Page 80 of Unscripted

“Poppy,” Callum carried on, not missing a beat, “a Sunday roast is a quintessential part of being British, and the best ones are done at the local pubs. When we’re home, I’m bringing you to one, no excuses.”

Something fluttered in my chest at his casual mention of life post-Bella Amore.

Would Callum really want to see me after all of this? I knew we had gotten closer, but would he actually want to hang out—not because we had to or because we were playing the part of a couple—because he wanted to?

And did I want that? To see each other after all of this, with no cameras or mics or producers? Why did the thought of sitting in some cozy pub with him, having a Sunday roast, sound so appealing?

I simply nodded at Callum, trying to keep my spiraling thoughts about him and us and what else we could do when we left the villa tamped down.

I was mercifully saved from having to voice any kind of real thought on the matter by the voice of another producer coming over the speaker.

“Callum to the Love Shack, please,” it said.

Callum got up from the daybed, kissed me on the forehead, and walked off to film his confessional.

I immediately tried to stifle the chill that snaked down my spine at his little goodbye kiss. Resolute on ignoring my body’s reaction, I let my gaze travel around the garden, hoping for a distraction.

Ella and Olivia sat around the fire pit, chatting away. Samantha was in the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil.

It took a moment for my brain to catch up with what I was seeing.

All the boys were gone. It was only us girls in the garden.

Before I could open my mouth to point this out to Chiara, the speaker crackled on again.

“All girls, please report to the living room,” it said.

Something was going on. We had only shot in the living room once, when we entered the villa on that first day. Since then, everything had been in the garden except for the obstacle course game and the beach day, which had literally ended in tears.

“I don’t have a good feeling about this,” I said to Chiara as we followed the other girls inside and down the hallway to the living room.

We rounded the corner and found that not only had the living room been professionally lit as it was on the first day, but two cameramen were standing in the corners of the room, cameras up and, I was assuming, rolling.

To top it all off, sitting in the middle of the room, relaxed against the large white couch, was Gemma Row.

I was coming to resent the sight of her. It always led to emotional duress and someone leaving the villa. I had hoped that after the drama of the beach day, she wouldn’t be back for a while. Being that this was Bella Amore and twists and turns were the entire point of the show, it came as no surprise to be wrong.

“Ladies!” Gemma called out. “Come sit!”

We all shuffled into the room, heels clacking on the marble floors. Sitting on both sides of Gemma, everyone was quiet, a sense of dread permeating the air.

“I’m sorry to interrupt the cocktail party tonight,” she said, looking around at all of us, appearing very much not sorry.

“It seems that half of the group is missing,” she carried on, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Oh no,” Chiara whispered under her breath next to me. I looked over and her eyes were wide and frenzied; it was clear she had already pieced together what was about to happen.

“Girls, the boys have left the villa,” Gemma said.

I blinked. Then blinked again. The silence around me was heavy as we all exchanged nervous glances.

The boys had left.

“I’d now like to welcome you all to . . . ”

Hours of binge-watching Bella Amore before coming on the show flashed through my mind on instant replay, ticking through all possible explanations for what was happening until finally settling on one plot point, one staple of the entire franchise that I had somehow forgotten about until now.

“Chateau Desire.”