Page 116 of One to Watch

“No, I’m fine.” Bea tried to take a deep breath, but she couldn’t. The corset was squeezing her, the air was too thin. “This is silly. I had too much to drink.”

“You’re not silly. You had perhaps two glasses? Let them check on you, all right?” He was sitting beside her, gently stroking her hair.

In short order, the on-set paramedic arrived and confirmed Bea was exhausted and dehydrated. His prescription: food, water, and since she couldn’t eat in her gown, to change into some more comfortable clothes.

“But the ball!” Bea protested and turned to Luc. “I’m ruining our date.”

Luc kissed her forehead. “You are just taking us on a new adventure. Let’s put on pajamas and have some frites. After all, we are in France, non? What is France without some fries?”

An hour later in luxe cashmere sweats, Bea sat beside Luc in the château courtyard, sipping water and admiring how good he looked in his tuxedo pants and white button-down, his undone bowtie hanging loose around his neck. The staff had set up a gorgeous table spread with food for them, surrounded by hundreds of candles.

“How did they do this so quickly?” Bea asked.

“I asked if it was possible, and they said, since I was French, they could, so long as I promised them I was the one you liked best.” He dropped his voice to a comedic whisper. “They do not want you to marry an American. They are very invested in us together.”

Bea was sure he was joking, but looking around, a lot of the staff had gathered eagerly to watch them enjoy the cheese and charcuterie and warm, crusty baguettes they’d laid out. Luc made sure Bea’s plate was never empty and her water glass was always full, shooing the staff away when they tried to do anything, adamant that he’d care for her himself.

Bea thought back on all the little moments when Luc had rescued her throughout filming. The very first night, when she thought she might have a panic attack, he was the one who made her feel beautiful. After the catastrophic group date on the boat, it was Luc who came over with crème brûlée, who kissed away her heartache. He’d let her rail at him in Morocco, spent hours by her side. And in New York, when she’d publicly dismissed him, then changed her mind, he didn’t get angry or defensive. All he did was take her in his arms and tell her, again, how much he wanted her.

From the very beginning, Bea had thought Luc was the most attractive man in the house. Was that why she couldn’t trust him—why she could never quite believe he might actually like her as much as he said he did? She had grown to believe that Asher had true feelings for her, as did Sam. Was it so impossible that Luc could too? And, more to the immediate point, was she so certain he was a liar that she’d throw away an opportunity for them to spend another night together off camera to find out more?

Luc gazed at her deeply, the candlelight illuminating his five-o’clock shadow that had started to grow in.

“What are you thinking, my Bea?” he asked, lifting a hand to her cheek.

She was thinking of how long she’d been here, of how much she’d changed since that first night of filming. She was thinking of Asher, and of Sam. She was thinking of Ray, how much she still missed him, how far away he seemed.

“I was thinking …” Bea formed the words slowly, like if she wasn’t careful they might disappear before she could speak them. “Maybe you and I should go back to our hotel?”

Luc’s whole beautiful face warmed as his lips spread into a smile. “Together?”

She nodded. “Together.”

As they gathered themselves to head back to the vans, Bea saw Lauren standing near the castle entrance, talking with a couple of the camera ops. She looked over at Bea and caught her eye—then gave her an assuring nod. Bea nodded in return, and Lauren smiled.

Sleeping with Luc was nothing like sleeping with Ray.

With Ray, there had been an oppressive urgency, a shared knowledge that whatever the two of them would ever have together could only exist in the space of these few hours, this one night. It was ending as it was beginning, their long-delayed happiness already mingling with their inevitable destruction. They didn’t luxuriate in lengthy explorations of their bodies—there wasn’t time for that. They consumed each other instead, and when morning came and he was gone, Bea felt chewed over, destroyed.

With Luc, everything was different. The soft way he kissed her, how tenderly he removed her clothes.

“And you’re sure you are okay?” He must have asked a dozen times, and every time she laughed and told him she was, and every time he smiled with genuine relief, and every time she let herself fall for him just a little bit more.

“You understand my concern,” he said, kissing the edge of her jaw beneath her ear. “At the château, I kissed you, and they had to call the paramedics. I would not want to cause a cardiac arrest.”

Bea tried to come up with a rejoinder, but she was having trouble being quippy. Then Luc started kissing her neck and slowly moving his mouth down her body, and she stopped being able to form any thoughts at all.

“You’re certain you want this?” he asked a few minutes (or maybe hours) later. He’d gone to find a condom and now was back in bed, lying beside her, his muscled body fully displayed in the lamplight. Bea ran her hands along the dark tattoos on his arms, marveling at how unself-conscious he was—she had pulled a sheet up to her armpits as soon as he’d gotten up.

“I think I do,” she said, but her voice was small and unsure.

“Bea,” he said, kissing her gently. “It’s okay if you’re not ready. Tonight, next week, next month. I’m not going anywhere.”

She reached for his neck, and he pulled her close to kiss her. “I’m ready.”

He slid the sheet down her body, and the light touch of his fingers grazing her torso gave her chills. She leaned over to turn off the bedside light, but he stopped her.

“Why are you doing this?”