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vivianna
The second episode is aired. But given that the final edits took place before The Cheating Fiasco, there’s no mention of it. According to the Internet, Episode 2 essentially just shows our first few days moving in with beach volleyball and surfing.
So, everyone’s ratings should stay just about the same. Except Griff and I’s ratings have become shaky post the release of the most recent episode. Ironically, despite being closer than ever in actuality, Griffin and I have dipped below both of the couples we were previously tied with—Brody and Esme and Ramona and Griffin.
“This is bad news,” Griffin says. We’re crushed together on the sofa. It’s maybe 11 AM and most people are out or still in bed. I sigh into my coffee as we pour over my laptop.
Ratings problem aside, I’m thankful he hasn’t broached my moment of weakness the other night. As much as I appreciated him being there and listening in a way that’s kind of foreign to me—outside of maybe family and Reese— I’d also rather never unpack my relationship insecurities again, and he got the hint.
“What are people saying?” I ask as Griffin opens Twitter.
Turns out, our ratings are plummeting because we don’t seem “in love” enough.
Our audience is overanalyzing a scene from when we first moved into the Beach Villa and running with it like nobody’s business.
When we were moving into the villa, the producers recorded each couple after we’d settled into our rooms. By the time the camera operators dropped by Griffin and I’s room, we were laying down in our respective beds, each doing our own thing. I hadn’t thought much of it as they greeted us and recorded our organized space, but now it’s kicking us in the ass. Viewers think it’s strange that we don’t sleep in the same bed. And now, all of a sudden, everyone’s a detective and thinks that our relationship is suspicious.
Someone on Twitter has commented under a post of the re-circulated clip: “It’s either a super sanitized relationship, or they’re just being obvious they’re faking it.”
Another person replied to them: “And you would too, for a check.”
“Shit,” Griffin says to the screen.
However, we don’t get to argue over our next course of action, because soon enough, everyone is making their way downstairs. The Amadors had breakfast sent to us today, thank God, and once it arrives, everyone’s at the table in seconds.
Griff closes my laptop and places it on his lap. Ramona bumps shoulders with me and Esme shoots me a remarkably put-together grin as they find their seats. I observe how the other couples interact, wondering what sort of intimacy Griff and I are missing.
Griffin always has an arm behind my chair, but Ramona and Marco literally peck each other on the lips, Everleigh rests her head on Wyatt’s shoulder, Fernanda’s hand cradles the back of Aiden’s neck, and Saanvi and Dominic hold hands. The only non-affectionate couples are Brody and Esme and Imogen and Zander for obvious reasons— but before the incident, I can remember kisses and hands on waists and linked legs.
Even on the Lovebound Instagram, pictures of the paired couples show this intimacy. There are photos of the others kissing or posing like celebrity super-couples with arms strewn everywhere. At most, whenever Griffin and I are posted, we’re hugging. Side-hugging.
Gratefully, no one talks much about today’s ratings or the recent episode. Folks start to get up and go outside, or head up to their rooms. Esme’s attention is the only one that really lingers on me, and she stays behind a few minutes, pulling me aside to chat in private.
“I saw the ratings,” Esme whisper-shouts. We’re literally in the pantry, because Esme doesn’t want people listening in. I don’t think there’s any point in that, since cameras are off at the moment and I’m pretty sure everyone is aware of the viewers’ opinions on Episode 2 and Griff and I’s dip in ratings, but I appreciate the gesture.
“I know,” I groan, folding my arms. “They think we’re not affectionate enough.”
“Well, be affectionate,” Esme says, all matter-of-fact.
“You’re a genius.” Because it’s definitely that simple.
To my credit, Esme snorts. “Look, you know that people are starting to talk. If this keeps up, you two might be the first couple eliminated.” She’s right, of course. I’d do well not to forget that the elimination stage is coming up. If we continue to dip in the ratings, there’s a good chance that Griffin and I are out of here. No 100K for us.
“And don’t get me wrong, I want to win this, too.” Esme continues. “There’s a reason I’m still ‘with’ Brody even though I can’t stand the guy anymore.” A snort. “But I actually kind of like you. And I’m gonna be pissed if Imogen’s here longer than you.”
I can’t help it. I laugh. Strangely, that is some motivation. Especially because if Imogen’s gone, so is Zander.
“Fine,” I say. “What do you propose?”
“Hot tub,” Esme says without a beat.
The Amadors told us about the hot tub on our first day here. It’s right behind the Villa, shaded by palm trees. I’ve heard people mention going, but I’d forgotten all about the place soon after it was mentioned.
I raise an eyebrow.
“Look, it’s the perfect place to spice things up,” Esme assures me. “The producers will definitely record you two leaving, and the viewers will eat it up.” She pokes me in the arm. “I’m sensing you want to stay in this game, so are you gonna give it a shot or not?”
The hot tub is the perfect place to set up a romantic scene, especially for our viewers. Spicing it up, however, sounds terrifying.
Before I can reply, the door to the pantry swings open.
Griffin stands at the doorway in his tank and sweats. He meets my eyes for a second before nodding at Esme. “Hey, can I steal my girlfriend back?” I definitely don’t pay attention to the way “my girlfriend” causes heat to form at my neck.
Esme smirks at me, then coos, “of course”, before leaving the two of us behind. Griffin walks into the pantry, forcing me to take a few steps back as he closes the door behind him. As he gets closer, I tilt my head up so we’re holding eye contact.
“We gotta convince them we can’t keep our hands off each other,” Griff says, like he’s been holding that in for hours.
I shake my head. “Esme was saying the same thing.”
Griffin blinks.
“Yeah,” I snort. “She actually kind of likes me, seems like, and she says we should try the hot tub to ‘spice things up’.”
“Damn, she already came up with a strategy?”
I shrug. “She’s an influencer. She knows how to sell people a fake product.”
Griffin shakes his head. After a half-second of deliberation, he says, “It’s not like we have any other ideas. The hot tub is very cliche, but a dating show classic.”
“So, what’s the verdict?” I ask, watching Griff purse his lips. “Our ratings depend on it.”
“Let’s do it,” he says, folding his arms. He opens the pantry door, offering me a half-grin and raised eyebrows. “Seven? We’ll meet at the tub.”
“Sounds good,” I say. His grin doesn’t falter, and he slaps the door on the way out, almost running into a startled Brody at the doorway who gives me a friendly wave. I return it briefly, before I’m left in private to wonder what exactly I got myself into.
***
It’s seven on the dot when I’m finding my way toward the hot tub, towel wrapped around my waist as a makeshift skirt to my bikini top.
Everyone’s been up to their own thing. A few people went out to the beach with their friends, others went out to downtown LA, and everyone else stayed at home. I went out for a walk with some of the others before coming back to my room and watching old sitcoms. Griffin’s been out at the beach for most of the day, playing soccer with some of the guys.
The sun is setting, and I push my way through the palm trees, my free arm holding my towel to my chest.
The hot tub comes into sight, privately enclosed by the trees and glowing.
I’m about to drop my towel and step into the hot tub when I hear him. There are rustles behind some of the palm trees, and sure enough, a familiar tall man with a mess of dark locks arrives in front of me. Griffin’s hand runs through his hair and he speaks. “Hey.”
“Hey back.”
He drops his towel and descends into the tub in a swift blur of tanned torso and black shorts.
When he resurfaces, his hair is near black and he’s grinning. “You coming in or what?”
I drop my own towel, feeling his eyes everywhere as I join him in the tub, adjusting the straps of my blue bikini set.
The tub seemed so much larger before we were both in it. He’s on the other side of the tub, but that’s only three feet away. I could close the gap, but my nerves have me plastered to my own side.
“So,” I hope he doesn’t hear the nerves in my laughter.
“So...” he smirks. I try to hide my smile.
“I have something for you,” he says. His gaze is so permeating. Maybe it’s the heat, but its intensity has me weak in the knees.
Curious, I watch as he moves forward, grabbing something from behind my end of the tub and closing the gap between us in seconds. I can’t make any more distance between us because my back is already against the wall, but I’m not certain I want to.
When he’s close enough, I see that he’s holding something purple; a flower, I realize. A new rosiness rises to Griff’s face as he tucks it behind my ear. His hand lingers, and my breath hitches. His grin widens as he tucks loose strands of curls behind my ears.
I’m absolutely overwhelmed with him. I can’t tell whether to focus on his teasing lips or his goldened torso.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
He’s not smiling anymore. Instead, his eyes are almost black in the dim glow of the surrounding tiki torches. Is he closer? I can’t tell. In the back of my head, I’m thinking about the cameras—or more so, the absence of them. I’m thinking of the way he looked at me in our room that first day at the Villa.
“Like what?” I’m not smiling either. My breathing is unsteady. He has to hear my heart pounding.
“Vivianna.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I feel my pulse, and shiver at his proximity.
“Vivianna.”
I look up again. A strained sound is snatched from his throat. Because of me? How much of this is theatrics?
He gently presses me against the wall, gaze unfaltering, looking at me the way I’ve always wanted to be looked at, like I’m not just a girl, but the only girl. I sway, and his hands find my waist. It’s electric, his grip, his attention.
I’m in a lull, losing sight of all the warning bells and the initial plan and the fact that typically, Griffin and I have an easy dynamic with jokes and snorts and exchanged glances—not whatever this is.
“Griffin,” I say, then smile. “Since we’re saying names now.”
He opens his mouth to say something, then pauses. He nods to his left, and I slide my gaze in said direction.
Sure enough, there’s a camera operator rolling by us, taking in the scene. He gives us a reassuring smile, like we can really act normal when we know we’re being recorded. Griffin takes a step back, so small it could’ve been unnoticeable. I try to avoid wilting at this newfound distance. It’s for the better, I tell myself. We can’t be blurring lines when we have a real goal.
Maybe Esme and Zander could see past their cheating partners toward their end goal, but if I got involved with Griffin and ended up heartbroken, I know I wouldn’t be able to stay on the show.
He’s a bad idea. We’re a bad idea.
Griffin flirts casually, familiarly. I ignore the way my stomach flips when he pulls me to him. I ignore the way my heart skips when he kisses my cheek. I remember what I ought to remember: that this is for the cameras, and I’d do well to keep that in mind.
***
That night, when we get back to our room, we’re silent. We can now quell doubts that our relationship is fake or sanitized or whatever it is people were saying. When we get into the room, Griffin’s sofa bed is stripped of sheets.
I raise an eyebrow.
He says that he spilled coffee on it, naturally, so it’s in the washer. “I could sleep downstairs,” he proposes, as though we both don’t know damn well that people would go crazy if they caught him doing so.
We worked hard to fix our image, and we better maintain it.
“No,” I say. I’ve already changed into the t-shirt and shorts I brought with me to the hot tub, while Griffin’s in his own sweats and t-shirt. “Just sleep with me.”
A pause.
“In my bed,” I clarify. “Next to me.”
Griffin’s mouth ticks upward. My stomach swirls. No one should have this kind of power over me. I look away.
We get to making the bed. Griffin sets up his side, and we put a long pillow as a divider between the two sides.
I slip onto my side, and in one smooth motion, Griffin whips his shirt off. His rose chest tattoo stuns me every time I see it. His torso was half cut-off by the water surface back in the hot tub. And this time, without cameras, I let myself believe that it’s only for me. He lays down across from me, so we’re facing each other.
He takes my hand, lets it run over his chest, almost absently. His smile is in his eyes, the “cool, right?” at the tip of his tongue.
When my eyes meet his and he utters goodnight, all I can think of are the DANGER signals flashing in my head.
Whatever this is — it’s going to be trouble.