by Leslie North
Amy cocked her head, touched her earpiece, rolled her eyes, and then smiled brightly. "The other one? Is for the couple."
Cassandra looked helplessly at Arthur; whose face was stormy. "You mean you sent us to the same bedroom on purpose?" she asked Amy.
Amy shrugged nonchalantly. "Unless you'd like to be in one, I have all wired up." She eyed them both. "I thought you were happy about the no cameras."
"I am, but…we have to stay in the same room?" Cassandra swallowed hard.
Amy shrugged again. "It's a nice enough room, I think."
"That's not the issue." Cassandra felt like she was speaking a foreign language all of a sudden. Why did Amy not see the problem here? "It's that there's one room with one bed."
"Well, yeah. Duh."
"Duh? There's two of us!"
Amy blinked slowly. "This isn't Lucy and Desi. We're not exactly going to sell the idea of the relationship if we have you in separate beds."
Cassandra felt lightheaded. Was she going to throw up? Where was the nearest toilet? "What?"
"We've gotta film in there," Amy explained patiently. "Set up shots, interviews, all that. We're just not filming round the clock as it were. So, it needs to be set up believably." She pressed her hand to her headset, swore at someone, and then smiled at them both in turn. "It's a reality show, babies. Gotta sell that drama you know? What did you expect?"
"Got it, thank you." Arthur gripped Cassandra's arm. "Let's go get settled in then?" he said through gritted teeth, shooting her a look.
"Yup!" she said, voice unnaturally bright in her own ears. Panic was settling in, and she was happy to let Arthur steer her back down the hallway and into her, no, their room, then shut the door behind them. She rested the back of her head against the door and closed her eyes. A hysterical giggle bubbled up from her throat. "Oh my god," she laughed, wiping away exhausted tears. "We really did sign up to live in a fishbowl for the next month."
She thought Arthur would laugh with her but when she opened her eyes he was staring fixedly at a point on the floor, his expression dark. "Hey, are you okay?"
He jerked his head up as if he'd forgotten she was there. "We're gonna have cameras on us all the time," he said slowly.
"Well?" Cassandra opened her hands out to the room. "Except in here." But Arthur shook his head and stared out the window moodily. His shoulders were tight and hunched in a way she hadn't seen in him before. She didn't like this tense, silent version of Arthur McClellan one bit.
"Hey," she said, stepping into his line of vision. "This is what we signed up for, right? To be on TV?"A muscle jumped at the corner of his jaw. "What's going on with you? I was expecting you to be the chill one helping me stop freaking out," she tried joking.
That got his attention. He looked at her, and to her relief he dimpled and then shook his head. "I know it's what I signed up for but…" He shook his head and looked out the window again. "I guess I didn't think I'd have to be watching my behavior twenty-four seven."
"You watch your behavior? Since when?"
This brought on a tight smile. "Fair enough."
"No, really. Just be yourself," she urged.
He snorted. "Yeah? That's pretty much the worst advice anyone has ever given me."
She waved her hand at that. "It's good advice, and you know it."
He shook his head, but then heaved a sigh. "Okay, we'll try that then. I'll be myself. And if the viewing public hates me, I'll blame it on you."
She laughed. "I don't think I'd take it that far."
"No, I'm serious, doll," he said, suddenly stone-faced. "Nobody wants the real me." He grabbed his suitcase off the floor and stalked off across the room. "I'll sleep on the couch," he called.
"Okay?" Cassandra exhaled. What was up with him?
And why did he think no one would like the real him?
Who was the real Arthur McClellan, and why was he so afraid of him?
6
The bride was apparently famous. At least, that was what Arthur gathered from all the hints she was dropping. Her phone rested on her knee, and every five seconds, her eyes strayed to another notification on her screen.
The groom was famous too—famous for taking pictures of the bride, it seemed. He grabbed the phone off the bride's knee with a practiced motion. "Light's right, babe," he said, and the bride fell into a perfect, head-tossed-back pose that probably looked candid in the photo but just made her look deranged to Arthur.
His first day of filming a reality show, and he felt like he was in some kind of surreal fantasy land. They were sitting at a huge banquet-style table out on the beach. Not a folding table, not a picnic table, but a full- on banquet table you might find in a European palace somewhere. It was draped in white linens that flapped and fluttered in the ocean breeze, and the incoming tide was causing it to dip dangerously to one side, putting all the dishes he'd carefully plated this morning in mortal peril.
The producers had deemed it all to be "perfection." Arthur wanted to get back up to the house before the tide carried them all out to sea. But he couldn't until the groom stopped taking pictures and started paying attention to his presentation.
"Well!' the bride chirped once the groom had snapped approximately one thousand shots of the same pose. "I can't believe we're here!" She looked between Arthur and Cassandra and then back to Arthur. "I can't believe you're doing the food for our wedding! You!"
She waited expectantly.
Arthur swallowed nervously. What was the right response here? The bad boy he'd been playing forever would have snatched the phone from her hand, demanded she pay attention to him and maybe dropped some lewd remark about what other kinds of photos he'd find stored in her phone. That'd be the easiest way to deal with all this, but that was the exact opposite of the "reformed" image he was trying to put forth. "Um, well, I can't believe it either," he said. "It's an honor."
The bride and groom shot each other a look. The groom leaned forward. "What Kendra is trying to say—"
"Don't tell me what I'm trying to say, Rory. God! You're always doing that!" Kendra teared up prettily, and Rory immediately apologized, covering her face in kisses and murmuring just loud enough for the mics to pick it up.
Arthur glanced helplessly at Cassandra.
Cassandra smiled and leaned in. "You both are very lucky to get a chef like Chef McClellan," she said smoothly. Her smile was so bright, it rivaled the Caribbean sun. "And he's prepared an absolutely fantastic menu, with some dishes right here to taste!" Cassandra clapped her hands together and then stood up. "I'm just going to be right back, okay? You taste this first one and let me know."
"Where are you going?" Arthur barked, more sharply than he meant. But he really didn't like the idea of her leaving. He felt safer with her at his side. Less like he was about to screw all this up.
She glared. "I'll be right back," she said again, then smiled and hurried up to the main house.
Kendra and Rory turned to him expectantly.
He lifted the first dish. Food was his art form. Give him fresh local ingredients, like the ones found all over this island, and he was Michelangelo with a piece of marble. A sculptor of edible art. He could talk about food without Cassandra being here…
Although he really wished she was here. Was she getting sick? Was morning sickness a thing in the early afternoon?
With a guilty jolt, he realized he hadn't asked her how she was feeling yet.
Once an asshole, always an asshole, he thought grimly.
When she caught sight of his brooding expression, Kendra leaned forward with a smile. "You must hate that you had to wake up so early this morning to make all this for us," she said.
It sounded like a prompt. He glanced at the groom, who was also looking expectant.
"Who says I ever went to sleep?" he glowered, narrowing his eyes.
Kendra gasped in glee and looked happily at Rory who was nodding excitedly. With another jolt, Arthur realized he'd just given them what they wanted. The bad boy.
"Do you want some coffee, maybe?" Rory asked. "I've got a little something here to add!" He pulled a flask out of nowhere and waggled it at Arthur while also waggling his eyebrows.
Arthur sighed. Everyone always assumed he was a hard-drinking, hard-living animal. It got really tiresome. "Actually, no. And can you eat this food before the flies get to it?"
Kendra gasped. The cameraman rushed in to capture her shocked face. Arthur clenched and unclenched his hands and looked helplessly towards the house for Cassandra.
To his relief, she was making her way towards them, looking beautiful in a long white dress that rippled in the breeze. If she'd been sick, there was no trace of it on her face. She looked as fresh and beautiful as she had when they’d woken up this morning…
He pushed that thought from his head. Waking up in the same room as Cassandra without touching her had been torture. He'd stood under the icy spray of a cold shower for so long he'd nearly missed his makeup call.
"Oh!" Cassandra said as she approached. "You haven't started yet?"
"Just getting to know each other," Arthur quipped. Now that she was back, he felt a lot more at ease. "I was about to introduce the three amuse-bouches." He felt himself sliding back into his comfort zone. "This first dish takes advantage of the bounty of local produce. I've introduced umami notes by roasting the fruits until the sugars caramelize…"
"What's that?" Kendra asked, wrinkling her nose as she lifted a piece of fruit from her dish and held it in front of her.
"Starfruit," Arthur explained. "Picked this morning."
"It looks like a sea creature."
"It's definitely not that," Arthur said, feeling annoyed.
"Have you never had starfruit before?" Cassandra jumped in. She shot Arthur a look before smiling at the wary bride. "It has a very mild citrus taste."
"I don't want my guests to think I'm serving them gross tentacles!" Kendra whined.
"They won't. Because it's not tentacles." One nudge and this whole table would topple over, Arthur mused. His table-flipping days were behind him, but maybe just this once?
"It doesn't matter." Cassandra's warm hand resting on his knee brought Arthur back from his fantasies. "Because there are plenty of other options. Look!" She pointed at the grove of trees at the edge of the lawn. "Those are fruit trees, right, Arthur?"
"Mango," Arthur replied testily.
"Could you make the same dish with mango?" She smiled at him and gave him a nudge. "You're pretty creative like that, right?"
He looked at her expectant smile and rolled his head from side to side. "Fine," he huffed, if only to make her smile wider.
Once the starfruit debacle was over, he hoped things would go more smoothly. But for every idea he and Cassandra put forth, Kendra and Rory had an objection. The knives didn't have heavy enough handles. The napkins were ivory instead of snow white. Kendra cried when Cassandra's assistant brought out the centerpieces she'd had flown in, claiming the plate they sat on was too large and would "make it impossible for guests to get clear shots of the main table." Arthur wondered if Kendra was just "creating drama" for good TV and was about to accuse her of doing just that, when Cassandra rested her hand on his knee again. "I need to step away for a second," she said. She sounded tired. "Could you take it from here?"
As he watched her hurry back up to the main house, Arthur had to resist the urge to follow her. She'd been working double time, smoothing over all the objections, and coming up with new suggestions on the fly. It was impressive as hell.
"So…are you happy now?" he asked Kendra and Rory.
They looked at each other. "I'm…okay," Rory said hesitantly. "How about you, babe?"
Kendra scowled ferociously. "No, this isn't what I wanted!" She stood up and mimed a "cut" motion across her throat. When the cameraman signaled, he'd stopped recording, she scowled at Arthur. "We hired Arthur McClellan, not this…" She waved her hands at him. "This pushover! You're boring! I didn't want boring!"
She stomped off. Rory shrugged at Arthur and then hurried after her.
Dazed, Arthur stood up from the table, just as the soft sand gave way and the whole thing toppled into the water.
He burst out laughing.
"What happened!" Cassandra hurried over, her high heels sinking into the wet sand. "What did you do?"
"Me!? I didn't do this. Blame Mother Nature and the natural rhythm of the tides!" He laughed again and then sobered when he saw she was still glaring. With a backward glance at the cameraman, who was scrambling to film the wreckage, he grabbed Cassandra's arm. "Walk with me?" he urged, guiding her out of range of the cameras.
A few hundred yards down the beach, he inhaled. "Thanks for all of the backup through that," he said without looking at her. "I was really having a hard time, as you could tell." He chuckled. "Remember how I said there was no one I would rather do this show with than you? I had no idea how right I was."
He turned, feeling good about how sweet he was being, how reformed and respectful.
Only to be met with fury. "Are you kidding me?!" Cassandra yelped, giving him a shove. "You call that backup? I did all"—she shoved him—"the work over there!"
"I was presenting my menu!" Arthur protested. "I was working. What the hell? Ow!" She'd shoved him again.
"No, you weren't listening to them at all. This isn't one of your restaurants where what you say is taken as gospel. We're preparing a wedding here." She tossed her head and then gathered her hair into her fist and piled it on her head. He was startled to see tears in her eyes. "And I'm sick as hell because it's so humid here, so I need you to step. Up."
"I thought you might have been sick…"
"Yup! And I still put on a smile and tried to make the clients happy, and you need to do the same. No excuses and no more sitting there like a lump while I do all the work. This isn't happening again. You understand?"
Arthur looked down at the yelling, stomping, crying banshee in front of him—and had to resist the urge to lay her down on the sand and take her right there.
"You're something else, doll," he said, loving the fire blazing in her eyes. No woman had ever gone toe to toe with him like this before, and she'd now done it twice. "Haven't figured out exactly what, but it's something."
She narrowed her eyes. "Do better," she snapped. "Lose the attitude and get to work." She pivoted on her heel and froze. "And get the hell out of here. I'm going to go throw up in those bushes and I don't want you watching." She glared at him. "Go!"
He went.
7
Cassandra narrowed her eyes at the toilet, and then flushed it one more time for good measure. As if flushing it would signal to her body somehow that this was it. She was done throwing up now, thank you. Please resume normal operations.
Another wave of nausea hit her like a punch to the gut, and she dropped to her knees with a groan.
When she agreed to film in a tropical paradise, she hadn't really considered the ramifications of the word "tropical." Tropical, in her mind, meant warm, gentle breezes and swaying palm trees.
The palm trees were perfectly still outside her window, because there was no breeze. Just heavy, oppressive humidity that was making her stomach revolt even more than it had the first weeks of her pregnancy. She retched, then hauled herself to her feet and ran some water from the tap to rinse out the awful taste. As she swished, careful not to swallow anything lest the cold water hitting her stomach set off another round, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.
Her sweat-matted hair was stuck to her forehead and neck. There were dark purple shadows under her eyes, and her skin looked mottled and see through. She looked like hell, and on any other day she would find this upsetting and reach for her concealer. On any other day she would apply a full face of makeup before daring to venture out of the bathroom and potentially run into a man like Arthur McClellan.
But screw that. She'd had just about enough of that man. Some bad-ass rebel he was turning out to be. Ever since their fight yesterday—and a t
ouch of heat rose to Cassandra's cheeks when she remembered how completely she'd lost her cool—he'd gone from being the most negative person in the world to being her shadow.
"Are you in there?" A large fist thumped against the heavy bathroom door. "Cassie? They want us for interviews, and we should get our story straight first.."
Cassandra rolled her eyes so hard she almost vomited again. "Really, Arthur? I'm a little busy."
"Are you puking?"
"I'm not answering that."
"Do you want me to get you something?"
Cassandra widened her eyes at her reflection. "Oh my god," she mouthed, before pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers. "I don't know, Arthur. Do you want to get me something?"
Confused silence from the other side of the door. "Um. What?"
She threw her hands up in the air, got dizzy and grabbed the marble topped vanity. "Go without me," she demanded.
"You want me to do the interviews without you?'
"Yes!"
"I'll screw it up without you."
"I don't care. I truly do not care." She closed her eyes until she heard his heavy tread on the floorboards. When she heard the bedroom door thunk closed, she exhaled.
When she’d told him, this was a two-way street, this was not what she envisioned. Sure, she liked being in control. But not everything, for heaven's sake!
Not for the first time, she let the picture of her dream man fill her head. He was still faceless, a blurry dreamlike haze where his head should be, but that didn't matter to her. What mattered was that the blurry dream man could see her, right now. He could see that she was at her breaking point and it was time for him to swoop in and just take care of her. Sweep her off her feet and relieve her of the pressures of decision making.
Not ask her to make more.
Not like Arthur was doing.
Irritation seemed to settle her stomach. She flushed the toilet one more time, just for good measure, and then hesitantly opened the door.