Page 115 of One to Watch

“Who would say no to a royal ball?” Bea laughed, giving in to the ridiculousness of it all.

“Excellent.” Johnny held open the door of the carriage, and Bea climbed in.

When they arrived at the Château de Chenonceau, they couldn’t see the castle itself—just a small building for buying tickets and an elaborate tree-lined avenue that ran through the immaculate gardens before it reached the palace beyond. The little ticket building had a space that was usually a gift shop, but today, it had been remade into a dressing area for Bea.

“Just wait until you see.” Alison grinned. “Christian Siriano asked if he could make something for you.”

She led Bea to a room filled with light, where a spectacular ball gown was waiting on a dress form. The corseted bodice was a rich forest green with a wide portrait neckline and bracelet sleeves, and the full princess skirt was hand embroidered with thousands upon thousands of swirls of crinkled tulle, deepening in an ombré from the palest mint green at the skirt’s waistline to a green as dark as the bodice at the hem. This wasn’t just a custom gown—this was couture, worthy of the cover of Vogue, of any runway in the world. Made personally and especially for Bea.

“I know it’s not exactly your style,” Alison was saying, “but when Christian called, I knew right away that this would be the perfect occasion. What do you think?”

Bea could barely raise her voice above a whisper. “It’s the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen.”

As Bea’s team put the finishing touches on her hair and makeup, Bea thought back to her interview with People—could it really have been just seven weeks ago?—when she’d told the interviewer she’d never heard of a fairy tale featuring a fat princess. Now, here she was, feeling more beautiful than she ever had in her life, on her way to attend a ball with a man handsome enough to be cast as a prince in any movie, a man who’d spent the better part of their time together working to convince her how strongly he felt about her. It was going to be a big, special moment on television—but even more than that, it felt to Bea like she had reached a real turning point in her own life. Last winter, alone and missing Ray so intensely, she’d fervently wished for her life to change; today, she couldn’t deny that it had. That she was becoming someone new. That she was believing, despite all the mess of the week so far, that she was on a path toward something better.

“So?” Alison asked. “How do you feel?”

She felt like a dream. She felt like a fraud. She felt like a fucking princess.

“Grateful.” She turned to Alison with tears in her eyes. “I feel really, really grateful.”

Back outside, climbing into the horse-drawn carriage was considerably more difficult now that Bea was wearing a massive gown, but she was fully committed, and with the help of a couple of intrepid sound guys, they made it work. The carriage drove down the center of the tree-lined avenue to the Château de Chenonceau, the afternoon sunlight dappling through the leaves and making everything look magical.

The Loire valley was home to dozens of magnificent castles that had belonged to one French noble or another, but the Château de Chenonceau was Bea’s favorite. The château was built over the Loire river instead of beside it, the castle itself becoming a sort of graceful bridge, its piles and arched girders serving as the foundation of the home. As the outline of the magnificent structure came into view, Bea saw that there were people everywhere, all dressed in period garb like the courtiers who would have been here hundreds of years ago.

“This is incredible,” Bea laughed with amazement—and then she saw Luc.

He was standing at the castle doorway in an immaculate black tuxedo finished with a crisp white bow tie—of all the people there, they were the only two in modern dress—and he was so handsome, she couldn’t humanly believe he was there for her. Luc helped her down from the carriage, then took a moment to admire her.

“Bea, in this dress—you are perfect.”

“I’m not complaining about you in that suit either.”

She took his arm, and he led her into the palace, through the arched entryway where a butler handed them both glasses of sparkling rosé, and into the grand gallery directly over the river.

The gallery at Chenonceau was different from other castles’ ballrooms because of the strange shape of the building, but Bea thought it was all the more special for that. The room was long and narrow, with soaring ceilings, black-and-white stone floors, and rows of tall windows looking out over the river in both directions, giving the space the airy feeling of being suspended in midair. Dozens of men and women in suits and gowns were dancing to the music of a small orchestra, and when Luc asked Bea to join them, she didn’t hesitate.

Luc wasn’t the strongest dancer, but God they had fun, the cameras rushing to keep up with them as they laughed and swirled around the floor until they had to take a break because Bea felt dizzy.

“What is it? Is everything all right?” He looked at her quizzically, but she just smiled.

“It’s nothing.” She leaned against him. “Should we get another drink?”

He grabbed two glasses from a passing server and suggested that they take a walk to explore the château.

Upstairs, they wandered through bedrooms where Diane de Poitiers and Catherine de Medici had once slept, admiring the carved fireplaces and ornate tapestries. The sun had set, and stars were starting to appear; Luc led Bea out to the balcony over the castle’s entryway to better observe them.

From the balcony, Luc and Bea could see the castle gardens, which were filled with glowing lanterns—the production staff had really outdone themselves tonight. Bea’s corset was too tight to eat much (so that’s how those women stayed so thin, she thought bitterly), but the wine made everything pleasantly wispy and buzzy: the people wandering through the gardens, the orchestra music playing dimly downstairs, Luc’s arms grazing her waistline.

“I think about you each night.” His throaty voice tickled at her earlobes. He was stronger than he looked, she thought. The tide of his arms was pulling her in, always wanting more. Everyone wanted so many things from her—to believe in herself and see her own true beauty, but not to be conceited, to know her place. Be more than your looks, but never speak out of turn. Don’t be defined by love, but remember, you’re nothing without it. Be a princess. Find your prince. You don’t need a man to complete you. Stand on your own two feet.

It all swam together—this place, this dress, this man, this role she was supposed to play, this person she just wasn’t. Princesses don’t sleep with engaged men and get rejected twice in two days. She shouldn’t be here, this was never supposed to be her, it was just Lauren’s brainchild to help their careers. Lauren. Lauren wanted her to have a good night, to have fun with Luc, but how was she supposed to when she felt so confused? But Luc wasn’t confused—he was right there, his chest pressed against hers, tasting faintly of smoke as he kissed her—he was kissing her. When had he started kissing her?

“Wait”—she pulled back, gasping for breath—“wait … I’m sorry, my head. I’m sorry.”

Everything was spinning, and she had to sit down—wasn’t there anywhere to sit down?

“I knew something was wrong.” Luc helped her to one of the balcony benches, then turned to a field producer. “Can you send someone up here? Bea isn’t feeling well.”