Page 125 of One to Watch

Marin looked down. “It was before.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” Bea was horrified. “After all the months I spent begging for him to talk to me, you lied and kept it from me when he finally did?”

“Bea, I liked the guys I met so much, and I didn’t want Ray to ruin things with them—which, by the way, is exactly what he did.”

“It’s not Ray’s fault the producers orchestrated things so Asher would be totally blindsided!” Bea shot back. “Maybe you don’t always know best about my life, Marin. Maybe sometimes I get to make my own decisions—even if you’d rather I stay single like you forever.”

Marin shook her head. “You’re going to feel like a real idiot when this is on television and you hear how spiteful you sound.”

Bea turned to the camera operators. “I’m done with this conversation. Can we be done now?”

But they didn’t say anything—they just kept rolling.

“This isn’t you, Bea,” Marin pleaded. “He brings out the worst in you, because he makes you think he’s all you deserve.”

Bea couldn’t take it anymore. She slammed the laptop shut, then stormed back into the bathroom and closed the door.

——Forwarded Message——

FROM: Ray Moretti

TO: Kiss Off Entertainment

SUBJECT: I’m the man from Bea’s past

Hi, whoever’s reading this. I don’t know exactly what to say here, but on last night’s episode in Ohio, Bea said that when she started the show, she was still getting over someone. I believe the person she was talking about was me. And the truth is, I’m not over her. Not even close. I know you’re already halfway through your season, and maybe I’m too late. But if there’s any way that I could see her, or even talk to her, I’ll go anywhere, I’ll buy a plane ticket, I’ll do whatever it takes. So, if there’s even the slightest chance here, I hope you’ll get in touch. Please. I’m just not ready to lose her.

On some level, Bea was enticed by Marin’s suggestion to send Ray away without so much as a conversation—after all, it would be easier than confronting him, than admitting to him (and to the world) exactly how badly he’d hurt her. But even if talking to him was a terrible idea, Bea had to know, finally, the truth of what had happened between them, whether he had ever loved her the way that she loved him. She told Lauren she’d see Ray that afternoon, but that she didn’t want a planned date—just to go for a walk through her favorite city with a man who was once her best friend. Lauren agreed quickly, sounding frankly relieved that Bea was consenting to see him at all.

Part of Bea wanted to spend hours in hair and makeup and wardrobe before she spent time with Ray, to transform into a powerful, sexy TV goddess—her “armor,” as Luc had described it. But tempting as that was, she put on her own jeans and an old flannel shirt instead, some mascara and sheer red lipstick. She knew she’d look a mess on camera, but at least she felt like herself. It didn’t make sense to be Main Squeeze Bea with Ray, all glamour and glitz. All the artifice of the show, the lavish romantic fantasies—none of that was them. They were just two old friends with too much history, too much pain.

When he opened the door of his hotel room, he said, “Hi.”

He looked wrecked, like he hadn’t slept either, maybe in days.

So she said, “Do you want to take a walk by the river?”

And he said, “Maybe north to the canal?”

“I love the canal.”

“Bea.” He smiled sadly. “I remember.”

They barely spoke on the walk—it was as if they were acclimating, remembering how it felt to be in each other’s presence. It was chilly and gray by the Seine, the water churning, tourists stopping to ogle the Main Squeeze camera crew. But as they made their way out of the center, the crowds thinned, and Bea began to feel the same sense of ease she remembered from the months when she lived in this neighborhood ten years prior.

Once they reached the canal, Bea ducked into a wine shop and bought a bottle with her own euros. Bea and Ray sat on the steps of one of the canal’s dozens of bridges, drinking their paper-cup red, two cameras pointed at their faces, a boom mic over their heads. All of it so alien, but being with each other the pinnacle of normal.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” he said, his voice that same come-hither mumble, the one you had to lean close to hear.

“When? After last summer?”

“No, the ceremony. I’ve never seen you that upset.”

“Well, sure,” Bea said drily, “you usually take off before you have the chance.”

“Usually?” Ray looked apprehensive. “How many instances have there been?”

“Um, countless?” Bea was surprised to hear the anger in her voice. “Last July, for starters. The night we kissed at Chateau Marmont. The millions of times we were curled up talking in some bar and you ditched me for one of your L.A. girls.”