Page 67 of One to Watch

“Okay, first of all, that’s definitely not true. What about Luc and Sam? And Asher, most of all?”

“I think Asher made it abundantly clear that he’s not attracted to me.” Bea sniffed.

“Yes he is.” Julia was thunderstruck. “I saw the look on his face when you were dancing. Whatever the reason he pulled away—I promise you, Bea, it isn’t that.”

“Then …” Bea looked at Julia, full of confusion. “Then why?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Julia answered. “But I think that question misses the point.”

“What do you mean?”

“On this show, you’re the one in charge. For three weeks, we’ve watched you freaking out that these men might not want you, when the entire show is structured around your decision of whether you want them. All this misery and self-effacement, I’m sorry, Bea, but it’s this version of you that Duncan and I don’t even recognize. You’re so poised, and self-possessed, and completely wonderful—how is it possible that these men you don’t even know are able to unmoor you in this way?”

Bea’s throat felt suddenly tight, and she struggled to find words—some words, any words. She stared blankly across the yard, when she saw Duncan talking with Asher, seemingly deep in conversation. A screen door slammed, and Asher looked up—he caught Bea’s eye as she was staring right at him, and her stomach jolted as she quickly looked away. After a moment, she looked back, and Asher was still there, gazing at her. He lifted a hand in greeting. Bea could barely make herself nod in return.

“Bea,” Julia said gently, “what do you want? Is it really such a scary question to answer?”

Bea’s head was swimming. She’d been so sure that staying professional on this show had been the right decision—to prioritize her goals for her career, just as she’d always done before. But when she thought of all the nights lying alone, longing for Ray, when she thought of the vicious lie that had been swirling in the recesses of her brain since high school, that she was too fat and too ugly ever to have the kind of love that seemed to come so easily to her family and friends, when she thought of how badly she’d wanted Asher to kiss her in that museum, and how terrified she felt that admitting her desires could only compound her humiliation, but, on the other hand, that not admitting them could seal her fate of being alone forever … It suddenly felt like she was only fighting against herself, and there was no possible way to win.

“I think I need to—excuse me.” She backed away from Julia. “I’m sorry, I have to go.”

She told a producer she needed to use the bathroom, then took off toward the home she’d loved since childhood. After Bob and Sue got married, they’d taken on a new project every year, fixing up the shabby original house and eventually putting on multiple additions. Now, decades later, the place had a hodgepodge feel to it—a strange, cozy, mismatched maze that was always filled with family.

Bea ducked through the kitchen, warm and woodsy and packed with production staff and caterers, then slipped past the powder room and down one of the house’s crooked hallways. Two turns later, she opened a door still hung with a simple wooden sign that read Bea.

Bea’s room had been the same since childhood, lavender walls and a soft white carpet, a little twin bed and a whole wall covered in books.

Bea sat on the floor and drew her knees to her chest, breathing in the smell of the place. She closed her eyes, and she was crawling into bed at four o’clock in the morning after James kissed her, shoving her torn sundress in the wastepaper basket under her small white desk. She was here on senior prom night, reading another romance and dreaming of something more. Here again last Christmas, silently crying and missing Ray so much she thought it might kill her, wondering if there’d ever be a time in her life when she would visit her parents and need more than this one twin bed.

What would seventeen-year-old Bea think if she could see her future as a TV star with dozens of handsome suitors? And would her awestruck opinion shatter if she knew it was all a sham?

Bea buried her face in her knees and tried to breathe—just slowly, just anything—until she heard a soft knock on the door.

“Beatrice? Are you in there?”

She thought about keeping silent, but she figured the longer she stayed hidden, the more it would throw production into a tizzy, and the worse it would be when she eventually emerged.

“Yeah, Mom. I’m here.”

The door cracked open, and Bea saw Bob and Sue, their faces full of worry.

“Oh, Beatrice.” Sue flew into the room and knelt on the floor beside Bea, wrapping her arms around her daughter. “It’s been a terribly long day.”

Bea smiled through the tears she hadn’t even noticed were running down her face. “Yeah, Mom. A really long day.”

Bob stepped in quickly after Sue and shut the door behind him.

“No cameras?” Bea asked hopefully. Bob grinned.

“Nah, kiddo. We gave them the slip.”

“Darling,” Sue said delicately, “how are you feeling?”

“I’m …” Bea wanted to crack a joke to defuse the tension, to reassure her parents that she was really fine. But she couldn’t. Because she wasn’t.

“It’s a lot on your shoulders, this whole endeavor,” Bob said. “Must be a lot of pressure.”

Bea nodded—it was.