‘Stella may be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,’ Niall said, his eyes wistful.
‘That she is, mate,’ Jack agreed. ‘And lucky for you, you friendly fucking giant, none of us have got the balls to go after her with you standing in our way.’
‘Language!’ the closest PA called out.
‘Well, fuck,’ Oliver quipped. ‘There goes half my vocabulary.’
He said it with a self-deprecating smile that looked more like a wince. Niall and Jack laughed good-naturedly, but Declan found himself staring again. Oliver was absent-mindedly drumming his fingers along the tops of his knees, staring at the skyline. The setting sun cast a warm light on his face, catching the golden strands of his curls and giving his eyes an incandescent gleam.
‘What about you, King?’ Jack asked. ‘You didn’t say who you’ve got your eye on.’
Declan blinked at him, refocusing. ‘You’re mad if you think I’d tell you lot,’ he said blandly.
He managed to not look at Oliver for the rest of the night.
Chapter 3
Oliver
Paige Nelson: Tell me about yourself.
Oliver Wright: I’m Oliver. I’m twenty-four years old and I’m a dancer for the Royal London Ballet.
Paige Nelson: And what are you looking for onSummer of Love?
Oliver Wright: I’m not sure what to expect, to be honest, but I hope I’ll find love. I mean, that’s the only reason someone would subject themselves to this specific kind of torture, right?
Oliver didn’t sleep his first night in the villa. Every time he got close, he suddenly remembered the cameras trained on him and jerked awake. His body had been tense since he’d walked down the plane aisle. He’d nearly missed the flight because of traffic – maybe a sign, in retrospect, he should have listened to.
After counting sheep for several hours as a pink dawn spread over the sky, he gave up and automatically reached for where his phone would normally be sitting on the nightstand next to him. Of course, his hand closed around empty air. The producers had deprived him of even the opportunity to fixate on the lockscreen photo that had become his constant companion in depression. Before arriving in Mallorca, he didn’t think there had been a day in the past seven months that hadn’t begun with a text from Sophie.
He closed his eyes, pleading with his brain for a moment’s escape, but quickly realised lying in bed would only make himfeel worse. Instead, he made his way outside, sliding the glass door open and breathing in the cool morning air as his mind raced.
Coming on a reality TV show had been a terrible idea, that much was clear, but he couldn’t see a way out of it now. Once it had started, the whole thing had spiralled out of control so quickly – responding to that producer’s DM had been a tipsy mistake made under pressure from his mates, and he hadn’t known that one message could lead him to a plane, a van and a hellish night of staring at the ceiling. He had never given a decision less thought, and the loss of control over his life had a dizzying effect.
As he filled the kitchen’s kettle, hoping a cup of tea might clear his head, he saw Declan emerge from the villa. Oliver’s mortifying first thought was to hope that Declan might acknowledge him in some way. He liked Jack and Niall fine, found Callum to be an uncomplicated annoyance, but something about Declan had set him on edge from their first meeting, when he had sized Oliver up and found him lacking.
Whatever his hopes had been, Declan headed straight for the pool, not sparing a glance in his direction. While Oliver was sure he looked a wreck, Declan was frustratingly handsome for so early in the morning, the slight shade of his stubble showing off an angular jaw, his hair effortlessly coiffed. There was a keen alertness in his bright blue eyes as he stretched his arms above his head, the hem of his shirt lifting to reveal sharp lines of muscle. Oliver averted his gaze as Declan stripped it off and dove into the pool. He was annoyed, wishing he’d got more sleep.
The sun continued to rise and the crew began setting up for the day. Oliver was watching them, sipping his tea and trying to keep his eyes open, when Zoë walked out onto the patio and gave him a peppy wave.
‘Hello,’ Oliver said, his voice coming out hoarse. ‘Tea?’
She nodded, taking one of the stools across the counter from him. ‘So,’ she said, after a beat, probably realising Oliver had exhausted all capacity for speech with his opening line, ‘how’d you sleep?’
He flipped the kettle on. ‘Really well.’
She cocked her head at him, taking in his dishevelled appearance. His skin was pale and his eyes were bloodshot, that he knew without even looking in the mirror.
‘It was a long day yesterday,’ she said. ‘I usually like to reserve a few hours for my night-time routine, but I guess that’s the price we pay for a summer in paradise.’
Her cheer was abrasive. He had thought, despite their obvious differences, that they could at least agree the day before had been objectively terrible. He took a deep breath, reminding himself that it was pure luck that he’d got coupled up with Zoë, who had an established following and who he was certain was not on the show to find love. The last thing Oliver wanted was to meet someone with genuine interest in him – that had no place in his plan.
He tried for a smile. ‘Yeah, it’s incredible here. I mean, look at that view,’ he said, gesturing towards the overlook, his eyes inadvertently falling on the pool where Declan was still swimming laps.
‘Gorgeous,’ she said, giving him a sidelong look, and he was relieved he’d managed to turn things around. With all the preparation he’d done for the show, he had neglected the most important thing for aSummer of Lovewinner to cultivate: the ability to not have a panic attack first thing in the morning.
Holly emerged from the villa next, yawning and plopping down next to Zoë without greeting, squinting in the sunlight. ‘God, I’m not even hungover, I don’t know why my head feels shit,’ she announced, and Zoë giggled.
