CHAPTER 2 || meeting him (sort of)

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The bed is incredibly comfortable. It's more comfortable than any other bed she's ever been in before. And she's been in a lot of beds. Not that she's slept with a lot of people, just– she and her parents used to travel around a lot, and she can't even say how many hotels they've been in before. Hundreds, maybe. She absolutely doesn't know.

So, yeah, she can indeed say that this is a huge thing. Finding a bed softer and a mattress silkier than any other she's ever been on before.

Which is why she doesn't want to get up. She wants to lie here forever. Wants to feel the warmth of the sheets against her back, wants to roll around in bed all day. Just because there's so much space in it. God, she doesn't think she wants to meet the bachelor anymore. Not when there's such a big bed right here.

And a big house. A mansion, really. No house is this big. None.

And they're all waiting for her to spend all her time in them. If only she could stay in France for the rest of her life. Because she definitely would.

She doesn't– she doesn't even need him. Now, if only she could at least remember his name she'd– is it Shaun? Shane? She racks her brain, but she can't recall his stupid name. She's sure she's read it somewhere. Maybe Dinah even mentioned it last night. Stupid memory.

But, yeah, the point remains: she only needs this bed, this room, and maybe the sea to be happy. Hearing the waves crash on the shore, seeing the palm trees sway in the wind... yeah, she'd be content with only that forever. She could ask someone to carry her bed out onto the beach. She'd have all in one. Great–

Her alarm beeps next to her. She groans. She almost forgot about– everything. Reaching for her phone, she forgets the gap between the bed and the small nightstand, though, and before she knows what's happening, she's lying on the floor. Her head and back hurt. She thinks that that might not be good seeing as she has to make a good first impression – she is after all here to win a man over, even if she doesn't know his name – but maybe a shower and some painkillers will help. She finally grabs her phone and turns off the alarm.

It's nine. Definitely time to get ready.

She takes the quick shower she promised herself, and the pain in her body subsides as soon as the hot water meets her skin. She wishes she could stay in longer. But, unfortunately, she has something to get ready for. Since she doesn't see any of the girls she shares her room with – one of which is Dinah – she decides they must be out already. Typical, really. That Camila is the last to show up.

She randomly picks out an outfit – a black skirt and a white top should be alright, she guesses; she doesn't want to look shabby, but she doesn't want to be overdressed, either – and puts it on. It only takes her about fifteen minutes and a lot of cursing. The goddamn skirt is a mess. So is the blouse. But she gets it done, somehow, and looks at herself in the mirror.

"Nice," she says, and jokingly pretends to check herself out. "You come here often?"

"Not exactly, but I could use a drink," Dinah's voice comes from behind her.

Camila almost has a heart attack. God, of course she's going to get caught in such an embarrassing moment. She's glad no cameras are around. She'd be screwed.

Dinah, in the meantime, holds her stomach laughing. Nobody can blame her, though, seeing your roommate throwing lazy pick up lines at their reflection is, admittedly, most probably one of the funnier sights. "I– oh, my God, Mila, you– you should have– seen you– and your reaction–" The words she's trying to – coherently – say come out breathlessly. Which is no wonder, considering how hard she's laughing.

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