“Hey, B. Walk me to the pier?” He asks.
I shrug, falling into step with him as he drags his suitcase across the white sand. I look out over the view, taking in the slopes of the sand dunes and the brilliant turquoise sea.
“You know,” he says, “when you told me you were seeing all three of them, I really didn’t believe you.”
I laugh. “You’re not the only one. I think half the tabloids are convinced they’re just hookers I’ve hired.”
“It’s brave,” he says earnestly. “Having a relationship that society doesn’t approve of.”
I think about it. I suppose it is. We’ve certainly taken Hollywood by storm. Every time I leave the house with the guys, it’s front page news. The tabloids are always full of made-up stories about our love life: stuff like ‘MATTHEW VS KENTA—THE BOYFRIENDS’ SECRET FEUD’ or ‘BRIAR REVEALS HER FAVOURITE BEAU’. It’s all BS, but I actually don’t mind that so many people are invested in the relationship. I think bringing awareness to different kinds of love can only ever be a good thing.
“Society hasn’t approved of me since I was sixteen. I’ve had to get brave.” I tilt my head, looking at him sideways. “Maybe I should thank you for that. It was unbelievably shitty, but I guess it worked out alright in the end.” I can’t even imagine the kind of person I would be if the cheating scandal had never happened. Would I still be that anxious, polite girl, always terrified of offending anybody, completely unable to assert herself? Perhaps this is the best thing that ever could have happened to me.
He nods, rubbing the back of his head. The big white ferry pulls up to the pier, and people start climbing aboard. Thom turns to look at me. “I’m happy for you,” he says. “Honestly.”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t get sappy. Call me when you get in.”
He gives me a quick hug and grabs his suitcase, climbing onto the boat. The director, Gina, is next, and she tugs me in for a hug before I know what’s happening.
“Lock them down,” she hisses in my ear, tossing me a wink. I laugh, waving as the ferry unmoors and starts cutting through the water, back to Italy. I wait until it’s completely faded into the distance, then turn and head back to find the guys.
“You are all terrible,” I announce, as I open the door to our beach hut. During filming, the studio put the cast and crew up in small chalets on one side of the island. Naturally, me and the guys are all sharing one. It’s adorable. Nautical-themed, with sea-foam coloured linen and furniture made of driftwood and shells. The cabin is pretty small, just big enough for us all to fit in. Then again, we don’t need much room. Just one very, very big bed.
Excitement hums in my stomach as I kick off my flip-flops. My schedule has been pretty unpredictable since we came to the island: some days, I’m working from five AM to the middle of the night. Others, I’m not needed at all. Me and the guys have squeezed in as many activities as we can, snorkelling and wakeboarding and windsurfing. On my evenings off, we stay in and cook together, eating fresh food and wine under the sunset. And then at night—
We keep ourselves busy. I think we’ve shagged in every room of this house. I’mso excitedto finally be able to fully relax, instead of worrying about call times or last-minute script changes. The next two weeks are going to be amazing.
As I step into the lounge, I’m expecting all three guys to be there. Weirdly, the only one I see right away is Kenta, standing in the little kitchen by the stove. He looks up and smiles at me. He looks incredible;tanned and relaxed, wearing just a pair of swimming trunks and a white linen shirt that he’s left open. His hair has been pulled back into a loose plait, tendrils falling out around his face.
“Finally wrapped?” He asks. I nod, crossing the room to him. He’s got the wok going, and is tossing chunks of sweet potato into a creamy-looking coconut curry sauce. I lean against his arm, watching as he gives the pan a stir, then bends to check something in the oven. The mouth-watering scent of chocolate and nuts pours out of the oven door.
“What’s this? You’re making dinner?”
He nods, straightening to give me a lingering kiss. “Thought we’d celebrate.”
“The end of the shoot?”
His eyes flash down to mine. He hums noncommittally, slicing a tomato in half and popping it into my mouth. “Among other things,” he says, tapping under my chin to make me chew. “Maybe. Or maybe I just want to feed you back up again.”
I had to lose ten pounds for this role. The men are convinced that if I don’t gain the weight back immediately, I’ll just collapse and spontaneously die.
I smile, licking his fingers. “I think I’ll like that a lot.”
There’s a sudden crash from outside. I turn. The doors to the patio are open, and Glen is in the little garden area out back, dragging all of the kitchen furniture onto the sand. I watch as he swears, picking up the chair that’s fallen over.
“Don’t break anything,” Kenta calls. The wok spits, and he lunges to turn down the knob on the stove. I give his cheek one last kiss, then go to join Glen outside, squinting against the bright sun. I think he must have just come in from swimming; his hair is still darkened by sea water, and he’s only wearing a pair of damp trunks.
“Hey, hottie,” I call, leaning in the doorway. It’s my new favourite nickname for him. Has been, ever sinceHellolisted him as one of this year’s ‘Top Ten Red Carpet Hotties’. It makes him blush every time.
He glances up, and a smile swipes across his face. “Hey, love. All done shooting?”
I nod. “It went a lot quicker when Thom wasn’t afraid of getting disembowelled.” I look across the table settings. He’s gone all out, filling glasses of wine and folding napkins onto each plate.A bouquet of expensive-looking tropical flowers is sitting in a glass vase in the middle of the table, tied up in a pink ribbon.
I point. “For me?”
“I picked them up at the market after you kicked us off set.”
I smile. “They’re beautiful.”
