Page 108 of One to Watch

EPISODE 7

“REVELATION”

(3 men left)

Shot on location in Épernay, Moustiers-Sainte-Marie, and Amboise, France

Everyone on Earth has a happy place. For Beatrice Schumacher, that place was France.

Bea couldn’t quite trace the origins of her Francophilia, though she had a shameful suspicion it had something to do with childhood viewings of the movie Sabrina (and the remake at that) on cable TV. Paris is always a good idea, she’d repeat, emulating the titular character and imagining herself being swept away along the banks of the Seine. She thought the story was so romantic—a shy duckling who grows up to be a sophisticated swan, changing from someone you don’t even see into a woman you can’t stop staring at, with handsome men battling one another for her affections, breaking her heart over and over in the process.

As the Main Squeeze crew touched down in Paris for Bea’s week of three overnight dates, Bea found herself wishing that perhaps her Sabrina fantasies hadn’t turned out quite so literally.

Juggling relationships with three men was one thing when Lauren and the other producers were supervising every moment, but this week was set to be something else entirely: For the first time (save Luc’s little Moroccan escapade), Bea would have the option to share a hotel room with each of her remaining suitors. Away from the cameras. With the expectation that if they were serious about their relationship, they’d have sex. Bea hadn’t spent the night with a man since Ray, and on one hand, she was buzzing with excitement—but on the other, she was terrified to be completely vulnerable with three men who still had the capacity to hurt her so much, and so publicly.

Bea thought again of Wyatt, how courageous he’d been to share the truth about himself with an audience of millions, even if it meant risking alienation from his family. There was so much Bea hadn’t told Asher, Sam, and Luc for fear of being judged or rejected. But she knew that if she had any hope of finding a real relationship with one of these men, she needed to follow Wyatt’s example.

Her first date of the week was with Sam in Épernay, at the heart of the Champagne region of northeastern France. They met at the Avenue de Champagne, the grand boulevard in the center of town. Set against rolling, vine-covered hills, the avenue was upright and stately, but not overly stuffy. Gray paving stones were arranged in graceful arches, and the road was lined with beautiful brick buildings with gated courtyards, all perfectly painted and landscaped, showing the pride these houses took in their centuries of tradition.

“Bonjour, Sam!” She waved when she saw him, and he rushed up to greet her.

“Enchanté, chérie.” He bowed dramatically.

“Wow, your accent is so bad.”

“Wow yourself, I was trying to be romantic.”

Bea laughed and walked with him into the house of Moët & Chandon, where they were to have a private tour of the cellars. A deadpan young woman led them through a vast system of caves where thousands of bottles of champagne lay in various stages of the aging process.

“Do not touch these,” she said, casually waving toward a wall full of bottles.

“Why not?” Bea asked.

“If you were to drop one during this stage of fermentation, it would explode with the force of a small bomb. Glass would be everywhere, very messy.” She clicked her tongue and kept walking.

Bea shot Sam a dramatic look behind their tour guide’s back, and he laughed and kissed her; ever since he’d told her he loved her, his energy was even more buoyant than usual.

At the end of the tour, they visited the house tasting room, where everything was furnished and painted in lustrous shades of gold. Bea and Sam sipped coupes of grand vintage champagne, those special bottles created when the vintner deemed it a particularly good harvest, as opposed to the house’s usual bottles, which were blended from two years’ worth of grapes to create a consistent taste from year to year. The sommelier was exuberant—they chatted about their favorite wines and Bea fell in love with a coppery rosé champagne with a lovely dryness; he gifted her with a bottle to bring back to her hotel.

“Or perhaps you two will share it?” He smiled knowingly at Bea and Sam.

“That’s up to her.” Sam kissed Bea’s cheek.

“We’ll see.” She tried for a playfully sexy tone, but the words came out as more of a high-strung squeak. Sam gave her hand a reassuring sort of pat.

After the tasting was done, it was off to their next activity: a sunset hot-air-balloon ride over the vine-covered hills of Champagne. Their balloon operator was a rotund, jovial, mustachioed fellow named Albert who wore a tan three-piece suit and a top hat, like he’d arrived for the tour by way of the turn of the twentieth century.

“This will be a beautiful tour, a spectacular tour, for two spectacular lovebirds!” He spread his arms grandly, waiting for Bea and Sam to mirror his excitement.

“I think I need to say something.” Sam looked a bit wan. “I don’t … feel terrific about heights?”

“Oh my God.” Bea shot the producers an accusatory stare. “Did you guys know this? Sam, I’m so sorry, we don’t have to do this.”

“No.” He shook his head. “No, this is our romantic adventure, and I’m not going to ruin it. You’re sure that thing is safe?”

He pointed to the balloon silhouetted in the distance, and Albert nodded vigorously.

“But of course, monsieur, the balloon is extraordinarily safe! You will see, it is as gentle and as graceful as a cloud.”