Page 89 of One to Watch

“No, but you see, the light is on.”

And Luc.

“Should we knock again?”

“Maybe she doesn’t want to talk to us.”

Silence, all of them listening. Bea didn’t want to hate them.

“I think we should knock again.”

But the loud click of the lock gave her away as she opened the big wooden door.

“Hi, guys.”

There they were, still in their suits, ties undone, looking shades of relieved and apprehensive—and flanked by cameras and sound guys.

“What is this?” Bea asked, suspicious.

Sam took a tentative step forward. “Can we talk for a minute?”

As the men and the camera crew filtered into the room, Bea sank down onto the bed—Sam and Wyatt sat beside her. Luc lounged on the little settee, and Asher stood uncomfortably, surveying the scene. For a moment, they all looked at one another, totally unclear on who was meant to speak first. Finally, Luc broke the silence.

“Someone must say it. Jefferson was dull and self-important, and none of us liked him.”

Wyatt shook his head. “Luc, that’s not the point—”

“We cannot allow this, this, what is the word, for one who helps Saint Nicholas?”

“An elf?” Sam offered.

“Oui, c’est ça, we cannot let this nasty elf poison Bea’s mind against us.”

“Bea,” Sam added, “what Jefferson said down there … it wasn’t true, okay?”

Bea swallowed. “So you guys wouldn’t be happy to have twenty-five women competing for you?”

“In other circumstances, of course we would.” Luc’s manner was easy as always. “But Bea, for us this is not winning. Being with you—this is what we want. This is why we are here.”

“Jefferson was just angry,” Wyatt piped in. “He wanted to hurt you.”

“What can we do?” Sam asked. “How can we help you get past this?”

Bea just looked down, willing herself not to cry again. Sam gave her a little nudge, his shoulder against hers. She thought back to the hammam, his hands on her hips—that had been real, hadn’t it? Not a trick of her mind, a lie for the cameras? It suddenly seemed impossible to know.

“I’m so sick of questioning everything—especially you guys,” she admitted. “Since the first night, it’s felt like I’ve been some kind of detective, always on guard, looking for signs that none of this is real. And now, with so few of you left, with how much I like you … it feels unhinged. What Jefferson said—I guess in a way that was easier to believe.”

Wyatt looked concerned. “You’d rather believe we’re all lying to you than that we all genuinely like you? Why, Bea?”

A tightness was forming in Bea’s chest, like some deep and ugly piece of her was being excavated, tearing at her insides as it was dragged to the surface. “If you’re lying to me, and the worst things I believe about myself are true, then … then I’m safe. Then none of you can really hurt me.”

“We don’t want to hurt you,” Sam said softly.

Bea looked to Asher—of the four of them, he was the only one who had yet to speak.

“What if you do anyway?” she asked him. But he didn’t answer—just reached into the pocket of his suit jacket.

“Bea, we don’t want you to take our feelings on faith. We have something to ask you.”