Page 27 of Unscripted

As we teetered down the walkway behind Gemma, I could make out one end of the massive pool just past her and the bright blue sea beyond it. I was yet again struck by how beautiful the place was. Blair had been right about one perk of the show; it wasn’t a bad location to run away to for a few weeks.

Emerging from the teak pathway, I was finally able to take in the entirety of the yard, or “garden,” as I had learned from watching the Brits liked to call it.

It did not disappoint.

A large, rectangular infinity pool was the focal point, situated along the edge of a grass lawn, its water cascading over the pool’s lip and blending into the sea beyond so that it was hard to tell where the pool ended and the sea began.

At the edge of the pool’s shallow end, to the right of the teak walkway, was a sun deck with four lounge chairs. A few steps above that, two large daybeds were positioned side by side, and to the left of those, just at the edge of the yard with a spectacular, unobstructed view of the horizon, was an L-shaped couch. I’d watched couples cuddling in those lounge areas and thought it was quite romantic. But actually being here and seeing them in real life, my heart squeezed, and I felt slightly nauseous at the thought of being physically close to someone in that way.

Two steps up above the daybeds was the kitchen. A staple of Bella Amore, the outdoor kitchen was where most of the cast gathered throughout the day. The space was rather large, stretching across the entire right side of the yard with a view of the pool, daybeds, and chairs below, making it an ideal spot to look out and watch what everyone else was doing.

We didn’t venture to the right to explore any of those areas just yet. Instead, Gemma turned left and headed across the lush, green lawn. This part of the yard I had seen from the sitting room inside, but it was even more spectacular beyond the glass window.

Along the pool’s deep end was another seating area, with two daybeds covered by a wooden overhang. It seemed like the ideal place to lounge and not get sunburned.

We again didn’t stop to take any of that in. No, we were headed in one direction: the fire pit.

Situated in the far-left corner of the yard, an actual, working fire pit was centered in the middle of a circular, teak deck. Two steps led to the deck from the lawn, and a semi-circle couch sat around the back half of it, looking out onto the yard. The fire pit was the centerpiece set of the show and was perhaps the most iconic and recognizable part of Bella Amore. It was where all important decisions—like matchings and dumpings—took place.

Gemma turned to us as she crossed the grassy lawn, managing to walk backward, talk, and be in her best possible light for the cameras all at once. It was an impressive feat to watch in real time.

“Ladies, the boys are ready to meet you,” she said with a wink.

I tried to peer around the girls ahead of me to get a glimpse of the guys, but they were blocked by the cameramen filming our entrance.

Gemma turned back around, facing the fire pit ahead, and called out, “Hello, boys!”

The two cameras split off to either side of her and continued filming from both angles.

A wave of nerves washed over me, and I kept my eyes down, pretending to be very interested in the blades of grass at my feet. It was a habit I had picked up in high school whenever I was too nervous to look at a cute guy in my grade or found myself in any type of uncomfortable situation. I would instead pretend to be highly interested in anything else around me to avoid direct eye contact. Clearly, I was still trying to shake the impulse as an adult.

I made it across the lawn and up the two small stairs to the firepit deck, taking my place in line next to the other girls. Then it was time to look up. I couldn’t avoid it forever; I had to rip off the bandage and face the men I would potentially date this summer.

I lifted my head and looked at the guy standing directly across from me.

The green eyes I had reluctantly come to know over the last week stared back.

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If I was visibly thrown off by immediately making direct eye contact with Callum, I tried my best to pass it off as nothing.

I jerked my eyes away, pretending to look at everyone else while actually just trying to get my nerves under control. The guy had been unnecessarily rude, and I wanted nothing to do with him. There was no time like the present to start that personal mandate.

Getting my wits about me, I focused on the other guys. They were all tall, the shortest standing at just six feet, and I thanked my lucky stars that my five-foot-ten-inch self wouldn’t feel like such an ogre among them.

A few of the guys had tattoos, arms and legs either fully or partially covered. One was smiling wide, and his teeth were so blindingly white and so obviously too big for his face that I had to stifle a laugh. They had to be veneers. It was distractingly obvious. I made a mental note to ask the girls if that was a thing among guys our age in the UK.

“Gents,” Gemma said, holding court in the middle of us all. “Why don’t you introduce yourselves to the ladies?”

One by one they went down the line, sharing their name and where they were from.

Bradley, a.k.a. “Mr. Veneers,” was from Bristol.

Adam, who had both arms and most of his left leg covered in tattoos, was from Manchester.

Hugh, who had an impressive eight-pack of abs on display through the shirt he left unbuttoned, was from Surrey.

Liam was also tattooed, though less aggressively than Adam, and was from South London.