Page 32 of Unscripted

There was no time to process the sense of paranoia threatening to descend on my mind though, because moments later Harry was opening the door and ushering us out, telling us to have fun and play nice.

And then we were off, strutting down the teak walkway, passing the pool and heading for the fire pit.

The boys were standing in a semicircle, two champagne glasses in each of their hands. Over the speakers hidden in the bushes, a producer called out, “Girls, please stand next to your partner, who has your drink for the evening. Remember, only two glasses per person. No sharing or giving away your drinks, or you’ll all be on an alcohol ban for a day. Have fun!”

It surprised me that the producers spoke to us through the speakers so freely, directing our actions. I immediately wondered just how real this “reality” show was if they were able to cut it out the chatter so seamlessly.

My internal musings on the show’s editing structure were interrupted by Chiara nudging me forward and up the two small steps that led to the fire pit.

I tried to avoid direct eye contact with Callum as I walked over to him.

He stiffly held out my drink and I took it, murmuring a small “Thanks.”

Everyone around us stood chatting with one another, and yet I couldn’t think of one thing to say to Callum. My brain was devoid of anything substantive. All I could focus on, the one singular thought racing through my mind in that moment, was that he smelled good—a warm, heady scent that awoke something deep in my gut.

It should be illegal to smell that good.

I cleared my throat and tried to ignore the fuzzy feeling his scent was causing in my body.

“So,” I said, turning toward him when it became obvious that he would not be the first one to say anything. “You come here often?”

My joke, which I had used many times in many bars in the US and had always been a hit, was met with silence.

Callum merely raised his eyebrows, but I could have sworn that the glare in his eyes had the tiniest hint of amusement. I’d take that as a win, even if he was probably laughing at me and not with me.

Before he could say anything in reply, Jess was tapping her long acrylic nail on the side of her glass and raising it in a toast.

“To a steamy summer filled with lots of laughter, good memories, and,” she said, pausing for effect and looking around dramatically, “love.”

Everyone raised their glasses, clinking them together.

I took a sip of my champagne and made a silent toast to myself.

To a summer of staying here as long as possible, protecting my heart, and trying to have some fun along the way.

16

The cocktail party felt like two nights crammed into one and was filled to the brim with small talk and sore feet.

I spoke to each of the guys one by one, repeating the same questions over and over. “Where are you from?” and “How many siblings do you have?” came out of my mouth more times than I’d thought possible. The whole thing was like speed dating on steroids.

In a shocking twist that came as a surprise I’m sure to only myself and no one else in the villa, I was actually beginning to have something close a good time. I might even dare to say I was teetering on the edge of fun.

Well, not fun, exactly. But I hadn’t had a complete mental breakdown all night. In here, for me, that was tantamount to having the time of my life.

The paranoia I felt earlier over being continuously recorded became more of a dull white noise as the night went on, and I became more comfortable not only in my surroundings but with my fellow castmates. I guess that was the entire point of a hidden camera. “Out of sight, out of mind” had never rung truer, and while I was still very much aware I was on a television show, the lack of actual cameramen worked wonders for my anxiety.

It was—I had come to realize very quickly—the perfect condition for an entertaining show as the whole setting lent itself to the feeling that we were in our own little bubble.

As the night wore on and after moving from the fire pit to the pool loungers to the daybeds and then back to the fire pit again in a dizzying progression of one conversation after another, I found myself chatting with Chiara and Adam. I was sitting in the middle of the two and the longer the conversation went on, the less and less I contributed. The pair kept leaning in toward each other, bypassing me altogether. Picking up on their budding chemistry, I swiftly extracted myself and left them alone.

Needing a break from talking, I headed toward the kitchen. It was a godsend that I could get something to eat without getting in trouble for going off camera, and I silently thanked whatever production designer had come up with the idea to build out a full kitchen outside. The “Golden Rule” of Bella Amore, so I had been told by Harry a few dozen times, was that all Bellas had to be in sight of each other at all times. Being that we were only ever supposed to be out in the garden, that basically meant no popping into the villa for anything other than recording confessionals or using the bathroom. Moving the kitchen outside, then, was, in my opinion, a brilliant use of free will and a smart production hack.

Walking across the lawn, the kitchen came into focus, and I realized it was already occupied.

Callum stood with his back toward me, making a cup of tea.

I paused for a moment, unsure if I should turn around and go find someone else to talk to or if I should approach him.