My soaked clothes drag me down. I thrash and try to scream, water getting in my mouth as I feel myself sink.
“Help!”
At first I think William’s helping me, but then I realize he can’t stop laughing. “What are you doing? It’s shallow! Just sit.”
Sitting up, I realize the water only goes to my belly.
But it’s still soaked through my clothes.
It’s funny how I don’t feel too self-conscious about the lacy black bralette under my shirt. It’s—I don’t know. I like that he looks down at the clothes hugging my figure and then up at my face again, like he isn’t sure how to proceed. It makes me sit a little taller.
I want him to see me.
“Useless boy,” I mutter playfully. I grab his shoulder so I can push him away.
He nearly falls to the side again. Still laughing, he shakes his head, then runs his hands over his hair to push it away from his eyes. “What was that, anyway?”
“I was saving you,” I say, doing the same to my hair. I can feel the curls in my hands. “Obviously.” I roll my eyes at him, and for good measure, stick out my tongue.
He sticks out his tongue as well.
“How mature, William!” I accuse.
He doesn’t reply. He’s just looking at me.
I want him to keep looking at me that way.
He tilts his head up at the sky and closes his eyes.
The rain is hitting our faces, and I’m cold, but the ocean makes us warmer.
It’s different from anything else I’ve experienced.
It’s liberating.
He finally stands up and offers me a hand. “C’mon, you’re going to catch a cold.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “You don’t get to tell me what to do!”
I bite back a smile and watch him groan in frustration.
“Fine,” he says, and without warning, his hands go to my middle.
I react with a scandalized scream as he lifts me out of the water and throws me over his shoulder.
A few people turn to see what’s going on, but when they see a soaked couple emerging from the water and giggling, I suppose they don’t care much about it.
“Put me down!” I yell, hitting his back. But I don’t mind this one bit—his warm hand around my waist, his throaty laugh. When he does put me down gently on the beach, I adjust my clothes, shaking my head, and tell him, “Deplorable, William. You’re like a caveman.”
“Let’s go back to the hotel, cavewoman.” He continues walking, and I jog up to meet him. “Before, you know, you die and the tabloids say I drowned you or something.”
I bump my shoulder against him. “Dark.”
He turns to me, beaming like only he can do. “Yeah, especially since you were the one pulling me into the water, actually. That was a serious evil-mermaid move.”
I grin.
As Padma says her goodbye to Faro and thanks them for a fantastic night, we make our way back to the hotel side by side, the rain dancing on our skin and making us feel completely alive.
The shower feels like the most magnificent thing that has ever happened to me. I lower my head and let the water wash the salt out of my hair until I can almost see my worries going down the drain.
It’s a bright marble bathroom, so bright that it hurts my eyes a little—white tiles, white ceiling, white floor. But if I close my eyes, I can imagine there’s just me and the water.
I wrap my arms around myself.
William knocks. “Natalie, I’m dying out here! Just finish your shower already!”
I open the glass shower door to yell back, “You’re the one who insisted I go first!”
I can picture him running his hands through his curls. “I was being a gentleman! Now I’m too frozen to be a gentleman! I’m going to be a full-on penguin when you finally leave the bathroom.”
I smile, turning off the shower.
Stepping out, I grab a huge fluffy white towel to wrap around my head and wrap another around my body.
“You’re such a baby,” I tell William as I open the door.
He’s rendered speechless, apparently. Taking two steps back, he gapes at me. “Ah…?”
I adjust the towel around my body so it’s firm. I look down. Nothing scandalous about the towel, everything covered, nothing out of place. “What?”
William blinks at me.
I snap my fingers in front of him. “Weren’t you dying from cold?”
Clearing his throat, he turns to get a change of clothes, passes me to go to the bathroom, and slams the door shut dramatically on his way in.
I cock an eyebrow. The smell of salt water still lingers.
I sit on the bed, taking off the towel from around my head. My curls are in full power. I forgot my straightener. But it’s also kind of late and I don’t care much. I start combing through my hair, trying to push away thoughts that seem particularly inconvenient now.
But the look on his face when he saw me…
And then I realize what should have occurred to me earlier. I run to my bag, get my phone, and unlock it. I click to my photo gallery, but new pictures don’t magically appear. I hadn’t been thinking about photo ops after Ashley sent that article, and then…
We had so much fun. We were so magical and happy. Tonight would’ve made amazing pictures. So many likes, maybe a new trending hashtag.
I hold my phone.
Is it bad that I don’t regret it? Not taking pictures? Even if I know I should’ve?
Ashley is going to be so disappointed.
And I can’t pretend to care.
Mom has texted me to ask about the show, so I quickly text her back to tell her how great it was. After choosing comfy pajamas, I hop on the bed again, and send Padma a voice message, saying that she killed it tonight.
I eye the bathroom door suspiciously, but I can still hear the shower.
If I’d known we’d be sharing a room, maybe I would’ve packed something a little cuter than flannel pajamas—plaid red-and-black bottoms and a gray top with a pocket in the front. But that’s what I got, so to distract myself, I open Twitter.
I don’t have to go very far to see a video from half an hour ago, when William threw me over his shoulder. I click the video so that I can see it again and again and again. He’s smiling so smugly and I’m laughing so much. And we are thoroughly wet from the impromptu swim in the ocean.
I minimize the video. The caption reads: seen just now. natalie and william ainsley.
I don’t even have to tell my finger to click the replies—it’s automatic.
There are a lot of GIF reactions. Most of them show cartoons swooning. Some of them show actual people swooning. Someone has a screenshot of William’s biceps. Actually, there are a lot of comments about his biceps.
I imagine the feel of his muscles under my fingertips….
Clearing my throat, I keep scrolling down.
NATAFAN #STOPTRANSPHOBIA
@erin_natafan
SHE IS SO HAPPY OMG LOOK AT OUR QUEEN!!!
she was never like that with trent lmao
I grip my phone. I feel something familiar in my chest, a nervous flutter I’ve felt for a while. Because none of them know that it isn’t real.
And that I want it to be real.
Though I try swallowing the knot in my throat, it’s difficult.
Eventually, William opens the door and comes out dressed in a Rolling Stones black T-shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants. No socks, surprisingly. Hair slicked back and still wet and so charming that the only reason I don’t smile when I see him is that he’s frowning.
“Can you believe how hot that shower gets? I got burned!”
I snort. “You’re very white. I imagine you get burned all the time. Every time you step into the s
un.”
He closes the door behind him, shaking his head. “Now, that’s reverse racism.” I sit up, ready to argue, and he starts laughing at me. “JK, obviously! There’s no such thing as reverse racism. Don’t throw anything at me.”
I lock the phone’s screen and put it away. “I would never. I’m a lady.”
“Sure.”
I get up from the bed and gesture toward the balcony. He follows me wordlessly. The knot keeps rising and making me want to say things that don’t make sense, so I push it back down and focus on something else. “Those aren’t proper pajamas. Do the British not believe in wearing pajamas?”
I sit in front of the balcony without daring to slide the glass doors open. It’s still cold out there and inside we’re favored by the gods of the heating system.
William sits by my side. “Quite the contrary. These are my pajamas.”
“Of course they are.” I give him a look.
“Anyway, it’s a nice view. Faro Beach.” He gestures at the view, and I nod, about to say something about Padma’s set, when he says, “It’s also nice to be here. With you, I mean.”
My eyes stay on him.
“You mean, instead of some random terrible girl that you’d hate to be fake-dating?”
He shrugs. “Something like that,” he says. “I was so reluctant to do this….I didn’t want to come to the States. I didn’t want to sign that contract. Even with the money involved, I was so…I didn’t want to open myself up to heinous, privacy-destroying articles like the one that ran in the Sun.”
My blood turns cold. “William, I’m so deeply s—”
“I know. It’s not your fault,” he says, with a gentle smile. Then he looks at me. “What I wanted to say is that I guess I was very afraid.”
That shuts me up. I suddenly understand why he wasn’t looking at me before. I’m very interested in the pattern of my pajama pants now and how it feels under my hand.
“Afraid of being away from my family, afraid of not being able to be good enough to fit in. Afraid of spending so much time with someone I didn’t know and worried whether I’d end up becoming friends with her or not.” He shrugs. “But Cedrick kept telling me it was the right move. He also thought it was a good idea because…you’re a girl.”
My heart stops.
I swallow the damn knot and hold my breath.
“You’re gay,” I state matter-of-factly, feeling the floor underneath me shatter.
Feeling a lot of things shatter.
William turns to me with raised eyebrows. “I’m—? What? I’m not, actually.”
I narrow my eyes, breathing in. “I’m…confused.”
He cocks an eyebrow, leaning closer to me. “The B in the LGBTQIA acronym doesn’t stand for baseball enthusiasts.”
I take advantage of him being close to bump his shoulder. “William.”
“I’m bisexual,” he clarifies, still giving me a little knowing smile.
I roll my eyes. “Yeah. I got that.”
My pajamas are suddenly very interesting. He’s still looking at me.
“You have questions.”
I sigh, risking a glance his way. “I do.”
“Ask away.” He makes a dorky welcome gesture.
He is dorky.
I clear my throat, then straighten my legs and pull them close to sit cross-legged. “I…I won’t do that to you. I’ll Google it first.”
“You’re going to Google the word bisexual?” He makes a strange noise. “Oh, I can tell you what it means.”
It’s just…I turn to him, my cheeks flushed, my heart beating fast.
“You really go hard with the dorkiness sometimes, don’t you?” I glare, and he bows. “No. My best friend is bi, but I know it’s not the same…since you’re a guy. Different struggles and all. I mean—I’ll do some research. I don’t want you to have to school me on anything I can find online. I don’t want to sound ignorant—which I sort of am, to be fair. But…Yeah. It’s not fair to you. I don’t want to be a bigot.”
He looks at me as if that’s new. He doesn’t look like he’s about to crack a joke anymore. He frowns slightly, and says, “I…appreciate you not wanting to be a bigot, I suppose.”
“No problem.” My turn to bow. “I guess I am the hero of this story.”
William’s smirk comes back. “An exceptional hero, of course.”
“Are you out?” I blurt. Then I hasten to explain, “I hadn’t heard anything about this.”
“Have you been Googling me?” He raises an eyebrow. I stutter and he saves me with a smile. “Sort of. To my family and friends, yes. Cedrick knows, too, like I said. I’m not not out. But I guess I haven’t given any interviews about it or anything.”
We’re close enough that I let my head fall onto his shoulder, and he lets me stay there. Quietly, I tell him, “Aren’t you scared of the tabloids doing something about that?”
“Yes, I am.” He leans closer so his head touches mine. “I don’t want them to take away my choice to discuss my sexuality on my own terms. But I guess unless my ex-boyfriend decides to speak to the press, it’s unlikely they’ll find out.”
I raise my head to look at him. We’re closer than I’d anticipated, and I feel my face warm up. I clear my throat, but still sound a little strangled when I say, “Oh, so the…the ex you said that you deleted all the pictures from Instagram and stuff…that was…not a girl.”
He shakes his head no, watching me. I can’t tell if he’s amused by me not having considered this, or by my current blushing situation, which isn’t even about what he said. It’s about how I can see every nuance in the color of his eyes.
I rest my head on his shoulder again, but it isn’t as comfortable this time. I need him to stop looking at me like that. Above a whisper, I tell him, “Thanks for not being a bigot to me, either.”
Lowering his head a little so he can speak in the same tone, he asks, “Are you coming out, too?”
I raise my head. “I—what? No, keep up, William!” I snap my fingers in front of his face again, and he laughs. I rest my head on his shoulder again. “I’m a Latina girl. I’ve heard all sorts of things. But you’re cool.”
He’s quiet for a moment, before saying, “Do you want to share some horror stories?”
I close my eyes. There are so many to choose from.
“Well, there was this time a guy from my label promptly told me his wife loved Buenos Aires when he heard I was from Brazil.”
“Isn’t Buenos Aires in Arg—” he starts.
“Argentina, yes.”
“Huh.” William clicks his tongue. “Incredible sense of geography.”
“This other time, but this was early on, right when we’d moved to the States, Mom took me to an office barbecue and this woman dead-ass asked Mom if she could cook chimichangas. When Mom gave her a blank stare, she specified: Because you’re, like, Brazilian, right?”
It’d been a joke between Mom and me for a long time, though I’d known the comment had hurt anyway. It felt like a Brazilian thing, to deal with pain and stress through jokes. If you’re not laughing, then you can’t control how others will react.
William turns to me, the balcony forgotten. “Were they really a Valley Girl or is this just your default American accent?”
I consider this. “Default, I guess.”
“Fair enough,” he replies, still serious.
Groaning, I lean forward and hug my legs. “Why do some people think that all Latinx are Mexicans? Just one big homogenous group?”
“Racism? Xenophobia? Imperialism?”
I chuckle. “That was a rhetorical question.”
“I know,” he replies, a small smile on his lips, too.
“I’m glad Ashley connected Bobbi and Cedrick.”
The words slip out of my lips. But I don
’t mind—it’s something I have to say. I don’t mind my damp hair curling, I don’t mind my face free of makeup. This is me—the rawest, realest version of me.
He gives me a long look. “Me too.”
“You know.” I clear my throat, sitting up next to him. “As opposed to ending up with a complete asshole or something.”
William brings his hands to his chest in fake shock. “You’re calling me a not complete asshole? I am beyond flattered.”
I shrug. “Don’t get too used to it.”
“Most certainly won’t.” He stands, and offers his hand to help me up. This time I take it.
His hand is warm and feels good in mine.
“You know how you called me Natalia before?” I ask.
He nods, standing too close.
I can feel the heat emanating off him. I want to lean closer.
“It is my name. When I came to the States, people found it so hard to pronounce properly. There’s a nickname for my name, and it isn’t Nat. It’s Nati. But every kid in school pronounced it wrong.”
“Nah-tchy?” he repeats.
The effort he seems to put in getting the pronunciation right makes me feel good. I nod slowly, lowering my head for a second. It’s like staring at the floor makes me more self-aware of how close we are.
“Yeah. That’s how you say it. I thought it’d be easier. Assimilating to the new culture, letting mine die a little every day. I think that’s why I’m afraid of going back. Because I’m a little ashamed. I know in my heart that I tried to forget them.”
He puts one hand on my arm.
A small encouragement to keep talking.
“I think I look beautiful,” I say. He laughs, a little confused, so I explain. “I mean, with my hair like this. Natural. I’m all for people doing whatever to their hair so they feel good about themselves, but—but I don’t want to straighten it anymore. I want people to see my hair the way it is.”
One of William’s hands goes to my face, hovering a few inches away from my cheek. Instead he touches a random curl, lightly as if to not undo what nature has done. “You are beautiful,” he says simply.
I tilt my chin up, looking him in the eye.
Like a Love Song Page 14