was avoiding at home seemed very far away.
Callum’s body, which had shifted closer to me and was pressed flush against my side, was probably responsible for any type of calm I was feeling. Apparently, anxiety could wait when I could feel his defined abs through his thin linen shirt.
Beside us, Gemma cleared her throat, pressing on with the dumping and bringing me back to the moment.
“The matches voted least compatible, and therefore eliminated from the villa this week are . . . ”
I took a breath, trying to focus on counting the seconds as they passed. Only a few more and it would be over.
Callum pulled me into him even tighter, and as we waited for the results to be read, as I waited for our fate to be announced, I looked up at him.
He was already looking down at me, and his expression was so intense it nearly knocked me over. He was looking at me like he never wanted to look away. Like he couldn’t bear it if we went home because that meant our deal was done.
Staring up at him, I realized I might just feel the same.
Then, Gemma’s voice was calling out, and the moment of truth was upon us.
“Amy and Adam, and Jess and Mike.”
My heart sank as the words washed over me. I was safe.
We were safe. We were staying in the villa.
But Jess was going home. It was the worst kind of consolation prize.
I pulled myself away from Callum and headed straight for Jess, enveloping her in a hug.
“I’m so sorry,” I told her.
“Don’t be,” she said. I pulled back but kept hold of her, squeezing her tight.
“You’ve been the best friend to me, and I’m going to miss you so much.”
She squeezed me back. “You and Callum are the real thing; I just know it. Trust your gut and go with your heart and you’ll be great.”
I threw my arms around her again and held on even as the other girls came over to say their goodbyes.
This was part of the Bella Amore experience I hadn’t prepared myself for. The part that was worse than the lack of personal space or communal bathrooms or constant surveillance.
Saying goodbye.