Page 13 of Unscripted

Saying a silent goodbye to my former life, I turned to face forward.

“Yes. All set.”

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NEW CAST OF BELLA AMORE TO BE REVEALED SOON!

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8

The flight from London to Italy was quick, and before I knew it I was walking through customs at the Naples airport.

“Poppy!” someone called out.

Looking around, I spotted Harry across the terminal, hands waving wildly in the air. To the unknowing airport goer, I wondered if it looked like we were friends meeting up to go on vacation.

Making my way over to him, I realized he wasn’t alone. A large, burly man dressed in all black stood by his side.

As Harry greeted me, he gathered my suitcases and passed them to the man.

“Security,” he said, answering my questioning gaze. “There’s nothing to worry about now, but since your name and picture have been released to the public, you can never be too sure.”

My breath caught in my throat. I didn’t know they would be releasing our names so early; part of me thought it wouldn’t happen until we were in the villa, locked away and already filming.

I fished my cell phone out of my bag, eager to see exactly what had been put out, but as soon as I had the device in hand, Harry reached out and snatched it away.

“Sorry Poppy, but this is the part where I take your phone. It’s best not to look yourself up anyway. That never ends well, no matter how positive the comments may be.”

I let out a barely restrained sigh. We weren’t filming yet. What was the harm in keeping my phone for a few more hours? But looking up at Harry, I knew he was just doing his job. I didn’t want to cause trouble within minutes of being in Italy, so I let it go and watched as he powered down my cell and tucked it into the canvas tote bag slung around his shoulder.

“Now,” he continued, “we need to get going to the marina, where we will take a boat out to Ischia. It’s smashing, you’re going to love it.”

I had never heard of Ischia until doing my research on Bella Amore but being that it was an island off the coast of Italy, I wasn’t complaining.

Harry led us out of the airport and into a waiting sprinter van, the burly security guard trailing behind with my luggage. We climbed in, and then were off, weaving through the streets of Naples and out of the city. As we drove along the curving coastal roads, I was grateful that Harry took my phone when he did; I would have spent the whole ride Googling myself and missed the view.

Harry hopped out of the van as soon as we arrived at Porto di Pozzuoli, but when I went to follow him, he stopped me.

“You have to stay here,” he said. “It’s production protocol for you to be totally isolated until we arrive on the island. The higher-ups don’t want you photographed on the way there.”

I had a hard time believing anyone would actually want to photograph me, let alone be hanging around an Italian marina to do so, but I didn’t push it.

“Of course, it’s no problem,” I said to him.

He exited the van, leaving me alone with the security guard in the driver’s seat. I was about to attempt small talk, but he quickly pulled out his phone and began playing a game, so I kept quiet.

Having nothing else to do, I lay down across the back seat and tried to get myself comfortable.

I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew Harry was hovering above me, lightly shaking my shoulder.

“Sorry, I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night,” I said to him as I sat up.

“It’s okay. That took longer than expected. We actually have a bit of a problem,” he said.