Chapter 3
Oliver
Paige Nelson: Tell me about yourself.
Oliver Wright: I’m Oliver.
I’m twenty-four years old and I’m a dancer for the Royal London Ballet.
Paige Nelson: And what are you looking for on Summer of Love ?
Oliver Wright: I’m not sure what to expect, to be honest, but I hope I’ll find love.
I mean, that’s the only reason someone would subject themselves to this specific kind of torture, right?
Oliver didn’t sleep his first night in the villa.
Every time he got close, he suddenly remembered the cameras trained on him and jerked awake.
His body had been tense since he’d walked down the plane aisle.
He’d nearly missed the flight because of traffic – maybe a sign, in retrospect, he should have listened to.
After counting sheep for several hours as a pink dawn spread over the sky, he gave up and automatically reached for where his phone would normally be sitting on the nightstand next to him.
Of course, his hand closed around empty air.
The producers had deprived him of even the opportunity to fixate on the lockscreen photo that had become his constant companion in depression.
Before arriving in Mallorca, he didn’t think there had been a day in the past seven months that hadn’t begun with a text from Sophie.
He closed his eyes, pleading with his brain for a moment’s escape, but quickly realised lying in bed would only make him feel worse.
Instead, he made his way outside, sliding the glass door open and breathing in the cool morning air as his mind raced.
Coming on a reality TV show had been a terrible idea, that much was clear, but he couldn’t see a way out of it now.
Once it had started, the whole thing had spiralled out of control so quickly – responding to that producer’s DM had been a tipsy mistake made under pressure from his mates, and he hadn’t known that one message could lead him to a plane, a van and a hellish night of staring at the ceiling.
He had never given a decision less thought, and the loss of control over his life had a dizzying effect.
As he filled the kitchen’s kettle, hoping a cup of tea might clear his head, he saw Declan emerge from the villa.
Oliver’s mortifying first thought was to hope that Declan might acknowledge him in some way.
He liked Jack and Niall fine, found Callum to be an uncomplicated annoyance, but something about Declan had set him on edge from their first meeting, when he had sized Oliver up and found him lacking.
Whatever his hopes had been, Declan headed straight for the pool, not sparing a glance in his direction.
While Oliver was sure he looked a wreck, Declan was frustratingly handsome for so early in the morning, the slight shade of his stubble showing off an angular jaw, his hair effortlessly coiffed.
There was a keen alertness in his bright blue eyes as he stretched his arms above his head, the hem of his shirt lifting to reveal sharp lines of muscle.
Oliver averted his gaze as Declan stripped it off and dove into the pool.
He was annoyed, wishing he’d got more sleep.
The sun continued to rise and the crew began setting up for the day.
Oliver was watching them, sipping his tea and trying to keep his eyes open, when Zoe walked out onto the patio and gave him a peppy wave.
‘Hello,’ Oliver said, his voice coming out hoarse.
‘Tea?’
She nodded, taking one of the stools across the counter from him.
‘So,’ she said, after a beat, probably realising Oliver had exhausted all capacity for speech with his opening line, ‘how’d you sleep?’
He flipped the kettle on.
‘Really well.’
She cocked her head at him, taking in his dishevelled appearance.
His skin was pale and his eyes were bloodshot, that he knew without even looking in the mirror.
‘It was a long day yesterday,’ she said.
‘I usually like to reserve a few hours for my night-time routine, but I guess that’s the price we pay for a summer in paradise.’
Her cheer was abrasive.
He had thought, despite their obvious differences, that they could at least agree the day before had been objectively terrible.
He took a deep breath, reminding himself that it was pure luck that he’d got coupled up with Zoe, who had an established following and who he was certain was not on the show to find love.
The last thing Oliver wanted was to meet someone with genuine interest in him – that had no place in his plan.
He tried for a smile.
‘Yeah, it’s incredible here.
I mean, look at that view,’ he said, gesturing towards the overlook, his eyes inadvertently falling on the pool where Declan was still swimming laps.
‘Gorgeous,’ she said, giving him a sidelong look, and he was relieved he’d managed to turn things around.
With all the preparation he’d done for the show, he had neglected the most important thing for a Summer of Love winner to cultivate: the ability to not have a panic attack first thing in the morning.
Holly emerged from the villa next, yawning and plopping down next to Zoe without greeting, squinting in the sunlight.
‘God, I’m not even hungover, I don’t know why my head feels shit,’ she announced, and Zoe giggled.
‘Dance-related injury?’ Oliver offered.
The contestants had been forced to jump up and down for hours the night before, in some imitation of a club inhabited by only ten individuals.
They had been assured this looked like a fun time on camera.
Holly grimaced. ‘Maybe my brain didn’t enjoy bouncing around my skull?
Does this happen when you do ballet?’
Oliver found his smile turning more genuine.
‘Only with Wagner.’ He placed a cup of still-steeping tea in front of Zoe and gave Holly a questioning look.
‘You should have green tea instead, Holls,’ Stella said, approaching from the villa.
The lights had come on in the bedroom, and the other contestants were trailing out.
‘It’s amazing for headaches; I recommend it to all my wellness clients.’
‘You’re a terrible Englishwoman,’ Jack called over, heading towards the pool.
Stella shrugged. ‘I consider myself a citizen of the world.’
Maeve nodded earnestly, leaning over the counter to snag the kettle from Oliver.
‘When I travel for work, I’m always surprised by how everyone is fundamentally the same.’
Zoe stared between the two of them for a moment before turning to Oliver.
‘Where are you from? I don’t think you mentioned.’
‘London,’ Oliver said quickly, hoping she wouldn’t pry further.
As the girls chatted about their recent holidays, Oliver stared at his tea in silence.
He felt wildly out of his depth – he’d only travelled outside the UK once in his life, when he’d flown to New York to audition for Manhattan Ballet the month before.
He had known when he’d agreed to come on the show that he was nothing like the ideal contestant, and he kept being reminded that he had little in common with these people.
After all, they didn’t need the prize money.
‘Hey,’ interrupted a voice from behind him.
He turned to find a familiar face: Paige, the producer who had sent him that fateful DM.
‘Hi,’ Oliver said, not meeting her eye.
The producers terrified him.
They had got him to reveal things during the audition process that he refused to talk about with even his closest friends.
She gestured for him to move closer, away from the cameraman capturing footage of the contestants chatting around the kitchen counter, and he took a hesitant step towards her.
‘Can I pull you for an interview? You didn’t do one last night.’
‘Ah,’ he said evasively.
‘I didn’t? I must’ve forgotten.’
She gave him a knowing look.
‘Or were you avoiding it?’
He flashed her his most charming smile, the one that had always won over his instructors.
‘Oh, you’re good. Have you thought about pursuing detective work?’
She put her hands on her hips, and he added in a more serious tone, ‘To be honest, it makes me a little nervous, talking at the camera.’
Paige’s eyebrows drew together.
‘It’s not a performance, and you’re not being graded.’
He disagreed, but nodded along anyway.
‘The others just have a chat with me. Can you do that?’
‘Probably,’ he hedged.
She placed a reassuring hand on his arm.
‘I’m on your side here.
We want the same things, and we can help each other.’
‘Oh? You’re also looking for your soulmate?’
She dropped her hand, looking at him intently.
‘I think you understand what I mean. If you’re constantly on alert, performing, the audience is going to notice.
There is no one the public turns on faster than someone looking for fame or fortune, and I don’t want that to happen to you, since I know you’re here for the right reasons.’
Was he imagining it, or had she put slight emphasis on fortune ?
He hesitated a moment more before following her towards the villa.
She led him to the small interview room deemed the Love Shack, and Oliver sank onto the stool in front of the camera.
The red light was already on, signalling that he was being recorded.
He tried to steady his breathing – each pre-show interview had left him exhausted.
‘So,’ Paige said, tying her shoulder-length curls into a bun and settling next to the camera.
‘How are you and Zoe getting along?’
‘Oh, fine,’ Oliver said, trying to train his eyes on the camera lens, though they kept sliding back to Paige’s face.
‘I mean, she seems nice.’
‘Wrong answer,’ Paige said, and the camera light blinked off.
‘You can’t make everyone like you,’ she continued in a kinder tone.
‘You’re a performer, and I understand where you’re coming from.
Your audience, the people watching ballet, they’ve come to see perfection.
Right?’
He nodded.
‘Right.’ It was what he loved about ballet: there was a structure to it, an immediate knowledge if the movement had been done correctly or not.
Perfect form was clearly defined for him.
‘I trust you to know your audience, so please trust me to know mine. It’s our job, isn’t it?
And I’m very good at my job.’
He believed her.
She had the most commanding presence he’d ever encountered in someone her age.
‘So, look at it this way. Your new audience is five million people, and they watch this show for romance and drama. You’ll stick out to them if you have screen time, if you’re funny and if you’re sympathetic.
Now, you are funny, a little too funny sometimes.’
She gave him a look.
‘Sorry,’ he said, feeling chastened.
She gave a small nod of acknowledgement.
‘And you’re easy to root for; you have a great story.
That’s why you were chosen in the first place.’
That was an unnerving statement from someone he hardly knew.
‘I was shocked when I got your DM,’ he admitted.
‘I thought it was a scam.’
‘And there’s the sympathy angle we’re looking for,’ she teased.
‘Man is so down in the dumps that he assumes he’s being scammed when a pretty girl DMs him.’
He grinned despite himself.
‘Yes, well, I wasn’t exactly feeling like luck was going my way.’
Her expression softened.
‘I know you’d been going through a tough time.’
That was an understatement – in the months following his break-up with Sophie, Oliver had hardly left their once-shared flat except to work, shutting himself away from the world and avoiding his well-intentioned mates.
It was easy to sit in the flat and pretend Sophie was on an extended holiday, especially when he spoke to her on the phone every day as though nothing had happened.
‘Mhm,’ he muttered in response to Paige’s expectant face.
Thinking of the flat brought the usual pang of unease.
He pushed away the nagging thought of what his best mate, Will, would say to him about needing to move house.
Instead, he focused on the present: what he needed to do to win the prize money, cover Sophie’s portion of the rent, and move to New York.
He straightened. ‘I’m ready,’ he said, trying to project confidence.
Paige seemed unconvinced.
‘We can talk about it if you want. I know that the first few days can be difficult – this is my first season, and it’s mad even for me.’
He cleared his throat.
‘I’m fine.’ It was an echo of what he’d been insisting to anyone who adopted that familiar pitying expression.
He knew it was pathetic – to have been with Sophie for so long, to have thought there were no secrets between them, and to not have realised the most fundamental thing about her: she would leave.
That one day, the life he’d worked so hard to build for himself would come to an abrupt end.
People trying to help him through it only made him feel worse.
‘Oliver,’ Paige said softly, ‘I chose you myself. I put my neck on the line for you, and I don’t do that for just anyone.
I have incredible instincts, and I know your story will resonate with our audience.
Millions of viewers have been brutally dumped, and they’ll be rooting for you to find love.
It makes them think they can too.’
He swallowed. ‘Right, so no pressure?’
‘It’s nothing you can’t handle.
Be yourself, and they’ll fall in love with you.
I guarantee it.’ She smiled at him.
‘Ready?’
He sighed.
‘Ready.’
The red light blinked on.