TRANSCRIPT OF CHAT FROM #SQUEEZE-MAINIACS SLACK CHANNEL
Has everyone seen last night’s ep yet?? Bc I am ACTUALLY DYING here I don’t want to spoil but I need to discuss!!!!
Hard same
Hey, you guys know we don’t spoil any episodes until noon PT on Wednesdays, that’s the policy
BETH CAN WE MAKE AN EXCEPTION
I’ve watched! Beth, have you?
I have, which I guess just leaves Colin. Colin, did you watch yet?
What, like I’m so into the show I watch it immediately, you think I have nothing better to do on a Monday night?
Yeah, I watched
GREAT, so Asher has kids?!?! Omg who saw this coming??
He was obviously hiding something
But this is like, so endearing
Is it?? Or is he just abandoning his children to be kind of a douche to a nice lady on TV?
His son is the one who submitted him in the first place!
Please Cat you’re a well-documented Asher apologist
Maybe I’m just a Bea stan and Asher is lit’rally her only viable option
Ummmmmm beg to differ how cute was her kiss with Luc?
Wait come on you don’t actually think Luc is there ~for the right reasons~ do you?
He’s the hot French chef we need in these dark times and I stand by him
Does Bea actually want to be an insta-mom tho?
She did say she wanted kids eventually
Sure, but eventually is different from like, right now
That’s actually a really good point
Wow Beth did it hurt you inside to say that
But also can I get a hallelujah that Nash and Cooper are finally gone?????
I know, how nice is it going to be to watch this show without any villains left? Just guys who ACTUALLY like Bea?
What I don’t get is it’s not like Nash and Cooper were even that hot—they had good bodies and everything but their faces were okay at best
Isn’t that always the way tho??? It’s the not-hot guys who are fucking obsessed with dating the hottest possible women to validate their existences
Okay actually, in men’s defense—
No. Colin. No.
MAIN SQUEEZE CAST SPOTTED
BOARDING FLIGHT TO MARRAKESH
posted on TMZ.com
JOHN F. KENNEDY AIRPORT, NEW YORK CITY: The cast and crew of Main Squeeze were spotted boarding a flight to Marrakesh at New York’s Kennedy Airport. TMZ can exclusively confirm that Bea Schumacher was eating a Cinnabon at the flight’s gate—guess she really does ignore her critics! (CLICK THROUGH FOR PHOTOS OF BEA WITH CREAM CHEESE ICING ON HER CHIN.) If you’re reading this from Marrakesh and see the cast and crew around town, send your descriptions and photos to tips@tmz.com.
“So”—Lauren twisted the cap off a bottle of iced tea with a sharp pop—“it seems like you’ve fully abandoned our plan not to go falling for any of these men.”
“I guess that’s true.” Bea tried to look contrite, but couldn’t quite muster it—her lips kept quaking into a smile as she luxuriated in her first-class seat on their transatlantic flight to Morocco. “How were last night’s ratings?”
“Huge, obviously.” Lauren grinned. “People love that romance shit. But you realize we have a new problem now? If you’re going to try to make things work for real with Asher, you need to do the same with the other four men.”
“What?” Bea was incredulous. “Why?”
“Because you’re a terrible actress!” Lauren hissed, lowering her voice as a flight attendant walked by with warm washcloths. “If you’re genuinely falling for Asher, but just pretending to date the rest of the men, all of America will be able to see it. We’re only halfway through this season, and if everyone knows from this week on exactly who you plan to end up with, believe me, we will hemorrhage viewers. Not good for you—not tenable for me.”
“Okay,” Bea conceded. “What do you want me to do?”
“I know for a fact that Asher isn’t the only guy here who has feelings for you. In fact, I think any of the five guys you have left would be open to a serious relationship.”
Bea raised an eyebrow. “Even Luc?”
Lauren laughed. “Okay, well, inasmuch as Luc is capable of having a serious relationship with anyone, I think he’d be down to try with you. He likes you, Bea. How do you feel about him?”
“I mean, I’m obviously super attracted to him, but I just don’t know if it could be anything long-term.” She glanced toward the back of the plane, though of course she couldn’t see Luc, who was somewhere in coach with the other four men and most of their crew. She conjured his image in her mind’s eye instead, feeling the firm way he’d raked his fingers through her hair when he kissed her.
“Your chemistry is genuine, and that’s a good start,” Lauren was saying—Bea jerked her mind back to the present. “I’m gonna give you two a one-on-one this week. It’s been overdue since the premiere—you can get to know him better, and if nothing else, we’ll get some good making out on camera.”
Bea smiled and shook her head. “It’s a tough job, but someone has to do it.”
“Attagirl. What about Sam? You two got along so well on your date.”
It was true; they had—but Bea had a difficult time believing she could build a serious relationship with a guy who was only twenty-four.
“I guess I didn’t push myself to see if I could really develop feelings for Sam on our date,” Bea considered, “because his age made it easy for me to dismiss him, and at that point I was still trying not to fall for any of the men.”
“But the attraction is there?”
“I mean, I have eyes.”
“I think you two could have real potential—and Marin thought so too, remember? I’m gonna cook up something special for your date with him this week. Can you do me—and him—the kindness of giving him a real chance?”
“Yes.” Bea nodded. “I can do that.”
“Great! So that just leaves Wyatt and Jefferson. Thoughts on them?”
“I like them both as people—especially Wyatt.”
“The question is who do I send on your third date of the week—you’re bringing two guys on that one.”
“Does that mean I’ll need to eliminate one of those men on the date?” Bea asked with trepidation.
“No. Since you’re only eliminating one man this week, we’ll save that for the big ceremony with all five of them.” Lauren drummed her fingers on the armrest between them. “You and Wyatt need more time for sure, but I can’t really justify giving him another date when you just had one last week. Particularly since I assume you’d like to spend more time with Asher?”
Bea nodded, a flush creeping into her cheeks. She definitely wanted that.
“What about Jefferson, then? Are you interested in him?”
“I mean, when he showed up on the first night, I thought, Oh thank God, a man who looks like someone I could actually see myself ending up with.”
Lauren looked up, eyes alert with interest. “You’re into him.”
Bea shrugged. “A little.”
“That’s settled, then—he’ll go on the third date along with Asher.” Lauren grinned at Bea, but her smile faded.
“What is it?” Bea asked. “Is something wrong?”
“Bea, I’ve been around for a lot of seasons of this show, and I’ve seen people get really hurt by the way things go down. I think you know how much I like you and respect you—at least, I hope you do.”
Bea gave a small nod.
“So before we go ahead with all this, I want to make sure you understand what you’re doing,” Lauren cautioned. “Before, I was the one manufacturing the show’s twists and turns. But the more you invest in these men—and them in you—the more the show will depend on your emotional highs and lows. Your elation. Your heartbreak. I know this process hasn’t been easy on you, but I’ve had this job for five years, and I know how much harder things can get. And I just—I want to make sure you’re ready for that.”
Bea wasn’t remotely convinced that she was, but what was the alternative? Lying to Asher, ignoring the others? Spending a whole life as the only single person at family gatherings and telling herself it didn’t make her miserable? Lying alone in bed night after night with the memory of Ray’s body beside her instead of the actuality of someone else’s?
This thing she had dreamed of so desperately for so long was here, within her grasp—she had to reach for it, even if she might stumble and fail.
“Yeah,” she told Lauren, affecting far more confidence than she felt. “I’m ready.”
Bea had been dying to visit Marrakesh for years, so she was thrilled to learn that she and her suitors would be spending several days there. The producers had procured a mammoth riad in the heart of the city, floor after floor of intricate tile work, sumptuous fabrics in vibrant colors, and finely carved brass lamps spilling radiant patterns of light across every available surface. The whole place was sensuous, and Bea immediately felt more at home than she ever had in the immaculate muteness of the Main Squeeze compound, where everything had been shades of white and beige.
Bea only had a couple of hours after they arrived to try to nap and conquer her jet lag. Lying in an elaborately hewn wooden bed spread thick with woven blankets, the prospect of an evening with Sam looming before her, Bea was starting to feel, for the first time since shooting began, an actual sense of the fairy-tale magic Main Squeeze sold so hard to its viewers.
Bea woke in the late afternoon, and Lauren had the riad staff bring strong Turkish coffee. Then it was on to wardrobe to pick something out for her dinner date with Sam—Alison suggested high-waisted trousers and a crop top.
“Isn’t that a little risqué for a country where a lot of women veil?”
“I think…you’ll be glad to have this option,” Alison said carefully.
“Option for what?” Bea pressed, but Alison wouldn’t say.
Bea wanted to wear something that made her feel sexy and comfortable, so she chose a draped Cushnie jersey dress that gently hugged her curves and playfully bright Sophia Webster heels. When she met Sam in front of the riad, his reaction told her she’d chosen correctly.
“How is it possible you look this good after spending the night on a plane?” His hands wandered down her back for a moment as he hugged her hello, leaving a trail of electricity.
The whole ride to the restaurant, Bea had a feeling that was anxious, unwieldy, almost giddy—this was the first date she’d actually been excited for since Ray. But when they arrived, her excitement turned to dread as it dawned on Bea why Alison had been so opinionated in her wardrobe suggestion.
“Belly dancers,” Bea muttered under her breath. “Fuck me.”
“What’s going on?” Sam asked, puzzled by the sudden turn in Bea’s mood.
The restaurant was an opulent place, everything draped in damask and velvet, patrons lounging in lushly appointed circular booths built into the walls. And dancers were absolutely everywhere: Swathed in skin-skimming silks and skimpy bra tops that jangled with ornamental bells, curvaceous women gyrated around the dimly lit space, pausing graciously at every table.
“You’re not a fan?” Sam asked with a grin.
“They’re going to make me dance,” Bea said, her face dark. “That’s why Alison wanted me to wear a crop top—so that I’d have an option besides those tiny string things the dancers are wearing.”
“Wait, what?” Sam paused, incredulous. “If you don’t want to dance, they can’t make you, can they?”
Bea rolled her eyes. “You weren’t there the day they got me to parade around a yacht in a bikini, pretty much entirely against my will.”
“I wasn’t there, but I wish I had been.”
“Why, you have a fetish for uncomfortable women?”
“No, but I wouldn’t have minded seeing you in that bikini.”
Bea caught his eye as they followed the maître d’ to a table in the center of the restaurant, skirting to avoid two women in the throes of wild undulations.
“You hate this, huh?” Sam rubbed the tense muscles at the base of Bea’s neck as he settled into the chair beside her.
“I just feel like I’m in some kind of Turing test where I have to convince the world, over and over, that I really do feel good about my body.”
“Do you?” There was no malice in Sam’s question, no accusatory tone—without knee-jerk cause to get defensive, Bea considered the question on its merits.
“I’ve worked hard to, but part of that requires me to have some control over my own circumstances. Like, I would never go to the gym in shorts and a sports bra, even if that’s what I’d wear to work out at home.”
“And you’re saying taking off half your clothes to do a dance you don’t know for an audience of millions is…worse?”
Sam raised his eyebrows dramatically at Bea, and she laughed appreciatively. “Yeah, just a little.”
Before they could continue their conversation, Johnny came over to welcome them and introduce the concept of the date.
“Bea and Sam, welcome to Marrakesh!” He was entirely too enthusiastic—just looking at his gleaming eyes made Bea exhausted. “This country is known for its vibrant culture and incredible food—you’ll be sampling both tonight. But first, are you ready for some entertainment?”
At this, Johnny stepped aside and half a dozen belly dancers appeared; traditional music flowed through the speakers and the women executed a flawlessly choreographed dance. As Bea watched these curvaceous women jiggle and pop various parts of their bodies, the dread inside her mounted that she was about to be asked to do the same.
“Okay, Bea,” Johnny goaded, “you’re not going to let those girls have all the fun, are you? What do you say? Are you up for a little dancing?”
Bea steeled herself for further embarrassment, but before she could say anything, Sam spoke out.
“Actually, I had a different idea. I’m a little tired of Bea getting to have all the fun on these dates—would it be possible for me to do the dancing instead?” He turned to Bea. “If that’s okay with you, Bea.”
Bea wanted to say something to let Sam know how profoundly she appreciated this gesture, but that felt much too heavy at a moment when his smile was so expectant and so wide.
“I’ve never had a man dance for me before,” she said coyly.
“Well, I think it’s high time we rectified that,” Sam cooed, leaning over to kiss Bea’s cheek. “I’ll see you soon.”
Without waiting for permission from Johnny, the producers, or anyone else, Sam got up and walked off with the dancers—who, Bea noted with a mild note of chagrin, seemed more than happy to have him.
While Sam rehearsed, Bea enjoyed a gorgeous spread of vegetarian appetizers—roast carrots spiced with cumin, shredded cabbage riddled with crunchy za’atar, and perfectly sour pickled beets. Half an hour later, the lights dimmed, the music grew louder, and Sam emerged from who-knows-where, sporting silky jodhpurs and a tight black T-shirt that, regrettably, was not cropped enough to bare his belly. Bea angled her chair away from the table so Sam could dance directly in front of her.
Sam struck a pose with three other dancers, and the music piped in through the speakers. At first, Bea took the minor melody for a traditional Moroccan song, but something about it was familiar. Sam beamed as the hook kicked in—Bea recognized that the song was Jennifer Lopez’s “If You Had My Love,” and she laughed and clapped with delight as Sam languidly rolled his torso in time with the other women. If he was having trouble with the choreography, he masked it with pure confidence, popping his hips and shoulders like he’d been doing this for a matter of years instead of minutes.
“If you had my love and I gave you all my trust, would you comfort me?” He sang along playfully, then leaned low to whisper in her ear. “Dance with me, Bea.”
As she rose to move with him, none of it felt like a joke—it was fun, but not funny, serious, but not self-serious. Bea loved to dance, and as Sam moved behind her, his hands traveling down her arms and waist and hips, Bea swayed against him, allowing herself to imagine where he might put his hands (and what he might do with them) if no one else was watching. Asher’s face popped briefly into her mind—was she being disloyal to him? Was it insane that she was already experiencing such an intense attraction to another man so soon after having declared her feelings for him?
This is what you’re supposed to be doing here, she reminded herself. Try to enjoy it.
When the music ended, everyone in the restaurant burst into applause. Sam took a bow, then held out his hands to encourage the crowd to cheer for Bea, which they did enthusiastically. Her face was flushed—with heat, with energy, with the things she was just thinking about Sam—and as they sat down to enjoy their dinner of spicy merguez sausage and mountains of fluffy couscous, Bea found she was absolutely ravenous.
“I didn’t know you could dance like that.” Sam gave Bea a mischievous look.
“Yeah, well I didn’t know you were so fluent in the lyrics of one Ms. Lopez,” Bea countered with a grin of her own. “Were you even born when that song came out?”
“Excuse you, I have two older sisters. The lyrics of everything they listened to in high school are forever ingrained on my soul.”
“Wow, so you’re the baby! Did they spoil you rotten?”
“Not exactly.” Sam broke eye contact with Bea to refill his glass of flinty white wine. “My family isn’t as easy as yours.”
“What do you mean?”
“My dad is a corporate executive, and my mom is a surgeon—they had pretty high expectations for all of us. My sisters measured up, but…”
“You haven’t figured things out yet.”
“That’s not how they’d put it.”
“How would they put it?”
He shifted in his seat. “That I’m unmotivated, that I’d rather live off their money than make my own way in the world, that I don’t take myself seriously.”
“Is that how you see yourself?”
“Everything seemed so easy for my sisters. Ivy League for both of them, now Jessica’s a doctor like my mom and Zoe is an engineer. They knew what they wanted, and then they did it. I think I could do the second part no problem—I just haven’t figured out the first.”
“What about teaching? Did you like that?”
“I loved it. But for the rest of my life? I want to do more things, see more things. I can’t imagine myself in a classroom for the next forty years.”
Bea pushed a carrot back and forth through a pile of couscous. “Do you think this show was maybe a way for you to put off that decision? Just…I don’t know. Fill time?”
Sam sighed. “Partly, yeah. Things can get tense around the house—going off to be on TV seemed like a much more fun alternative.”
“And are you having fun?”
“Come on.” He lowered his voice. “You know I am.”
“What—um…” Bea wasn’t sure how to ask the question. “Is it just fun, though?”
“Are you asking if I see this as fun or something more?”
Bea flushed, a little embarrassed. “I guess I am.”
“Bea”—he took her hand—“I am really into you. Like—really. Really, really. Okay?”
Bea knew all the reallys were intended to reassure her, but they had the opposite effect—she suddenly felt more nervous than she had before.
“What about you?” Sam nudged. “Where do you think we stand?”
Bea ducked her head, her voice small. “I know you make me smile. And that I want to spend more time with you.”
“If that’s the case,” he smiled slyly, “you’re in luck.”
He took an envelope out of his jacket pocket and handed it to her.
“What’s this?” Bea turned over the blank envelope in her hands, suspicious.
“It’s an invitation to a luxury hammam. I’m supposed to ask if you want to go there after dinner; apparently they have a private treatment all set up for us.”
“What kind of treatment?” Bea asked, leaning closer. Under the table, Sam’s knee touched hers.
“I don’t know exactly. But I’m told it involves a series of pools, hot water, different oils and scrubs.” He pressed his leg against hers, and Bea felt the flush from their dance creeping back into her system.
“I know you said you didn’t like wearing a bathing suit on that yacht,” he added, “but since this would be just the two of us…and since you did deprive me the last time…”
Bea nodded. “Yes. Let’s go.”
The entry to the hammam was hidden in a maze of winding alleys deep in the Marrakesh medina. The reception room felt much like a traditional spa with its bleached wood floors and shelves of products you could take home to attempt to re-create your time here, desert-salt scrub and orange-blossom shampoo. But once Bea and Sam had checked in, changed into the bathing suits Alison had surreptitiously provided to the producers, and covered up in thin cloth robes, they descended a stone staircase and emerged into what felt like another universe.
The hammam was absolutely cavernous, with smooth gray floors and soaring arched ceilings inlaid with swirls of blue and purple tiles arranged in intricate mosaics. Carved lanterns lined the room’s perimeter, surrounding a placid blue pool that was bathed in a thousand points of light. This was the communal bathing area; two of the hammam’s workers—a stocky man and a slight woman—led Bea and Sam to a private room for their traditional hammam treatment.
“It is more intimate this way,” said the woman, who introduced herself as Rehana.
“Nothing’s intimate with these guys around.” Bea gestured to the cameras, but Rehana’s manner was immovably calm.
“You’ll see, you’ll be very relaxed,” she assured Bea with a smile.
The treatment room was warm and cavelike, lit only with candles, made entirely of the same gray material as the floors in the communal room, with a low, curved ceiling and a steaming tub of water that ran the entire length of the wall opposite the door.
“Your robe?” Rehana held out her hand. Sam handed his robe to his helper, Issam, without hesitation, giving Bea her first glimpse of the rippling muscles that had so far been hidden by his clothes. She felt herself flush red—Sam’s face creased with concern.
“We don’t have to do this. We can just go back to the riad, have a drink by the fire.”
“No.” Bea swallowed hard. “I want to.”
She handed her robe to Rehana, revealing the swimsuit Alison had sent over: a black Cynthia Rowley one-piece with a notched neckline that dipped low between Bea’s breasts, tied together with a little bow. She kept her gaze trained on Sam’s face, waiting for his expression to betray some hint of disgust. But his pupils dilated as his eyes traveled down her body, and he clenched the towel he was holding.
“Are you ready to begin?” Issam’s voice was deep and honeyed. Bea nodded. Issam and Rehana positioned Bea and Sam in the middle of the room, facing each other. They brought over wooden buckets filled with steaming water from the tub, gently ladling the water over Bea’s and Sam’s arms, legs, torsos, and finally their heads until they were both warm and wet.
Sam reached out and wrapped a lock of Bea’s wet hair around his fingers. She had a sudden urge for him to yank her closer, to kiss her hard and shove her against the hot, smooth wall of this dim room where everything was slick with condensation.
“What?” he asked, his lips curving into a smile that matched hers.
“Can you read my mind?”
“I hope so, because I really want you to be thinking what I’m thinking.”
He had to step back so Issam and Rehana could continue the ritual, first scrubbing them down with rough black soap, then washing it away and soothing their skin with sweet mango butter, and finally massaging their scalps with rose oil. When it was over, Bea and Sam stood close together in the center of the room, hot water cascading over them and rinsing them clean. The air around them felt warm and thick, the tension buzzing between their bodies, the anticipation of touching him so strong Bea couldn’t think of anything else.
Once they were dry and back in robes, they made their way back to the communal bathing room—it was empty now except for Bea, Sam, and a couple of camera ops and sound techs. Even the producers had left, probably to lull Sam and Bea into some false sense of privacy. They shed their robes and stepped gingerly into the warm pool, which was perfectly calibrated to match the temperature of the balmy air, and of their bodies. They waded toward the center, where the water was deep enough to reach Bea’s chest. After all the noise of the rushing water in the private room, this room seemed incredibly still and quiet, nothing audible above Bea’s and Sam’s own breath.
“If I don’t kiss you right now, I’m going to lose my mind,” he rasped.
“We can’t have that,” Bea responded, and then his hands were on her, grabbing her hips under the water and pulling her close, kissing her firmly, roughly, just like she’d wanted him to—there was nothing tentative about this, no question of faking it. He wanted her, and she wanted him back. He kissed her cheek, and then the spot at the edge of her jawline just below her ear. Bea heard a groan escape her, a guttural sound, and then threw her hands over her mouth.
“What is it?” Sam asked, flustered.
“We’re on television,” Bea squeaked, and then she burst out laughing.
Sam turned and good-naturedly splashed some water at the cameras. “You guys can’t give us a break, huh?”
Bea covered her face, somewhere between arousal and mortification and total joyous bliss. Sam lifted her fingers to peek underneath them.
“Hi, Bea.”
“Hi, Sam.”
“I like you a lot.”
Bea’s heart pounded so hard she knew Sam could feel it.
“I like you a lot too.”
The morning after her hammam escapade, Bea woke feeling—well, if not entirely confident, then at least more comfortable than she’d been throughout filming. She lazed in bed as the riad staff brought sweet mint tea, fresh orange juice, and eggs scrambled with herbs and olive oil. She let her mind drift to kissing Asher in Ohio and their intense connection, to Sam last night in the hammam and his electric energy. It wasn’t fair to compare those kisses to Ray last Fourth of July—she and Ray had known each other so much longer, the buildup to their night together had been so drawn out and fraught that kissing him had felt like an ocean of clear water after years in endless desert, drinking so quickly and deeply that she went from parched to drowned.
With Asher, and now Sam, it was different—they were finding their path together, all excitement and uncertainty. And then…there was Luc. She was looking forward to their date this afternoon—and perhaps to kisses that would feel less agitated and complex than those they shared the night of the yacht and the crème brûlée.
Bea felt that same rush of effortless chemistry when she saw him waiting for her in front of the riad, sporting dark jeans, a charcoal sweater, and just the right amount of transatlantic scruff.
“Morocco suits you,” he murmured as he leaned down to kiss her on the mouth, a soft hello that lingered for a delicious moment.
“You like me in menswear?” Bea teased. She was wearing head-to-toe Veronica Beard today: high-waisted linen trousers in a soft brown clay, a ribbed white shell with a low scoop neck, and a stunning slouchy houndstooth blazer that made her feel like Rosalind Russell circa His Girl Friday.
“I like you anywhere.” Luc smiled and kissed her again; he tasted like salt and smoke.
“If that’s true, then I think you’re really going to like me today.”
“Oh?” He let his hands settle at her waist, comfortably holding her as they talked. “What adventures do you have planned?”
“I thought we could spice things up a little. Maybe add some flavor to our date.”
“You are making cooking jokes, yes?”
“Yes. Cooking puns, technically.”
“Ah. And perhaps my English is to blame, or perhaps the puns are bad?”
Bea grinned. “The puns are awful.”
They rode in a fancy old car to the Marrakesh spice market, an open square stuffed with dozens of vendors whose glass jars filled with rainbow spices lined shelves that stretched to the roof of each stall like some kind of Wonka-esque dream. Luc’s eyes lit up as he took Bea from stall to stall, sharing tastes of hot cayenne and pungent cumin and savory ras el hanout. He held out a strand of golden saffron for Bea to try; she went to take it from his finger, but he shook his head.
“It is too delicate. This way is better.” He lifted his finger to her lips, and it felt so much more erotic than kissing as she took it into her mouth, gently letting the intensity of the pure saffron wash over her tongue.
He let his finger rest on her lips for a moment, and she wanted to kiss it, to kiss him, to get the hell away from the crowd of bystanders and the laughing merchants she felt certain were mocking her in Arabic.
Instead she just smiled, and Luc ran his fingers along her jawline. “A pity I need my hands back at all. I’d rather leave them with you.”
After the spice market, they went to the home of a squat, exuberant grandmother who offered cooking lessons in her copper-filled kitchen.
“Today, we make chicken with couscous, vegetable, and saffron. You like saffron, yes?”
Luc put his hand on the small of Bea’s back. “She loves it.”
Luc’s tendency to veer over-the-top was one reason Bea couldn’t see herself trusting him—was he putting on a romantic performance, or was he just genuinely European? But chopping chicken and vegetables together while Grandma Adilah yelled at them to adjust their form, Luc cursing under his breath in French that she didn’t know the first thing about knife work, then laughing when Bea understood well enough to call him out, Bea felt she was starting to get a sense of what a life together might actually look like, how his character might be outside the trappings of all these grand gestures.
“Tell me about your restaurant?” Bea asked, mincing ginger as Luc butchered a chicken, his knife easily finding the magic spaces between the joints.
“It is not my restaurant.” He sniffed.
“But you’re the head chef there, right?”
“Yes, it is my place—but I am cooking someone else’s vision. Ultimately, nothing is your own unless you can make your own choices, unless success or failure rests only with you. Like with your work, no? No one tells you what to photograph, what to say. You say what you think, and this is why so many people adore you.”
Bea hunched over the ginger so he wouldn’t see her blush. “That’s kind of you.”
Luc shrugged. “It’s just the truth, no? This is what I want, to get my own place—many places, if I can.”
“In America or Europe?”
He smirked. “And why not both? Would you object to summer in New York and winter in Paris?”
“Spring in L.A., autumn in Rome?”
Luc paused his chopping and leaned in toward Bea. “I think this is an excellent plan.” They kissed, and it was all so easy, so attractive. A shared little fantasy where they both were welcome tenants.
Once the cooking was done, they ate their meal in Grandma Adilah’s twinkle-lit garden, where warm blankets and space heaters were required to keep them from freezing in the desert night. After dinner, they fed each other slices of orange drizzled with honey, and Bea thought she’d never tasted anything so perfectly sweet in her life.
Back at the riad, Luc kissed Bea good night, surrounded by cameras and bathed in artificial light. When Lauren called cut and declared the date was a wrap, Bea said a quick good night to Luc and made her way back to her room. The date had been flirty and enjoyable—time with Luc always was—but Bea didn’t feel any more certain about him than she had beforehand. She washed off her makeup and threw on sweatpants and a ratty old T-shirt, then crawled into bed; she was looking forward to a good night’s sleep before her day with Asher and Jefferson tomorrow.
She had just turned out the light when she heard a knock on her door.
“Ugh,” she groaned, and flipped her bedside light back on. She trudged over to the door and opened it, expecting a producer or PA with some new bit of information about her morning call time.
But instead, there was Luc, wearing chic dark sweats that probably cost more than most men’s best suits, carrying a bottle of wine. It was just like his surprise visit the night of the crème brûlée—except this time, there weren’t any cameras.
“Luc, what are you doing here?” Bea folded her arms over her chest, wishing she’d put on one of the buttery nightdresses Alison had packed for her, or that she’d bothered to brush her hair instead of throwing it into a crooked bun, crunchy hair spray and all. “Do the producers know you’re here?”
Luc grinned mischievously. “We are adults, no? We can choose our own destiny?”
Bea felt a mild panic rising—she barely knew this man. Before, his behavior had always been so predictable: the cheesy flirting, the vying for camera time, for fame. But now he was alone in the doorway of her darkened bedroom—what did he want from her? Did he expect sex? She certainly wasn’t ready for that—oh God. What the hell was happening?
“Oh no,” he murmured, his expression falling as he read Bea’s face. “I thought it would be a little pleasure to see you without the cameras, but now I see I have made you uncomfortable?”
“No,” she stammered, trying to figure out the right thing to say and what she actually wanted in the same breath. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. Um, I need to go to sleep soon, but one glass of wine would be okay? I guess?”
“You are certain?” He looked unsure. “The last thing I want is to give you troubles.”
“It’s okay.” Bea smiled, heartened that he seemed nervous too. “Please, come in.”
She turned on more lamps in the room as he slipped inside and shut the door behind him. She pulled a robe out of her wardrobe to throw on over her PJs.
“No,” Luc said with a smile, “but I love you in this T-shirt.”
“Really?” Bea laughed. “Maybe I should have worn it on our date today.”
Luc produced a small wine key from his pocket and began opening the bottle, a deep Moroccan red.
“Perhaps I am wrong,” he said, “but when I see you in your fashions, your makeup, your hair all done, I think this is like your armor, your uniform for war.”
“Love is a battlefield?” Bea raised an eyebrow.
“Non, Ms. Benatar.” He smiled. “There is something about these fashions that feel like—a challenge, I think is the right word. Like you are telling the world the way you want them to see you.”
“Doesn’t everyone do that?” she asked, feeling a bit self-conscious that this man who seemed so self-involved had seen her so clearly.
“Yes, but not for a living.” He grabbed two glasses from a sideboard and poured the wine, then brought them over to the little settee where Bea was sitting. “Now, like this, you are soft. Unguarded. I prefer it.”
They clinked glasses and drank; the wine was dark and fruity.
“So.” Bea tried for a flirtatious tone, but she was afraid it came out more pointed. “Do you want to tell me what you’re really doing here?”
“Here in your room? Whatever you like.”
“No.” Bea flushed. “Here on this show.”
Luc cocked his head. “What do you mean by this?”
“Well,” Bea explained, “tonight, for example. When you were telling me about your restaurant, and how you want to own your places. Being famous would help with that, right? Make it easier to get investors?”
Luc looked puzzled. “Yes, of course.”
“I mean, that’s why you came on this show, isn’t it? To raise your profile, to become a celebrity? To help your career?”
“Certainly,” Luc admitted. “Is this a problem?”
“No, but—” Bea paused, unsure how to articulate her concern. “I guess I thought that that’s why you wanted to spend time with me. Not that we weren’t having fun, but just that—I don’t know. If we weren’t here, on this show, you would never give me a second glance. That’s why I don’t understand why you’re here in my room now, when there aren’t any cameras.”
Luc put down his wine, his expression darker now. “You are saying you do not have interest in me.”
“Luc, come on. I was sure you had no interest in me.”
“But why? Why would you assume this?”
“Look at you!” Bea spluttered. “The longer I keep you here, the more fame you get. And if I pick you in the end, it means magazine covers, and TV specials, and interviews, and…” Bea felt like an idiot. Of course he was here to increase his own chances of winning, especially now that she was getting closer with Asher and Sam. Of course. “I just answered my own question, didn’t I?”
Luc frowned. “I do not understand.”
“It’s fine, Luc. I like you, and we have a good time together. I won’t send you home unless there’s a reason to, okay? I’m not trying to get in the way of your goals.”
She stood and walked toward the door, assuming this was the assurance he wanted, but he looked even more upset as he came to follow her.
“You think I am a liar.”
“What? I didn’t say that!”
“This is what you are saying right now!” He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “You think I am using you for my own gain, that my enjoyment of you is false. Is this really what you think of me? That I would be so cruel?”
“Luc, you have to understand where I’m coming from here.”
“Why did you agree to do this show?” he demanded. “You work in an industry where publicity is valuable, like mine—was this a factor in your decision?”
“Of course it was.” She exhaled. There was no use in lying to him, even if she did feel like a hypocrite.
“So?” he pressed. “What am I to think? Are you leading me on, pretending to fall in love with me so your audience will fall in love with you?”
“That’s not the same!” Bea protested.
“What is different? You think I would pretend to have feelings for you because I am some kind of liar, but you would never do the same to me?”
“I had twenty-five men here, Luc. Why would I single you out and pretend to be interested in you?”
“Perhaps because, for our first week together, I was the only one showing interest in you.”
The remark hit Bea in the gut—that awful first night, the catastrophic afternoon on the boat, and Luc, out of everyone, taking time to make her feel beautiful. She didn’t feel beautiful now.
“Maybe the fact that you wanted me from the beginning is the reason I don’t trust you.”
Luc looked genuinely confused. “Why would you say this?”
“Because it makes it seem like you have an agenda! You have a lot to gain by being here, and more to gain the longer you stay. You’re one of the most attractive men on this show, one of the most attractive men I’ve ever met. I don’t date men who look like you, and I can only presume you don’t date women who look like me. So what am I supposed to think, Luc? That you’re some perfect prince come to rescue me from my nightmare of a love life? Or that you came here with a goal, and you didn’t waste any time setting out to achieve it?”
“Is that what you thought when you met me?” he asked quietly. “Is it what you thought the first time I kissed you?”
“I thought you were playing me.” Bea shrugged. “Maybe I was right.”
“And you think this because you believe I cannot be attracted to you. This is how you see yourself?”
Bea wanted to speak, but tears threatened. “It’s how men like you see me,” she choked out, and Luc’s face crumpled, his anger suddenly gone.
“I understand, I understand,” he murmured, pulling her close. “You are not so tough after all, my Bea.”
“Who ever said I was tough?” she joked, burying her face in his chest.
“I think you are beautiful,” he whispered. “Your face, your body, your laugh. Can you believe this?”
Bea looked up at him, trying to read his face. “I don’t know.”
“Hmm. I think perhaps this is good news for me.”
Bea frowned. “How so?”
“Because this means I will have to prove how much I want you.”
He rested the pads of his fingers lightly on her cheekbones, gently circling the contours of her face. The gesture was so small, so intimate, that Bea felt shaky—she closed her eyes. He leaned down to kiss her, and with no cameras, no makeup (hell, no bra), it felt like something honest and apart from the artifice of the show, like instead of a luxury riad in Morocco, they could be in his apartment in New York, or her place in L.A. Everything was slow, languid; none of it felt urgent or performed. He kissed her for a long time, and then he held her, still standing, breathing slowly.
“I’m glad you came over,” she whispered.
He smiled and kissed the crown of her head. “So am I.”
TEXT MESSAGE TRANSCRIPT, MARCH 27:
MAIN SQUEEZE PRODUCER THREAD
Is Bea finished in wardrobe yet? We’re supposed to load out in ten
She is DRAGGING this morning, she’s so tired and cranky and everything’s taking forever
Which makes no sense, didn’t we wrap her early last night?
One of the PAs ran into Luc in the hall at 4am
Related???
Lauren, are you seeing this? What do you want us to do?
Bea just rejected outfit #4. Lauren?? Where are you???
Was with Luc trying to figure out what went down last night
(He went to Bea’s room and NO ONE caught it! Come on guys!!!)
Reezy, get down to wardrobe and tell Alison we’re going right now—we’ve only got the camels for five hours
Copy! Bea says if someone doesn’t get her an iced coffee she’s breaking up with everyone
Honestly same
Bea was absolutely exhausted after her night with Luc, but once some blessed PA procured her caffeine and the production crew headed out of the city into the fresh air of the mountains, she started to feel a bit better. The Atlas Mountains were stunning—blue and jagged, blanketed in thick green groves on their western side where rain fell, rocky and barren to the east where Morocco abruptly faded into endless sand. Bea journeyed up the side of a mountain in a 4x4 with their guide for the day, Rahim, who had a truly lush beard and a warm, mischievous manner that made Bea laugh—something she sorely needed after all the emotional drama of the night before.
“Riding a camel is basically like riding a horse,” Rahim explained over the whip of the mountain winds, “but the meat is much gamier.”
“I feel like you switched thoughts there, Rahim.”
“If the trek goes south and we need to eat our camels to survive, I just want you to know what you’re getting yourself into—a nice, smoky flavor.”
They made it to a little plateau near the base of the mountain, where Asher, Jefferson, and the camera crew were already set up to film Bea’s arrival.
“Hi guys!” She waved, inelegantly dismounting the 4x4—Jefferson rushed over to steady her.
“Take it easy, we’re not even on the camels yet.” Jefferson let out a big laugh, and Bea was reminded momentarily of that feeling she’d had on the first night when he called her “little lady,” when she couldn’t quite tell whether he was laughing at her expense. But he flashed a broad grin and kissed her on the cheek, and she dismissed the thought; it was genuinely nice to see him.
“Hello, Bea.”
Bea looked up to see that Asher was still several feet away—he made no move to come closer.
“Hey.” She walked over to him, noting how wonderfully normal he looked in his faded jeans and woolen sweater: a dad from Vermont. She wanted to hug him, to rest her head on his shoulder and snuggle into his arms—but something about his manner stopped her, made her ill at ease.
“Seems like you’ve had a good week,” he said, an edge in his voice.
“Yes, this country is amazing. I really love it here.” Bea was so confused—the last time she saw him, they’d been confessing their feelings and kissing passionately. What had changed?
“Okay!” Rahim’s voice broke in. “Riding a camel can be tricky. They spit, all four of their legs can kick in all four directions, and they’re frankly not thrilled that you’re here. So I need you all to be careful when you mount them. They’ll sink down to the ground, and you need to lean back as they rise up. If you lean forward, there’s a not-insignificant chance they throw you over their heads, and we have a lot of cameras here, so even if you don’t get injured, your mortification will live forever on YouTube. Okay?”
Bea, Asher, and Jefferson all nodded with trepidation. Bea was starting to think maybe belly dancing wouldn’t be the most frightening date option in Morocco after all.
“Great!” Rahim clapped his hands. “Let’s get this party started.”
The camels were putrid and surly, and Bea said a silent prayer as hers rose to its feet that she wasn’t about to be pitched headfirst onto a rocky path. But once the camel stood up and they got going, she was bowled over by the majesty of the experience. The camels were markedly taller than horses, and while riding them wasn’t exactly comfortable, their lilting gaits did have something of a hypnotic quality.
For half an hour they rode higher into the mountains, until they reached a plateau where the producers had arranged a beautiful picnic. Thirty minutes on a camel didn’t seem like long, but by the end of the ride, she was more than ready to take a break—thick Moroccan bread with savory roasted lamb was just the ticket.
“What, no camel meat?” Bea joked with Rahim.
“Shhh, they’ll hear you!” Rahim looked meaningfully at their camels. “We can’t let them know how lean and nutritious they are.”
“I think you should consider being the spokesperson for the camel-meat industry.”
“Why do you think I agreed to do a camel tour on reality TV? I’ve got ambitions, baby.”
After lunch, the producers had blocked out discrete mini-dates for Jefferson and Asher to give each of them time to talk alone with Bea. First, Bea took a short walk with Jefferson to a magnificent vista that overlooked the entire city of Marrakesh below, the high walls and turrets and palm trees and twisting alleyways gleaming in the afternoon sunlight.
“This is so beautiful,” Bea said, feeling grateful to be in this extraordinary place. It reminded her of a road trip with Ray up to Malibu almost ten years ago, a Saturday treat after a terrible week at the agency. The convertible top down, the wind in their hair, walking together over jagged cliffs as they laughed and talked for hours, admiring gorgeous views like this one. Bea realized that she’d barely thought of Ray all week—was it just the ocean between them that made him feel so far away? Or had making room for the possibility of these other men left a little less space for his memory?
“Whatcha thinking about?” Jefferson gave Bea a little nudge, easing her back into the present moment. She looked up at him, cast in golden light and the handsomest she’d seen him.
“Just thinking how profound my time here has felt, even though it’s only been five weeks.” Bea laughed with a moment of self-awareness. “Wow, I sound like everyone who’s ever starred on this show, don’t I?”
“It’s a good thing, though. I feel the same way.” Jefferson sighed and leaned against the stone wall that framed the vista. “I’ve been saying for years that I’m ready to get married, feeling frustrated that I can’t find a woman to be my wife. But being here with you, I’m starting to wonder, was I really ready before? Because this feels…so different.”
“Really?” Bea didn’t mean to sound incredulous, but she and Jefferson had really only shared two conversations—nice ones to be sure, but there was certainly nothing life-altering about them.
Jefferson laughed. “I know, I probably sound insane to you—believe me, it sounds even crazier to me. And maybe I’m just getting swept away with this show, with all the amazing things we’ve gotten to do. But I don’t know, Bea. Watching everything that’s been thrown at you for the past month, how gracefully you’ve handled it all, how you’ve been vulnerable but kept your sense of humor—yeah. It’s been really special. It’s taught me more about the kind of person I want to be.”
“Wow,” Bea said quietly, not really knowing how to react to this. “I really wish you and I would have had more time together before now.”
“It’s not too late, is it?” He reached for her hand—she noticed his was a little clammy. Was he nervous about this conversation? If so, it was incredibly endearing.
“It’s funny,” she said, “the way you describe yourself in Kansas City, with dating, I mean—that’s pretty similar to how I’ve been for the last few years.”
“Seriously?” Jefferson looked skeptical.
“Yeah—I know most of the girls on this show are pretty marriage-minded, but that hasn’t been me. At all. And as much as I’ve said I’m ready for marriage, I haven’t really given any man the chance to form a real relationship, let alone get engaged.”
“Why do you think that is?”
Bea shrugged. “The easy answer is that I’ve been focused on my career—and that’s true, I have.”
“And the harder answer?” Jefferson gave her a knowing look.
“I guess…” Bea stopped, then pushed herself to go on. If this could be her only chance to figure out whether there might be potential for something real with this man, she owed it to him—and herself—to try to be vulnerable.
“Growing up, I was always wary of boys. When I was little, kids in elementary school were so cruel—even in high school, they treated me like a joke, you know? I didn’t really date until college, and guys there were happy to sleep with me—just not to be seen with me in public. After that, I think I really shied away from putting myself out there. I would fall in love with these unavailable people, and tell myself it was my own bad luck, but the truth is, maybe I was just trying to avoid finding something real, because it still scared me so much.”
“And now?” Jefferson looked into her eyes. “Are you still afraid?”
“Hell yeah, I am.” Bea laughed softly. “This show is the scariest thing I’ve ever done. But also—I see all this potential, and it’s thrilling. Like I’m flying off the side of this mountain and taking it on faith that it’ll somehow be okay.”
“Maybe you’ll land on happily ever after,” Jefferson quipped.
“Yeah?” Bea smiled. “What would that look like?”
“Well”—Jefferson draped an arm over her shoulders as they turned to admire the view—“it’d be you and me, a big house with a yard, a dog for sure—you like dogs?”
“I love dogs.” Bea grinned.
“Thank God.” Jefferson faked intense relief. “So us, the house, the dog, a couple of kids, road trips on the weekend to a cool barbecue joint or a national park. Friends coming over for game nights, smoking wings and brisket for football Sundays, getting old, being happy. You know, life.”
“That sounds pretty good.” Bea leaned against Jefferson’s chest, and he pulled her in to face him.
“So since there are no kids or relatives around,” he said with a grin, “do you think it’d be okay if I kissed you?”
There was absolutely no reason not to kiss him—but something in Bea still hesitated, still didn’t feel quite right.
“It’s okay, Bea,” Jefferson said gently. “You don’t have to stand in your own way anymore. You can let yourself be happy.”
Bea nodded yes, and as he leaned in to kiss her—a gentle kiss, respectful and sweet—Bea still wasn’t sure if she really saw a future with Jefferson, but she did know that she loved the big, solid certainty of him, the way that when he held her, they just fit.
And it felt really, really nice.
After Bea went back to the main staging area, she climbed into another 4x4 beside Asher, who didn’t seem any happier to see Bea than he had that morning. They rode in silence to a spectacular waterfall, water spilling over a jagged cliff and thundering into a deep green pool below, then hiked in equal silence to the edge of a copper-hued rock formation, where soft mist cast in rainbow prisms floated across their bodies. It was one of the most romantic places Bea had ever been, but Asher would barely look at her. She’d spent all week looking forward to being alone with him, reliving their Ohio kiss in her memory, and now he was acting like she’d done something to offend him—only, as she hadn’t seen him, she couldn’t imagine what that might be.
“Hey!” she shouted over the noise of the falls. “Is everything okay?”
“What do you mean?” he asked, his back still toward her.
She grabbed his arm—he turned in surprise. “Can you at least look at me?”
He did, but his expression was hard, his manner guarded.
“Are you stressed about your kids?” she asked. “Whatever it is, can we please just talk about it?”
Asher’s jaw tensed. “Did you sleep with Luc last night?”
“What?” Bea felt like she’d been slapped in the face.
“He and I are roommates in the riad,” Asher said curtly, and Bea’s stomach dropped. “He left the room around midnight, and didn’t come back until four. When I asked where he’d been, he smiled and said he was with you.”
Bea flushed crimson. So not only was Asher furious, now the one private moment she’d had with a man all season long was going to be a major plot point of this week’s episode.
“I don’t like asking you to air your private business on television,” Asher said, “but if you’re going to meet my children, I think I have a right to know what happened.”
“Really?” Bea pushed back. “Because I’m having trouble seeing how one thing relates to the other.”
“Bea, I haven’t introduced anyone to my kids since their mother left. You think I’d let you meet them if you’re not taking this seriously?”
“You think I’d want to? Come on, Asher. I’m not a monster, I don’t want to drag your kids into a limelight you don’t want them in—I would never ask that of you, period, let alone if I didn’t think—”
Her heart was pounding. She couldn’t say it.
“What?” he prodded. “If you didn’t think what?”
Bea closed her eyes. “If I didn’t think I could really fall in love with you.”
She looked up at Asher—his expression was pained.
“I hate this,” he said finally.
“What do you hate?”
“You, with other men.”
“You knew the premise of this show when you agreed to be on it, right?”
“That doesn’t mean I have to like it,” he sulked.
“No one’s asking you to! But I don’t see a way for us to make it through this if you shut down during what precious little time we actually get to spend together because you’re busy thinking about everyone else.”
“I know,” he admonished himself. “Believe me, I hate that I’m behaving this way. I couldn’t get back to sleep after Luc came back. I kept thinking about the two of you, and wondering…”
“What?”
For the first time all day, he looked Bea dead in the eye.
“If you feel as strongly for me as you do for him.”
Bea sighed in frustration. As much as she didn’t relish sharing this particular detail on television, she had a feeling it was the only thing that would get this date (and this relationship) back on track.
“Asher, I didn’t sleep with Luc.”
He looked up at her, surprised and a little hopeful. “You didn’t?”
Bea shook her head. “Not even close. And I’m sorry he gave you that impression. You know how he is, I’m sure he was just trying to get a rise out of you.”
“It’s not just him,” Asher said softly.
“Oh?”
“Sam was pretty happy when he came home from his date.”
Bea exhaled deeply. She’d been so worried about these men hurting her, she hadn’t even considered the fact that she could hurt them.
“Come here,” she said to Asher, taking his hand and putting it over her heart, just as he’d done in Ohio. “I know how awful it is to see someone you care about with someone else, okay? Believe me, I’ve been there. But if you can’t trust that I’m taking this seriously, you might as well leave now. Is that what you want?”
Asher let out a huge sigh and pulled Bea into a hug.
“That’s the opposite of what I want,” he mumbled into her hair, and Bea relaxed into his touch. This was what she’d longed for all day, and now that she was here, she finally felt some of the tension in her body unspool.
He pulled back so he could look at her. “Forgive me for being a jealous ass?”
She nodded, then took his hand and led him over to a picnic blanket piled with pillows that the production staff had set out. They settled down to enjoy thermoses full of hot tea as they looked out over the falls.
“So,” Bea started, “we have a big decision to make this week.”
“Regarding my children?”
Bea nodded. “Will you tell me more about them? How old are they?”
“Gwen is twelve, and Linus is nine.”
“Wow, so you were a really young dad.”
“Yeah, just twenty-three when Gwen was born.”
“What’s she like?”
“She’s very serious.” Asher smiled. “She wants to be a scientist someday; she got very into zoology this year and did a whole research paper about the differences between leopards and cheetahs.”
“I love leopard print?” Bea ventured.
“I’m not sure that counts as having something in common.” Asher patted Bea’s thigh. “Gwen can be a tough nut to crack—she’s a lot like me, if I’m honest. Very thoughtful, very critical. Even a bit guarded. She didn’t want me to come on this show.”
“Really? Why not?”
“She thought it was a waste of time—and as you know, I agreed. But it meant so much to Linus…I just couldn’t say no to him.”
“Will you tell me about Linus?” Bea asked, and Asher’s whole expression softened.
“He has this sweetness that can change your whole day. And he’s sensitive—he picks up right away if Gwen’s in a bad mood, or I am. He just wants everything around him to be filled with joy.”
Bea didn’t miss the note of pain in Asher’s voice. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
Asher looked at Bea for a long moment, and then sighed.
“I’m afraid of putting him on television.”
“Because he’s so young?”
Asher shook his head. “Linus is gender nonconforming. He still uses he/him pronouns, and I don’t know how he’ll come to identify—for now, I’m following his lead. He loves to wear dresses, tutus, glitter, all of it. He’s a human ray of sunshine. But the kids at his school…”
“There’s been bullying?”
“In the past, yes. His teachers have always been great about working with me to make school a welcoming place for him, and so have the other parents—we’re lucky to live in a really inclusive town. But to open him up to the rest of the country, to subject him to all the horrible things people say online?”
“I know something about that,” Bea said quietly.
“I know you do.” Asher’s voice was strained. “So you can understand why I’m so hesitant to bring cameras into our home.”
“Maybe this is stupid,” Bea murmured, “but do you think this could be a way for you to show Linus that you’re not afraid to tell the world how proud you are of him? That you think he’s perfect just the way he is?”
“That doesn’t sound stupid at all,” he said softly. He took Bea’s hand, and her heart swelled with affection for this new side of him she was discovering.
“It’s funny,” Bea said softly, “the way you form impressions of people. When we first talked on the boat, I thought you were such a snob.”
“You weren’t totally wrong on that one,” Asher deadpanned, and Bea laughed.
“Then at the museum, I started getting a better sense of who you are, and I started falling for you,” she continued, “but I didn’t know this huge thing about you, that you’re a dad—and a sole caregiver at that.”
Asher looked down. “I should have told you sooner.”
“No”—Bea squeezed his hand—“that’s not what I’m saying. What I mean is—you keep surprising me. And the more I learn about you, the more I want to learn about you. I know what a big deal it is to meet your kids. And I want to get to know them, to see what they’re like. But also, I can’t wait to see what you’re like with them. To get to know another new part of you.”
He pulled her closer to him, and she snuggled against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her.
“Are you sure you’re ready for this—for me to meet them, I mean?” she asked, pulling away to look him in the eye. “I’ll understand if you aren’t.”
Asher met her gaze, his expression firm. “Bea, my readiness depends on yours. This isn’t just about meeting my kids—it’s about what comes after. With me, having a family one day isn’t some dim hypothetical; it’s a present reality. So especially considering what your visit could mean for Linus, the real question for me is, are you ready?”
“You’re right,” Bea agreed. “That is the question.”
“And what…is the answer?”
Bea shook her head. “I can’t know for certain, Asher. Not yet. Believe me, I wish I could.”
“I understand. But can I ask something of you?”
“Of course. Anything.”
“Give it some thought before the ceremony tonight. And if you think the answer is definitely no—or even probably no—send me home.”
“That feels impossible.”
“To me too,” he said, hugging her close.
She buried her face in his scratchy sweater, breathing his scent, all pine and wool, and he ran his hand along her jaw, tipping up her chin so they could look at each other. He kissed her face, and then her mouth; he pulled her closer and closer until there was no space left between them, until all their questions and doubts were drowned out by the roar of the falls.
By the time they made it back to the riad, dusty and drained, Bea wanted nothing more than to eat some couscous, crawl into bed, and go to sleep, but that wasn’t in the cards: After a frustratingly brief shower, she had a consult with Alison about which gown to wear to the kiss-off ceremony, another two hours in hair and makeup, and an hour after that of recording direct-to-cameras about how difficult this decision was going to be—all the while genuinely worrying about what she was going to do.
To make her decision even tougher, all five of the men had recorded video messages for her, which she was made to watch on camera to capture her reactions. First was Sam, his jubilance completely infectious, his infatuation with Bea totally obvious.
“Bea! I haven’t seen you in two days, which is the worst!” He looked dramatically from side to side, as if to make sure no one was watching him, then leaned in close to the camera. “But I’ve spent the entire time thinking about kissing you in the hammam, which was the best.”
“Marin was right about him,” Bea murmured with a little grin.
Next up was Luc, stunningly handsome in a plain white T-shirt, looking straight into the camera with his smoldering eyes.
“My Bea, this week I have seen a new side of you, I think. Thank you for trusting me, for showing me your softness.”
He gave her a little smirk, and Bea felt a wave of nausea. Luc had thought this would be a private reference, but because of his unseemly brags to Asher, every single person watching would know he was talking about their night together. That night had felt like the foundation of a fragile trust between them, but now she found herself doubting every word that came out of his mouth. But the question remained: Was she sure enough that he was lying about his intentions toward her to send him home, despite the fact that she had more chemistry with him than any other man here?
Then came Asher’s video, which was perfectly Asher: “Bea, per our discussion, I know what a difficult decision this is for you. I hope you’ll decide to continue to pursue our relationship.”
It would be easy to write him off as cold or unfeeling, but Bea was starting to learn how to read his subtext, to see all the things he didn’t say, to trust in their connection and in him. Letting him go was unthinkable—but she owed it to him (and his children) to think about it all the same.
The fourth video was Jefferson’s, and Bea felt a twist of uncertainty when she saw his face.
“Hey beautiful,” he said with a grin. “I had so much fun today, and I can’t wait to introduce you to my family—and everything you’ve been missing with that KC BBQ! But on a more serious note, I also want to say, Bea, you and I just make sense together. I felt it from the second I saw you—didn’t some part of you feel it too?”
Everything Jefferson was saying was true—sweet, even—so why did it make her uncomfortable? Was she really getting in the way of her own happiness, as Jefferson (and Marin, and her mother) had suggested? Or, on the other hand, was she simply trying to convince herself to have feelings for a man who looked the part of a husband for a woman like Bea? Maybe she and Jefferson just needed more time together to cement their bond—but if what he wanted was a wife and family in Kansas City, and Bea could hardly see that for her own future, was it even worth the effort?
Then again, Wyatt lived on a farm in Oklahoma, which was even more foreign to Bea—but she couldn’t deny the surge of joy she felt when his face appeared onscreen. Her feelings for the other men were so fraught and complex; with Wyatt, she just felt happy.
“I missed you this week.” He beamed. “Morocco’s very beautiful. Did you know you can eat camel meat? I tried a camel burger. So that was…different! Anyway, I hope your week was great, and I hope you decide to come visit my family on our farm. We have a tractor that I think you’re really going to love.”
Bea still had far more questions than answers about Wyatt: Did he want a relationship at all, let alone one with her? Did she want a relationship with him—and would having one actually mean moving to Oklahoma? But no matter what the answers to any of these questions were, one thing was certain: Of all the men left, Wyatt made Bea feel by far the most safe. And she really, really wasn’t ready to give that up.
“So?” Lauren came in after the videos were done playing. “Do you know what you’re going to do?”
Bea nodded. “I think so.”
“And you feel good about your choice?”
“No! I feel nauseous and exhausted and like it’s entirely possible I’m making the wrong decision.”
“Good.” Lauren smiled. “That means you’re right on schedule. Let’s roll!”
She led Bea into the riad’s living room, where all the furniture had been removed, and her five suitors awaited her in a semicircle.
“Hi, guys.” She smiled, pushing through her jitters. “How’s your jet lag? You ready to head back home and confuse our bodies all over again?”
The guys laughed amenably, and Bea was struck by how few of them there were. This week’s lip color was Don’t Wine About It, so Bea readied herself to leave a deep berry stain on the cheeks of four men to whom, against all odds, she’d grown very attached.
“Sam?” she called, and he strode toward her with a brilliant smile. Bea had some input as to which men would stay, but Lauren always determined the order in which she called them. After their night in the hammam, it was no surprise that Sam had rocketed to frontrunner status.
After Sam came Luc, who rested his arm possessively at Bea’s waist as she kissed him on the cheek. Bea bristled at this—she hated the idea that Luc was actively trying to make the other men jealous, but at the moment, there wasn’t much she could do about it. It would be easier next week, she reasoned, when the men were all in their separate hometowns, not cooped up together in one house day after day.
“Wyatt,” Bea said next, and she felt a rush of reassurance as he broke into a soft, easy smile and stepped forward to give her a huge hug.
“I’m so happy you’re coming home with me.”
“Me too,” she assured him after she kissed his cheek.
Once Wyatt stepped aside to join Luc and Sam, that left Asher and Jefferson. Bea looked from one man to the other and took a deep breath.
“Asher and Jefferson,” she said, “I want to thank both of you for how open you were with me today in the mountains. You’ve both made me think about the role of family in my life, about what I want that to look like, and what I’m ready to take on. This wasn’t an easy decision.”
She looked over to Johnny, who took his cue to give his regular speech before the final name was called.
“Okay, guys, Bea is about to choose her final suitor. If your name isn’t called, you must immediately leave the riad. Bea, whenever you’re ready.”
Bea inhaled—she wasn’t sure she was ready at all. But either way, it was time.
“Asher,” she said, and the relief that washed over his face was palpable.
“You scared me,” he whispered after she kissed his cheek.
“Back at you,” she said, and he hugged her tightly. The truth was, Bea wasn’t totally sure she was ready to be a mother—but she knew she absolutely wasn’t ready to say goodbye to this man.
“That’s it for this week’s ceremony,” Johnny pronounced. “Jefferson, take a minute to say your goodbyes.”
“I’m sorry, Jefferson.” Bea delivered the speech she’d rehearsed with Lauren in what she hoped was a consoling manner and not a condescending one. “I really appreciated our time together today, and I’m so happy I got a chance to know you better. I just think our visions for our futures are pretty different—but I know you’re going to make an amazing husband for whatever woman is lucky enough to become your wife.”
She hated the awkwardness of dismissing only him, especially since he’d been so sweet to her. But she couldn’t deny how much closer she felt with the other four men.
“Can I walk you out?” she asked, conforming to Lauren’s dictates. She was meant to accompany Jefferson to the riad’s entrance, say a brief—and hopefully emotional!—farewell, then see him off as he got into a car that would take him to the airport and out of Bea’s life forever (or, at least, until the reunion show).
But Jefferson didn’t seem very interested in acting according to plan. He was shaking slightly—maybe with laughter?—his eyes hard and narrow.
“Are you kidding? You think you can do better than me? Trust me, Bea, I’ve never had a problem getting a girlfriend—and none of them have ever looked like you.”
Bea shook her head in confusion. “No, I—Jefferson, it’s not a matter of better, it’s about what I want for my future—”
“And what you want is to go live on a farm in Oklahoma? That’s your dream? Please, Bea. You’re a fat hypocrite—I guess that’s half a revelation.”
Bea stopped cold. “I’m sorry, what?”
“You heard me.” He stalked toward her, taking his time, savoring that all eyes were on him. “Now that I’m out of the competition, I guess I can finally be honest with you—good thing, too, since no one else has been.”
“What are you talking about?” she asked, her voice unsteady.
“What I’m talking about, Bea, is the fact that none of the men in this room is remotely interested in you. Least of all me.”
Bea shot a glance over at the other men, but Jefferson kept going.
“Sure, they talk a good game, but you’ve never seen them without the cameras rolling. You have no idea the horrible jokes they make about you, the way they laugh at your expense. How could you? You’re so desperate for love that you’ll believe any nice thing a man says to you. It’s sad, Bea. And it’s probably pretty great television. But at some point, you’ve got to wake up and face the fact that you are the only person on this show who actually believes that any of these men could fall in love with you.”
“You’re lying.” Bea felt the first tears coming. “If none of you were interested in me, why would you even stay on this show?”
Jefferson laughed. “Are you stupid? The longer we stick around, the more likely it is that one of us will be the next Main Squeeze! Don’t you think it’s worth it, pretending to like you for a few hours a week to increase our odds of having twenty-five women compete for us? And you made it so easy, Bea, you really did. Honestly, you bought that I didn’t want to kiss you last week because there were kids around? How gullible can you be? I was just putting off getting physical with you for as long as possible.”
“Stop”—Bea was shaking—“please stop.”
“I think in time you’ll come to see that I’m doing you a favor. No one in your life is honest with you—that’s how you ended up on this show in the first place, got tricked into being a national laughingstock. So take it from me: You’re not single because you’re focused on your career, or because you’re pining after unavailable men, or subconsciously trying to protect your heart because some kids made fun of you in elementary school, or whatever bullshit you tell yourself. You know why no man wants to be seen with you in public? It’s not that hard to figure out. You know what’s standing between you and marriage? About eighty pounds.”
Bea didn’t know what to do, where to go. She stepped backward and nearly tripped on the hem of her dress, wobbling in her high heels.
“Bea,” Wyatt stepped forward, “don’t listen to him, it’s not true—”
“No,” Bea yelped, and Jefferson laughed. She hated herself for crying in front of these men she’d finally started to trust, but who could just as easily be using her, same as Jefferson, same as Ray, same as always. She couldn’t be here, couldn’t take this. Couldn’t spend one more second on this set where her existence was one big joke, the setup her fatness and the punch line her loneliness.
“Excuse me, I—excuse me.” She choked out the words and left the living room as fast as her high heels could carry her, then blindly stumbled up the stairs back to her room and slammed the door.