(The Completely Unwilling Participants on) The Bachelor

by Rude Gus

The title says it all.

6. Episode 5

Chapter 5

Lily's night ended with a painful kind of confusion, and one sweet, merciful high.

Piano.

She knew piano.

Piano made her happy.

It didn't hurt her bloody feelings, like certain idiots in the castle.

She was good at piano. Better than good. Astoundingly bloody good, or so Sirius had said, after standing through a performance of Rondo Alla Turca that made Helena swallow her assertion that it "looked piss easy, anyway," roughly halfway through the piece.

She hadn't pegged Sirius as a fan of classical music, but people were always surprising.

Once Beatrice ceded the instrument to her friend's more capable fingers and found herself rewarded with a note-perfect Minute Waltz, Lily became surrounded by an invested crowd, including Rita, who owned herself impressed against her will. In an uncharacteristic move, Rita even allowed the group—save Isabella, who was so upset by Wendy Wilde's departure that she went directly to bed, and Bonnie, who followed along to comfort her—to stay up for thirty minutes after the rose ceremony and make requests.

Lily suspected that it was Euphemia who truly ordained it so, being so delighted by the hitherto unrevealed talents of her favorite contestant that she was determined to have her show them off to every conscious being in the castle, and praised her loudly at every available interval. For Euphemia, Lily played two pieces, then several more for others, all the while doggedly ignoring James's repeated requests that she play "that song from the cat food adverts," because it was his and Algernon's favorite.

James Potter didn't deserve to have his requests granted, because he had hugged her, and it had done something—shook something loose in her otherwise orderly brain—and she was mad about it.

She should have had more sense.

She also should have had more resolve, for James eventually broke what little she had with puppy-dog eyes and hackneyed pleading. Lily wound up giving in to his demands and running through a lively rendition of The Entertainer that set him to beaming, effulgent as the sun, at everyone in the room, until Sirius thumped his arm and told him to quit grinning like a serial killer who had stumbled upon a log cabin full of horny teens.

Everyone had laughed and James had feigned affront, while Lily took a quiet moment to reflect on just how terribly uncomfortable she felt.

Fortunately, Rita ordered them all to bed immediately after that performance, and Lily left the room at once, keeping Beatrice's hand clamped tightly in her own. The last thing she wanted to do was give James an opportunity to thank her for making his cat food advert dreams come true, lest she find herself cruelly stung and entirely unprepared for it. Again.

It was even more fortunate for Lily, though less so for her liver, that she had thrown back so much champagne throughout the night. Alcohol did what her traitorous brain could not have managed alone, and sent her stumbling downwards into a rather fitful sleep.

She felt as if she'd only been in bed for five minutes when someone shook her awake, jerking her out of a dream in which she and Algernon were hunting frantically for a secret stash of croissants.

"He's asleep!" Beatrice whispered loudly, excitedly, shoving Lily's prone body back and forth with the balls of her hands. "Wake the fuck up, he's asleep!

Lily's eyes searched for purchase in the inky darkness. "Who?"

"The security guard!"

"What?"

"Wake up," Beatrice insisted, and with one last shove for emphasis. "Up!"

"S'really dark though."

There was a shuffling noise, and the free-standing lamp in the corner snapped on to reveal Beatrice and Bonnie standing above the bed, the former fully dressed and grinning, the latter shrinking sheepishly away in her onesie.

They looked as if they'd been caught midway through the act of mummifying Lily in her sleep.

Rita, she was sure, would consider an in-house murder to be nothing more than a fun, money-spinning twist. In Lily's tired brain, the idea of the bachelor attending his first ever on-air funeral service—and the various ways in which the ladies would be forced to "comfort" the "bereaved" in his hour of need—became an entirely feasible possibility.

James could toss a final rose atop her slowly-lowering casket while Bozo zoomed in for an uncomfortable close-up and Rita lurked in the background, urging him to squeeze out a tear.

She laughed out loud at the idea.

"What are you giggling at?" said Beatrice.

"Nothing." Her own amusement had acted as a kind of stimulant, her eyes adjusting to the light, her clumsy thoughts swimming into clearer focus. "Explain again what's happening?"

"What's happening is that Donal the Dickhead is asleep in his chair, dead to the world," said Beatrice, swinging the end of her long braid like a pendulum. "Bon was just in the loo and came in to tell us."

"He's snoring like a freight train out there," said Bonnie.

"So I can sneak out and meet Remus, finally," Beatrice finished, with a big, bright, we're-in-this-together smile. "I need you to text Peter. He usually stays up late, yeah?"

Lily hoisted herself up on her elbows, catching a yawn in her mouth before it could struggle free. "Depends," she said thickly. "What time is it?"

"One a.m."

"You've woken me up after an hour of sleep?"

"Priorities!" Beatrice hissed, snapping her fingers like Lily was a servant on her very last warning. "You appear to have changed the passcode to your phone—"

"You kept threatening to send Peter questions about James."

"—and I need you to text him and ask where Remus is sleeping. Also, ask him what rooms have cameras in them. Also, ask him when they're rolling."

"You're aware that you have a one-on-one in a matter of hours, right?"

"Yeah, I know. We're going horseback riding." Bea mimed gripping a set of reins and did a silly little gallop on the spot. "What's your point?"

"Such an occasion will require lots of close-ups. Wouldn't you rather be fresh?"

"I will be fresh, once I've had mine," said Beatrice flatly. "Anyway, James won't mind. He's mentioned once or twice that he'd like Remus to find a nice girl, and I'm not the one he wants."

"None of us are," Bonnie said, sounding oddly bitter. "The audience are going to be so bored about five minutes into episode one when he sees Isabella and instantly mates for life."

"See, that's where you're wrong," said Beatrice, raising her finger for emphasis. "He likes Lily."

"He does?"

"Noooooo," Lily whined, and collapsed backwards onto her bed in what could only be described as a tribute to melodrama, pulling her covers up over her head, her stomach lurching unpleasantly. "Go away at once, Beatrice Booth, and dishonor on your ancestors."

"So very high and mighty, even when she's drunk," said Beatrice grandly. She yanked Lily's covers away, ignored her cry of indignation, and tossed the phone onto the bed, grinning down upon her like a malevolent spirit come to inhabit her flesh. "Come on, text Peter. I want to surprise Remus."

Lily could have argued her down, but she was half-asleep, and Beatrice had been building momentum for this opportunity since the second she first clapped eyes on Remus Lupin.

She sat up, retrieved her phone from the mattress and swiftly unlocked the screen.

Peter Pettigrew liked to stay up late playing video games, and so the texts she received from him tended to arrive at odd hours of the night. It was likely that he'd respond to her quickly if she made contact with him. The deep well that was his desire to be useful appeared to have no bottom, even though he had no idea what Lily was doing in the competition, and had apparently never been curious enough to ask.

While Beatrice buzzed around the room, Lily quickly typed out: Can I ask you a couple of questions please?

Her message was delivered and read almost immediately, and in no time at all she saw the three flashing dots which indicated his imminent response.

Sure whatever u need!

Sweet, helpful Peter, Lily reflected. She'd have to find a nice girl for him one day. Or a nice boy. It was never wise to assume.

What rooms in the house have cameras in them, do they film 24/7, and also, do you know where Remus sleeps? I SWEAR I'm not asking for myself.

Cams on most of ground floor + gardens except staff kitchens + toilets. No cams on other floors. Filming 24 hrs/day.

Is that it?!

2 expensive 2 kit the whole house out + no filming done anywhere else. Remus, Sirius, James + Mrs P sleep in west wing, third floor, corridor with big suit of armor. R's door labelled bedford suite.

Any security guards?

Not since u + James had that fight. His mum put a stop to it.

How nice, she thought bitterly, that James had been granted some liberty while the girls continued their confinement on the top floor of the house, watched over by Donal the dumb, the diaphoretic, and apparently drowsy security guard. Lily hated passing beneath his lecherous gaze when she scurried to the toilet in the middle of the night.

Of course, James probably didn't know about it, and Lily knew there was no sense in fostering feelings of animosity towards him for crimes he hadn't committed. It was childish, and besides, they'd never stick.

"You're good to go," she said to Beatrice, rubbing at her sleepy eyes. "Remus is in the west wing, Bedford Suite, near a suit of armor, and they don't have a guard."

"What if the guard is in the suit of armor?" said Bonnie, with a snort of appreciation for her own wit that she most certainly deserved. "And what's all this about James liking you?"

"Beatrice is sorely mistaken," said Lily, just as Beatrice piped up with, "Actually, they're into each other."

"Er, okay," said Bonnie, pulling a face at Lily as if to indicate that she, too, was concerned for Beatrice's mental state. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I know you two are friends—"

"No, we're not," said Lily, returning her face with a flat look of her own, "and I don't know why everyone thinks we're such good mates all of a sudden. We're nothing, basically. We talk about nothing. We're like the Seinfeld of acquaintances."

Beatrice let out a snort. "And you say he's dramatic."

"I'm sure that's not true, Lil," said Bonnie comfortingly. "He told Isabella you were mates."

"And he told me he only talks to me because Rita makes him," Lily countered for the win.

That was a strange thing to feel triumphant about. It hadn't felt all that great to hear it from his mouth.

"When the fuck did he tell you that?" said Beatrice angrily.

"Last night, and it's fine—"

"Was that before or after he swept you up into his arms?"

"That was—" A spot buried beneath the pit of her stomach gave a quick, strange little shudder at the memory. "Just him being a dork about something."

"Ah," Bonnie said, pity etched across the soft downturn of her mouth. "I'm so sorry, honey."

"It's really fine."

"I had an inkling after the dance class, and then tonight—"

"Honestly, I'm fine." Lily forced a smile and leaned backwards on the bed, stretching her legs out in front of her. The bites on her thighs were starting to heal over nicely. "I think he's fit. That's all. You don't need to look at me like someone's dying."

"Only my patience, for so very many reasons," said Beatrice, and closed her fingers around the door handle. She swung backwards, throwing a cheeky smile at Lily over her shoulder. "Fancy coming with me? I'm sure you can find James's room and give him a nice—"

"Get out," said Lily warningly, "before I throw my pillow at you."

Bea blew them a kiss and swooped out the door, leaving Lily alone with Bonnie, who was infinitely better company than the quagmire of new and confusing feelings she would need to attempt to wade through when she next found a quiet moment.

If one could find a quiet moment in this madhouse.

"So," said Bonnie, and sat down primly on the end of her bed.

Lily slanted a small smile at her. "So."

"Do you want to put on facemasks and not talk about boys?"

"Pass the real life Bechdel test?"

"That was my way of thinking."

Lily smile grew more pronounced. "Yes, I absolutely do."

---

James gave a huge, jaw-popping yawn and rested his head back against the car seat. Closing his eyes, he wished for a mute button on Rita, who was on her phone with someone else from the crew. Something was amiss on their date set-up, he'd surmised, but he was too tired to even broach the idea of caring.

Normally he slept like Sleeping Beauty, and often felt like one, but he'd tossed and turned enough all night that Algernon had threatened to scratch his legs silly. His usual plan for this sort of insomnia was to talk things out with Algernon instead. The maddening thing was, though...he couldn't pinpoint what was wrong.

Something was off. This much he knew. Something had wormed its way into his head and planted itself right in his brain matter, sending up a flag and saying HELLO PAY ATTENTION.

But then, like a fiend, it had bloody hidden itself. It refused to be found. He'd been stuck sleepily digging around until his mum banged on his door to wake him up.

Rita kept nattering on in the back seat, but at least she hadn't grabbed or hit him once since he'd stood up to her. She was still verbally demanding and often slyly rude, but that seemed to be her terrible baseline personality. He wasn't going to succeed at threatening that out of her system.

She'd also been on board with sending home Wendy, who was now one of the least interesting participants left. This left him with Isabella, Lily, Beatrice, Bonnie, and, of course, Handsy Helena Hodge. Four lovely girls and one certifiable nutjob.

Another yawn sounded from behind James.

He stuck his head between the front seats to look back at Remus. "You too, eh?"

Remus, very polished in his well-fitted blue suit, had worse bags under his eyes than James. "I couldn't seem to get arranged comfortably," he said, sounding resigned but smiling faintly. "I must have tried at least ten positions."

"Some nights are like that," James agreed.

"It almost felt like a work out, to be honest. That much moving around in bed can be exhausting."

The sleep deprivation was clearly muddling Remus's thoughts, too.

"Er, yeah. Sure," James said. "Lucky I've just got Bea today so I don't have to be on the lookout for random gropings."

"Oh, I wouldn't be so certain. I'm willing to bet she could be a groper under the right circumstances."

"D'you think? She seems so cool."

Rita covered the bottom of her phone with her hand. "Stop talking about Booth off-camera," she told him.

James rolled his eyes and sat back properly in his seat, holding his untouched coffee.

Euphemia had summoned him to her room that morning to dramatically announce that she had a terrible migraine, and was devastated to miss a day of shooting. He'd kissed her on the forehead, made sure her curtains were thoroughly closed, and walked out of her room to find Peter holding a coffee so obnoxiously large that it wouldn't have been out of place in America.

"Your mum asked me to get you this to 'apologize for her absence,'" Peter had said.

James had taken it into the car, but his stomach wasn't in the mood for anything quite yet.

He soon regretted not slowly sipping along the way. Once the car stopped outside a barn and he learned he and Bea would be horseback riding, he ended up downing his drink all at once. This was, to say the least, not pleasant on any front. But according to Remus, despite all the modern advances in technology, there was absolutely no chance the saddle would be equipped with a cup holder. And Remus, unhelpful sod that he was, refused to even try to fashion one.

As James entered the barn where Bea was waiting, his whole body gave one big shiver at the flood of caffeine.

"Right," he said, clapping his hands together. "Saddle up, Booth, we're going for a ride."

Beatrice laughed, albeit pityingly, but he'd take it. "You're so cheesy," she said, her eyes sweeping over him in swift appraisal. "Didn't you sleep last night? You look about as tired as I feel."

He bounced on the balls of his feet. "Well I don't know how you feel but I am totally fine, I've just had a lot of coffee and I am set."

"Well, I didn't sleep." She lifted her shirt beneath her arms and shook it out, as if to fan herself. "I think it's the heat, honestly. We're all being slowly roasted to death on the top floor."

"That's too bad. Did Lily sleep?"

Beatrice considered the question for a moment, then snorted. "Like an angel, until Bonnie and I woke her up." She laughed again, more pronounced this time. "She was not best pleased."

Remus cleared his throat. "If I might have your attention," he said. "On today's adventure, you'll enjoy a lovely horseback ride through bucolic fields, surrounded by nothing but nature. You'll pause halfway through to enjoy a romantic picnic by a lake, then return through a gorgeous set of woods."

"How lovely," said Beatrice, suppressing another laugh, and threw her gaze to the ceiling.

"All right," James said. "Let's go!"

"How much coffee have you had, exactly?" asked Bea in a low voice.

"Who knows! We're going to ride horses." James beamed as Remus led them outside the barn and towards a small paddock, where two magnificent horses awaited their arrival. "I love horseback riding. I mean, I've never done it, but I've always wanted to, but my dad always said he didn't trust horses not to throw me off, but why would they throw me off?"

"Let me guess," Bea said, "you saw Sleeping Beauty once, thought you could do a better job than Phillip, and now some unsuspecting horse is going to help you live out your wildest fantasies?"

He stopped in his tracks and stared at her. "How did you know?"

"Oh, it was Lily's theory. She bet me five quid this morning that if I said that, you'd say it was true."

"How did she know?" He shook his head. "No, no, that totally makes sense. Of course she'd know. Hey, look at our horses, mine's looking at me!"

Beatrice stopped by the paddock and threw a wary glance at Remus. "Is he high?"

"Not quite," Remus mused as James raced to catch up with them. "It's true he has always wanted to go horseback riding. So some of this is legitimate excitement, but I would speculate that the remaining ninety percent is the coffee."

James stopped next to him and leaned his arms against the wooden fence. "I never get coffee normally," he said. "Today is a good day."

"If his horse throws him off," said Beatrice to Remus, with the air of a mother discussing her naughty child, "ask Rita to edit out my never-ending laughter."

Remus placed a hand over his heart. "So noted," he said solemnly.

"I hate both of you," James said without taking his eyes off his brown and white horse. "But I love my horse. Let's go!"

A muscular young man with a long ponytail helped them onto their horses and took them through the basics. James was devastated to learn that his horse had the uninspiring name of Dolores, and that she was long past her days of going any faster than a leisurely stroll.

Still, though, he was on a horse! And so was Bea. And she might've been slightly better at telling her horse where to go but James certainly wasn't going to admit that.

Once they'd finally set off on their trail, the horse man and the camera crew ahead of them, James looked at Beatrice.

"D'you know what Lily's going to do today?" he asked. "I bet she'd like horses but I don't think she could've come with us since this is a one-on-one and all and that would make three."

"Oh." Beatrice's brow furrowed in thought for a moment, her eyes fixed on the path ahead. "Well, she was slipping into her bikini when I left, so she'll probably be in the pool until someone drags her out of there."

James took a second to process this, and then another, and then his face felt very hot. "Oh," he said. "That sounds...nice."

"In this heat? Sounds like heaven, except for the part where Helena's also there, doing her level best to ruin everyone's day, Lily's in particular."

James stroked Dolores's mane. "Lily trounced her last night, it was so brilliant. Helena tried to come over and grope me, probably, or something worse, and Lily was like, Back off, Handsy Hodge. That's what I call her too, you know? So funny. What does Lily do for a living?"

"Oh, she works in a shop, or something."

"She works in a shop?

Beatrice threw a sidelong glance at him. "Yeah, and?"

"Oh no. That's like really offensive, isn't it, what I've just said. Or like the way I said it. Shit. Don't tell her. She's allowed to work in a shop, but I just thought—" He snapped his mouth shut and held fast to the reins.

"You thought she'd be doing something a little more intellectually taxing," Bea offered, "because she's so clever?"

"Well yeah."

"I guess she's got her own reasons for doing what she does. I mean, I don't understand why she didn't become a concert pianist, but there you go. She's great, right?" Beatrice was speaking rather quickly, as if eager to change the subject. "I had no idea she could even play, until last night. She held out on me."

"She was amazing. I mean, seriously, incredible. Mum tried to get me to play the violin for a while but it was rubbish, I hated it, I'd never get as good as Lily at an instrument. Maybe that's what she does at the shop? Play the piano, I mean. If it's a fancy shop, anyway."

"To be honest, mate, I think she just works on the cash register. We don't really talk about work, though."

"What do you talk about?"

"I dunno, lots of things? Our lives, our interests, our ambitions, our equally terrible dating histories, our families—she's super close to her mum but has an awful sister, apparently—oh, and we're getting a flat together in Camden when all this is over and our respective leases end, so that's fun to plan for."

"That's fantastic! Can I come over? I'll bring Algernon. I think he's going to miss Lily when this is all over."

Beatrice paused as her horse meandered over a dip in the road. "Yeah, if the cat's going to miss her, feel free to come over whenever, I'm sure she'd be happy to see you both."

"I can bring McDonald's fries with me. Will there be a McDonald's near your flat? Fries are best when they're super fresh."

"Mate, don't you live in London, too? There's a McDonald's everywhere you look, and anyway, I'm sure if you were coming over she'd cook something."

"Does she like cooking, then? 'Cause I'm rubbish at it. Except nachos. I make wicked nachos."

"In that case," said Beatrice gravely, "maybe you should make her nachos." She hummed under her breath, a questioning sound. "You know, to make up for what you said to her last night?"

He snapped his head to look at her. "What? What? Oh God, did I say something? I mean of course I said something, I say lots of things, but did I say something mean? I didn't think I said anything mean!"

"I mean, I don't know the exact phrasing, but it was something about how you only talk to her because Rita makes you do it." Bea frowned. "Yeah, that was it. Lily was sort of...well, not miffed, but I think it hurt her feelings a bit."

"Oh no," he said. "Oh no, that's not what I—I've got to make it up to her. Somehow. With—things." He leaned in to Dolores, patting her like she knew better than he did, which of course she did. He sat back up. "I know! I'll get Lily some croissants. It violates every single instinct in every molecule in my body but by God I'll do it. D'you know where I could get some croissants?"

Beatrice was looking at him as if he'd lost his marbles. "You know you could just tell her that it's not true, yeah?"

"Obviously, but apologies are better with gifts. That's just science."

"Why did you even say it in the first place if it's obviously not true? It seems a bit cold to me, especially considering how often she's stuck her neck out for you."

"I dunno, I don't—I only kind of remember saying anything like that, and it was—well we'd just hugged, you see, and—I dunno. I'm definitely getting her croissants."

"Personally, I'd advocate for more than croissants, but if you're going to be half-hearted about it…"

"No! Full-hearted! Help me, Beatrice, you're my only hope."

"Are you quoting Princess Leia at me right now?"

"I wanted to marry her for a very long time and I think you understand why." He nodded firmly. "She's dead clever."

Beatrice leaned back slightly, and pulled at the reins. Her horse trotted forwards a few more steps, then ground to an easy, elegant halt, prodding at the dirt beneath its hooves.

"Fine," she said heavily, "I'll help you make things right, but I need to stop for a bit. I'm getting motion sickness on this thing."

James pulled Dolores to a stop next to Bea.

His stomach lurched.

"Oh no," he groaned. "Oh, shit, why did you have to say that—"

He frantically kicked until one of the stirrups came loose, mentally promising Dolores that he would not sick up on her.

He swung a leg over the saddle, paused to swallow heavily, and jumped off.

The moment his feet hit the ground, the contents of his stomach flew up.

Gross.

Ten minutes, a bottle of water, and a shoulder pat from Remus later, James was sitting down on the checkered picnic blanket. They were nowhere near the lake, but it was still quite pretty here in a grassy field, some sheep grazing in the distance and a few clouds dotting the sky overhead.

If only he were in any shape to enjoy it.

Bea dropped down next to him as he rested his head between his knees.

"Feeling better?" She picked up an oversized strawberry from the currently unappealing fruit and cheese platter the crew had assembled. "Stomach turned the right way up?"

James gingerly lowered himself onto his side and curled up. "Which way's the right way again?"

"I dunno, I'm a singing teacher, not a doctor." She tossed the strawberry at his head. "Sit up. I've had three ideas about how you can apologize to Lily."

"No sitting. No coffee. Ever again." He closed his eyes. "Hurl your ideas at me, not ripe fruit."

"Okay," she said, and proceeded with a loud clearing of her throat. "Idea one: hire a skywriter to fly past the house and spell out I'm sorry for saying that Rita forces me to talk to you, I'm easily bamboozled by hugs."

"D'you think they can fit that all in?"

"Probably not, which brings me to idea two: you heroically drown Helena in the pool, which sounds extreme, but as she's always stealing our stuff and insulting Lily's appearance and leaving the milk out of the fridge to go rotten, I feel like it's perfectly justified."

James pushed his torso up into a half-sitting position, hands still on the blanket. "Helena insults Lily's looks? Seriously?"

"I know, right? My girl is a certified mind-blower." She cocked her head to the side. "Though, to be honest, it makes Lily laugh. She thinks she should merit a higher caliber of insult than that. Like, why go for appearances? That's so basic."

"And Lily's stunning. Like, honestly, models wish they had her eyes. And her hair. And her smile. And her laugh's really nice, too, you know, and like...everything."

"I mean, yes. Right," said Beatrice, and pressed her lips together for a short moment, before coughing into her closed fist. "So, really, short of murder and needless expense, I'm sort of thinking you should go with idea three. It's the most radical, but I think it'll get you roughly where you want to be."

"Don't make me work for it." He let himself drop forward, arms quickly coming up to cushion the fall of his head. "I've nothing left to energize me." He turned his face sideways to look at her.

"Oh, don't worry, it's the best of the lot, and I've waited long enough to share it." She popped a strawberry into her mouth, but carried on talking as she chewed. "What you do, yeah, is you go back to the house later, you find Lily, wherever she happens to be, then you take her aside because you don't want to do this in front of anyone else—"

"For Christ's sake, buy a pencil sharpener and get to the point."

"Well, it's all pretty self-explanatory from there, right? You simply pull your head out of your arse and tell her the real truth."

"That I seem to tragically be allergic to coffee?"

"No, you three-act disaster," Beatrice huffed in exasperation, "that you're smitten with her."

He lifted his head from his arms. "My rapid caffeination and decaffeination is splitting my head in half so I must've misheard. I tell her that I'm what?"

"Smitten," said Beatrice simply. "Infatuated. Head over heels. Longing to hold her hand and talk about your feelings, and kiss her, and probably act out that sex dream she had about you that I've just remembered I wasn't supposed to tell you about, but screw it, it's all coming out in the wash now."

James gaped at her.

Surely he was mishearing.

Surely.

There was no way that Lily—Lily Evans—had had a sex dream.

About. Him.

Also, smitten?

But more importantly, sex? DREAM?

He delicately pushed himself up, shifting carefully to not upset his stomach further, and turned over to sit on his arse, legs crossed beneath him.

"She had a sex dream?" He paused, his stomach swirling but not from the coffee. "She had a sex dream. About me. In which we were...oh no. Oh, shit."

That hidden thing he'd been long searching for finally burst out of its hiding place and shouted HELLO I'M HOME!

Beatrice stared blankly at him. "Is that really what you're taking away from all of this? Some dream she had about you banging her in a lake? Not the fact that you're so firmly entrenched in denial that your cat, and Remus, and even your mum are all getting impatient waiting for you to figure it out?"

"We banged in the lake? That's so insanitary!"

"Her dream was the only reason I made you push her in, you clown. It was a hilarious jape." She picked up another strawberry and held it aloft, the implied threat to his safety made quite clear. "And you'd be lucky to bang her anywhere after how you've been behaving."

James clutched his aching head with both hands. "Oh, no," he moaned. "Oh, this is not good. This is so not good."

"You say it's not good," Beatrice scoffed, gesturing toward the sky with her very threatening strawberry, "but I'm the one who has had to watch you gawk at her like you can't believe she exists every time she says something even remotely clever. I can't even begin to tell you how frustrating it is."

Bozo kneeled down behind Beatrice, pointing the camera perched on his shoulder directly at James. The lens winked in the sunlight. Rita grinned like a crocodile beside him, clearly savoring his pain as always.

"Fuck," James said. "Fuck!"

Rita ducked over behind Bozo and made a slicing hand gesture in front of her neck.

"Oh, fuck off, Rita," he told her. "I'm having an emotional crisis."

"Which I fully support," she said drolly. "So long as you cease and desist with the four-letter words."

He nearly laughed. He could have an emotional breakdown in front of her, but God forbid he curse.

"He doesn't think Lily's too good for the show, you know," said Beatrice airily, talking now to Bozo as if he'd just joined them for a spot of afternoon tea. "He said he did, but really he thinks she's too good for him, hence all the nonsense that brought us here today."

James whipped off his glasses, set them beside him, and mashed his hands over his eyes.

This was not how things were supposed to go.

This was not how things were supposed to go.

Because yes, obviously...James fancied Lily. A little. A bit.

But how could he not? She was hilarious and clever and beautiful and kind and she—she wanted better for him, and from him—and yes, obviously that was dead attractive.

But Isabella was sweet and thoughtful and optimistic and she liked all the same things James did. And he'd told her he fancied her—because he did—and she was already jealous of Lily and now—

Now…

"And?" Rita said.

Now there were bloody cameras in his face, waiting for him to moan on about this ridiculous realization, and he wouldn't. He just wouldn't.

James scrunched up his face. Then released it, exhaling deeply.

He picked up his glasses, stuck them back on, and looked at Beatrice, steadily ignoring the camera.

"I like Isabella," he told her. "All right? I do."

"Isabella is lovely and all," said Beatrice, "but let's be honest, she's not exactly dynamic, is she? She certainly doesn't make you laugh like Lily does. Plus," she added, with an unmistakable air of triumph, "she's got nothing to do with this conversation. Isabella's not the one you've been raving about all morning. Stop hiding behind her."

"So what if she's not the most 'dynamic,' she's—"

Another hidden piece of knowledge sprung out beside the first, waving a cheery banner of its own.

Beatrice laughed like she could read his mind.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fucking Beatrice bloody Booth, coming on this date that should've been a dream come true, his first wonderful horse-riding experience, and not only did he sick up, but she came in here bossing him about and telling him about Lily's sex dreams and then basically calling Isabella boring—

She didn't have to go telling him all this in front of the cameras. She could've—

Well. She could've done something. He wasn't going to sit here and admit that yes, Isabella was not...particularly exciting. That she wasn't outrageous or hilarious or dramatic.

But that was fine, he told himself. He needed someone to balance him out. And he'd told her he couldn't wait to start their lives together.

And she was probably nervous on the show! She wouldn't want to make a fool of herself, like James always was. She had better self-control, was all.

"Look," he began carefully. "I'm not saying that Lily doesn't have her charms"—fuck, she had so many charms—"but Isabella's lovely in a different way, yeah? So don't—just...don't."

"I wasn't going to say anything, but you forced my hand," Beatrice retorted. "You likened my best friend to a chore last night, and hurt her feelings. Meanwhile I've had to listen to you talk on and on about how amazing she is all morning, just because you're too shit scared to say it to her face."

"I'm buying her croissants, aren't I?" he demanded. "And I didn't think she'd care about me saying all those things because—because I made it pretty clear about Isabella, and that Lily and I would be mates, and if she's—if she's having sex dreams about me, well, obviously that's news to me, and like...I dunno, okay? I'm not going to tell her to stop doing that because that's, er...yeah."

"If you really wanted to be mates, you wouldn't think twice about sharing your thoughts because you'd want her to feel appreciated. Friends are supposed to boost each other up." She grinned widely at him, a big, self-satisfied, you're-so-full-of-shit grin. "So, you know, if you're not scared and would like to make up for being a lousy mate last night, I'm sure you'd like to do that just as soon as possible."

"I'm not scared, that's ridic—" He scrubbed furiously at his hair with one hand. "If I go tell her she's brilliant will you please shut up about this now and also never tell her anything we talked about today?"

"I believe the words 'amazing' and 'incredible' and also 'stunning' were part of your repertoire today. Why don't you throw those in, too?"

"Whatever, just—do we have a deal?"

"You'll chicken out as soon as you see her," she told him, "but fine. I'll agree to it if you agree to have this chat with her before the next ceremony, and if I get a rose."

"Obviously you'll get a rose," he said. "Lily wants you to stick around, and so—er. Yeah." He coughed. "Also I liked you until today. Now I don't know if I'll ever make you nachos."

"You still like me, you're just being a drama queen, and we've already established that Lily's the one you should be making nachos for."

"Does she like nachos—I mean, er, never mind, it doesn't matter." He stuck out a hand. "Do we have a deal?"

"I guess we do," she agreed, and took his hand to shake it. Her grip was a lot firmer than he'd expected. "Have fun gazing into those big green eyes and wimping out like a coward, yeah?"

"Oh, fuck off," he said, and returned his hand to its previous position trying to stop the pounding in his head through sheer pressure. "I never wimp out of anything."

---

Lily was pulsing berries in a juicer during a swim break, her chlorine-soaked hair dripping water down her back and onto the Spanish-tiled floor, when Beatrice appeared in the doorway of the kitchen the girls shared. Her ceremonial rose was clamped between her teeth, and she announced her presence with enthusiastic jazz hands.

"Ta-da!" she cried, once everyone had noticed she was there, removing the rose from her mouth. "I'm back!"

"Yes, you're back," said Lily evenly.

"You're just in time for smoothies," said Bonnie, who was sitting next to Isabella at the breakfast bar. "How was your date?"

Beatrice let out a dreamlike sigh and spun into the room like a Disney princess roaming the empty halls of her splendid palace, nearly colliding with a boom mic. "Everything I'd dreamed of and more!" she trilled. "Had a lovely chat, we did. I think I really helped him out with a lot of stuff, you know? A lot of personal stuff," she added, with a pointed look for Lily. "As usual, my deepest instincts were proven correct. We're best mates now."

Lily felt herself tense.

"Helped him with what?" said Isabella, in the same tentative-yet-falsely-cheerful tone she tended to use whenever James was mentioned by another of the girls.

Isabella had been down all morning and had been since the cocktail party. Wendy had been a good mate to her before she left, and Lily suspected that Isabella had perhaps been expecting James to get rid of Helena first.

She also suspected, based on the number of mournful looks Isabella had sent her way since breakfast, that she wasn't best pleased by the hug James had sprung on Lily, either.

Lily had avoided being alone with her all day, and was grateful to Bonnie for keeping Isabella company.

"Oh, just a spot of self-actualization, is all," said Bea. "I think I've inspired him to start living a more open, truthful life from here on in."

"Yeah, well done, Oprah," said Lily under her breath.

Beatrice whirled on her at once, grinning, and slipped an arm around Lily's bare waist to spin her away from the counter. "Someone's still upset about being woken up in the night, I see. You know it was an accident, yeah?"

"You shook me awake."

"No time for that when I come bearing gifts." Bea handed over the rose. "This is for you."

Lily frowned at it. "What?"

"I mean, really it's my rose in the sense that I've been granted immunity, but I know James really wants you to have it." Bea's eyes flicked towards Isabella on the bench. "For friendship."

"Yellow roses are the roses of friendship," said Isabella tightly.

"She's right," said Lily, who knew that well, because yellow roses were her favorite. "They are."

"Funnily enough, we didn't happen to ride past any yellow-spouting rose bushes on the way to our picnic, so this is the best he could do on short notice." Beatrice pushed the rose into her hand. "Take it and put it with the other upstairs. He'll be real upset if you don't."

Lily suddenly found herself holding a rose, and her heart performing odd, disquieting skips. "What?"

"Later," said Bea shortly, and tugged gently on a strand of Lily's hair—no bullshit. Then she knocked Lily aside with her hip and took her previously occupied spot in front of the juicer. "Ooh, summer berries! Go back to the pool and I'll finish this up."

Lily would have argued Beatrice down, but Isabella's face was now too anguished to bear.

She opted to go back outside, ignoring a sunbathing Helena's murmured insults as she passed her by. When she reached the pool's edge, she set the rose down and hopped back into the water.

Lily had acclimated to the sticky, sweltering heat when she'd climbed out last, so the cold felt like a sharp and glorious shock. She let out a harsh breath as it shuddered through her body.

"I hope you drown!" cried Helena gaily.

"If I do," she retorted, knowing of Helena's unwavering belief in the supernatural, "I'll haunt you until they have you committed."

Then she struck out towards the other end of the pool, away from Helena's wailing voice, because she needed to think, and her head felt warm and clouded.

When she reached the other side, she leaned back against the pool wall and closed her eyes, tilting her face towards the sunlight.

She could think of only one reason why Bea would have returned from her date exuding such self-satisfaction, and the thought of what she might reveal in their room later made her stomach bubble like an overboiled cauldron. While it was possible that Bea's dizzying, girlish entrance had led Isabella to believe, however momentarily, that she had yet another love rival to worry about, the only part James Potter played in Beatrice Booth's dreams was that of Lily's eventual boyfriend.

Whatever Beatrice said, Lily decided, she wasn't going to put much stock in it.

James had probably mentioned her once on the date, in passing, and Beatrice had allowed herself to dream big. To Lily she had already confessed to envisioning a cheerful future in which Remus and James would come often to their flat in Camden for dinner parties, couples' game nights, and movie screenings, occasionally dragging Algernon and Sirius along for the ride.

That all sounded rather lovely, actually.

But unfeasible. Totally unfeasible.

James liked Isabella. Isabella liked him back. She was already talking about how excited she was for him to meet her family, take her on dates, and start a life with her beyond the confines of a camera lens.

And Lily...fancied James, yes, for all his sweetness and humor and strange absurdities. She was cognizant enough to know her own feelings. He had pulled her into his arms, sacrificing decorum to excitement, and something hot behind her ribs had clenched around a jar of fluttering butterfly thoughts like this was nice, and oh, and she liked this far too much, and that was it and here she was.

But that didn't change anything.

Her feelings were surely superficial. They'd never had a deep conversation because she was his filler—the mildly amusing person he talked to when Rita wouldn't let him be with Isabella—and James was as disinterested in really knowing her as she was in fighting to get his attention. Not here, anyway. Not on TV. She had some self-respect.

This wasn't a love triangle, it was a love line, and Lily was a dot sitting yards away on the same plane. She'd come here to gather intel, not to fall for the sodding bachelor.

If she could have quit, she would have, but Rufus had deluded himself into thinking she could win the whole show. He was having grand ideas about publishing a sensationalist article, wherein Lily would reveal that she was a plant all along and promptly dump her newly acquired boyfriend via print media.

Then there was Mary, who had called her once more since the day of the date to talk about what a splash it would make for Lily to publish her first article for the Quibbler shortly after grabbing the public's attention with her tell-all exposé.

Lily was caught between a rock and a hard place, and Beatrice was the only person there who made it all seem like fun.

Now, she thought, as she opened her eyes to see Bea emerge from the house, with a jug in one hand and a glass in the other, her friend was starting to make her nervous.

---

"Well," Rita drawled from Bozo's side. "Finally things pick up a little."

James's arms remained firmly crossed against his chest while he sat on the confessional stool in the castle, pointedly not looking at her. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean," he said coolly.

"Come on, James, talk to me. I know you want to unload about your caffeine-induced ramblings. About how Booth negotiated you into a rose." He wasn't watching, but Rita's smile spoke volumes. "About how Lily Evans is much more interesting than old Isabella Marks."

"Isabella's only two months older than me," James snapped.

"You've been perfectly happy telling me about how much you fancy Isabella. Why not tell me a little more about...oh, what was it you called her...Ruby Raptor?"

Heat flooded through James at the memory of his conversation with Lily. When they'd invented adorable, matched codenames. When she'd scared Helena off like a territorial lioness.

When she'd told him to try harder.

The echoing cadence of her voice, challenging and amused, made him shiver.

"Beatrice is very sneaky," he told the camera, arms still folded. "I don't think she's interested in me at all but we usually have fun together." He huffed. "Usually. Today she seemed bent on drumming up drama, and I had half a mind to send her home for it. I'm not much one for drama. But we made a deal and I always honor my deals. We even shook on it."

"You can tell us about the deal, James. We were there for it."

"I know it's going to air eventually but that's months off. The whole point of the deal was to not talk about it now. I paid for that silence and I'm going to keep it."

"I need more than a few lines for this confessional."

"Well, what else is there to talk about? How I'm apparently a complete idiot on coffee? How horseback riding should have been much more fun? How it's usually Algernon sicking up, not me?"

"Oh, dear. What's got you so annoyed, James?"

He flung his arms apart and down, his hands in fists. "You're not shoehorning me into a love triangle, Rita."

"No," she said, one eyebrow arched. "I'm certainly not doing anything. Other than filming the events that unfold in front of me. Such as your meltdown when Beatrice pointed out that you fancy Lily Evans."

"We're mates," he ground out. "That's it."

"Ruby Raptor and Jack Diamond don't sound like mates."

"They're partners, obviously, and you don't—don't make it into something it's not. I like Isabella."

"I believe you, Potter, I absolutely do. I think you fancy Isabella, but I also think…" She trailed off and sent him a smug look.

He would not be put into a love triangle. Even if Lily Evans made his heart race in a way Isabella didn't, Isabella was wonderful in plenty of other ways. He was not going to make a fool of sweet Isabella on TV, and that was that.

"Right, then." Rita brushed invisible dust off her skirt. "You fancy deals, yes? You made one with Booth?"

"Well," James said cautiously. "It depends on the offer."

"Then here's my offer: you speak openly about Lily Evans for the camera—and I mean openly, not some garbage you've made up—and I'll let you go speak in private with one of your mates. Lupin or Black, your pick."

Fuck, but Rita was good. James would have sold his right foot for a chance to talk to Remus unmonitored for half an hour. Remus would know what to do. He'd know how to salvage this so that no one's feelings were hurt.

His own mate, dangled like a piece of bacon for Algernon.

James scowled. "No deal," he told Rita. "That's all you're getting."

Rita's lips thinned. "Have it your way, James. I hope you enjoy the three cameramen trailing you mercilessly until the group date tomorrow."

"Fine," he said, lifting his chin. "Bring it on."

---

The production team refused to let Lily return to her room, pointing out that she'd got over her cold, so her private chat with Beatrice was delayed until well after nightfall.

The rest of the day was strange, and the atmosphere loaded.

Bea wouldn't say much, but enjoyed acting superior and mysterious, flashing Lily many knowing smiles and winking at her in an exaggerated fashion. Isabella was sad and withdrawn, and stuck by Bonnie's side all day. The camera crew seemed far more focused on Lily than was usual, so much so that she was dragged into a random confessional halfway through the afternoon, placed on a stool, and asked if she had any thoughts pertaining to James that she hadn't yet shared with the world.

"Oh, I never have thoughts," she told the camera. "At least, not since they implanted that chip in my brain. Want rose. Need rose. Where is rose?"

Rita did not appreciate her offering.

A catered, sit-down dinner—meant to be a rare treat—with the rest of the girls followed, and was deeply unpleasant for several reasons, wilted lettuce and wilting Isabella included. It was Helena Hodge, though, who really delivered the evening's final blow when she climbed to her feet and revealed that she had curated a mental list of enemies to recite between courses.

"Firstly," she said, her narrowed eyes landing on a giggling Bonnie, "let's talk about that awful, fiddle-de-dee crap that you call dancing..."

Her speech continued in this vein, much to the delight of Rita, until Helena had lampooned every woman at the table—plus, weirdly, the actor Cole Sprouse, who had blocked her from Instagram after an impassioned plea for his hand in marriage got a little dark—with the puffed-up pomposity of an elected official giving a public address.

It was pretty funny, or would have been, were Lily—malcontent, arrogant, cruel, and lying through her teeth about being an Aquarius, according to Helena—feeling at all inclined towards laughter, and if Isabella hadn't been so upset by her comments.

Luckily, Isabella had moved into Bonnie's room a few days prior. This spared her from Helena's nightly rages, many of which Lily and Beatrice were often entertained by through their shared wall.

Isabella's low mood brought Lily a discomfiting feeling of guilt, too, try as she did to remind herself that she hadn't done a thing to hurt her.

Something had happened which concerned Lily, somehow. Beatrice and Rita had all but confirmed as much.

Not knowing what it was made her antsy.

The fact that she even cared was bothersome.

All in all, it was a relief to finally head upstairs to bed and get away from the other girls, even if Beatrice delayed their chat even further by deciding that she needed to wash the stink of the day from her skin before she could comfortably dish the dirt.

By this time, Lily was so exhausted following her night of little sleep that it seemed as if Beatrice's gossip would hold until morning. She climbed gratefully into bed and began to play with her phone while her eyes grew heavier, knowing that Bea only chose to bathe at night was so she could stay in there until she'd wasted at least half the castle's water supply.

It was a surprise, then, that Beatrice burst into the room not five minutes later, wrapped tight in her towel, her wet hair plastered to the side of her neck.

"That feels so much better, honestly, the heat was stuck to me and I stank of sweat," she said, her words spilling out of her mouth in a great, impatient rush as the door clicked shut at her urging. "Wait until I tell you all about today!"

"Hang on," said Lily, removing her tongue from where it had been clamped between her teeth. "I'm busy."

"Busy doing what, exactly? I have important stuff to tell you!"

"I'm searching through Cole Sprouse's Instagram for Helena's crazy comment."

"Now is not the time for Cole Sprouse, Lily."

Lily opened a pretentious looking photo from a professional shoot, spied a comment count exceeding twenty-five thousand, and hastily decided that learning the exact wording of Helena's threatening marriage proposal wasn't all that important.

"Why? What's your beef with the kid?" she said lightly. "He played Ben in Friends."

"Good for him, and while I pity any innocent soul forced to play a relative of that trash human, Ross," said Bea dryly, "I thought you might be a little more interested to learn that James is obsessed with you."

Lily's stupid, uncooperative body gave itself in to a not-unpleasant shudder.

She pressed her lips together briefly, and kept her expression neutral. "No, he is not."

"Except he is."

"Isn't."

"Is."

"Beatrice."

"I can do this all night, if you want," said Bea pleasantly. "I got more sleep than you."

Beatrice had once said that Lily loved dramatic people, and she was right—she frequently found herself drawn to those with a penchant for theatrics—so it was for that reason that Lily chose to ignore the rapid acceleration of her pulse, and the tinny voice at the back of her mind that wouldn't have minded if what she was saying were true. Dramatic people tended to exaggerate the facts.

James Potter was not obsessed with her.

He hadn't once shown a blind bit of interest in her.

Except for that hug, and his excitement about their codenames, and the way he occasionally looked at her with a certain softness in his expression...but she wasn't thinking about all that now.

It was an obvious fabrication, based on very little evidence, overblown by her friend's enthusiasm.

Lily had half a mind to turn over in bed and announce her intention to go to sleep at once, but she knew there was no escaping this crazy train. Bea would have her moment, the story would be shared, and the truth of the matter would lie several rungs beneath whatever heights she happened to ascend to.

"Explain what he did to give you that impression, then I'm going to sleep," she said, but opened another photo rather than look at Bea.

It was a rather pretty shot of some clouds. That Cole Sprouse sure liked photos of clouds.

Beatrice sat down heavily on her bed with a creak of springs, her towel riding up, essentially bound to leave a wet arse print on her duvet.

"So, we go on the date, yeah," she began, her voice low and affected, like she was poised to recount a thrilling ghost story to a bunch of campfire kids, "on our horses, or whatever, and he's wired to the moon about it—you were right about the Disney prince thing, by the way—"

"Knew it. You owe me a fiver."

"Anyway, I'm sitting there on my horse, minding my own business and wondering if we're going to wind up in the emergency room because my date is high as a kite on coffee and can't sit still, but then." She paused for effect. "Our boy James starts talking about you, and he just...never stops."

Lily glanced up from her phone and briefly caught Beatrice's gaze.

Her friend was smiling smugly.

Back to the clouds.

"This carries on for the entire duration of the trip," Bea continued, waving and twirling her hands with great enthusiasm to accentuate her words. "I swear, not once did he stop talking about you, and it was really nice stuff, too, like how incredible you were on the piano last night, and how you're much too clever to work in a shop, and how funny you are, and how great you are at putting Helena in her place—oh, and how you're so stunning that models wish they could have your eyes, and your hair, and your smile, and—your everything, basically. That's what he said. Everything."

Another lamentable shudder rocketed along Lily's spine.

She let her phone fall to her chest, and dropped her arms by her sides.

"He did not say that," she said quickly.

"Yes, he did. On my life, he did."

"You know it doesn't count if he was just agreeing with you, right? Or if you had to drag it out of him."

"But I didn't!" Beatrice cried, and flung an arm out in the direction of the door. Her towel slipped a little, but she managed to fix it. "I deliberately didn't mention you, he did. Repeatedly!" She dropped her voice to a slightly lower register. "'What's Lily doing today? What does Lily do for a living? What do you guys talk about? Does Lily like to cook? Can I come and visit your flat? My cat's going to miss her so much.'"

"Bea—"

"No, listen, I know you think I'm exaggerating, but he even surprised me. I didn't think he'd be so obvious when he knows we're best mates. I dunno if it was the caffeine messing with his head, or something, because he must have known I'd tell you."

"Tell me what? That his cat's going to miss me?"

"No, that he's smitten with you."

Lily sat up straight, a fluid upwards trajectory, like Frankenstein's monster brought to life. Her phone slid into her lap.

She felt as if the contents of her stomach were curdling.

Also, her face was very hot.

She shifted further upright and crossed her legs beneath her.

"He wouldn't have said that he's—that he fancies me," she said weakly. "He likes Isabella."

"Oh, I know, I straight-up told him that his feelings for you were obvious, and he tried to deny it like a lemon—"

"You told him?"

"But they were totally obvious! He practically had a mental breakdown when I pointed it out! I thought his head was going to crack right down the middle."

Lily was still too stuck on the former part of that sentence to spare much thought for James's apparent mental break. "Why on earth would you point it out?"

"Why wouldn't I? He must have wanted you to know, on some level, if he was comfortable telling me all of this stuff. What was I supposed to do, let it go?"

"That's exactly what—" She shut her mouth, and took a moment to quell the instinctual urge to get angry with Beatrice, as if in speaking to James she'd placed Lily on the chopping block somehow. "God, Bea, he's just a guy, I don't know why you're so concerned with him and me being—"

"It's not me, it's the universe," Beatrice countered, adjusting the end of her towel. "The universe wants you two together, and I am merely the vessel through which it operates."

"You are not a vessel through which the universe operates."

"Well, fine, if you don't think I'm special," Beatrice huffed. "How about this: my best friend, who I adore and plan to live with, has feelings for a guy who obviously likes her back, and I want them both to be happy, so I helped?"

"That's—" There wasn't a way that she could get mad about that and not come off badly. "That's sweet in theory, Bea, but—"

"You want to know why I got a rose after all of that?" Bea interrupted, in a gentler, more sympathetic tone. "Because you want me around, he said. He was so angry with me that he probably would have sent me home, but you were more important to him."

A warm, clasping feeling—the same heat that had so arrested her when James hugged her at the party—blossomed in her chest.

"Tell me this didn't really happen," she said.

"I've got no reason to make it up."

"You realize that I have to see him tomorrow at the group date, right?"

"Correction, he has to see you tomorrow at the group date."

"After you harassed him about me," Lily retorted. "He probably thinks I had a hand in it."

Bea waved a dismissive hand. "He didn't. He doesn't. He was adamant that he wants you to know nothing about it."

"Because it'll make things awkward as arse."

"No, because it's true, and you're not a sure thing like Isabella," said Beatrice simply, unruffled by her friend's distress. "You didn't go chasing after him like every other girl in this house—he's probably scared that you'll reject him when he tells you how he feels."

"If he does," Lily corrected her. "If he even feels anything beyond indifference to begin with."

Beatrice shrugged. "Well, I happened to point out that if his feelings for you really were platonic, he'd have no issue in pulling you aside and repeating every nice thing he told me about you—you know, as a friendly compliment—and he agreed to do it in exchange for my keeping this all a secret from you. So no doubt you'll hear it all for yourself, soon enough."

"He did?" Her churning stomach ground to a halt and performed a gaudy flip-flop. "But...you just told me everything."

"Just because I made a deal with him doesn't mean I have to keep it. It only matters that he does."

"But that's—Beatrice," Lily whined reproachfully. "That's so duplicitous!"

"Hey, my loyalty lies with you, okay?" Bea replied, her eyebrows raised. "Not him, and especially not right now, when he hasn't put in the effort required to deserve you yet. Give him a couple of days to adjust himself, then I'll reassess."

"Reassess what?"

"My approval of this union."

"There isn't a union to approve."

"Yet," Bea supplied. "There isn't a union to approve yet, but there will be, and when it does I'll be expecting a thank-you gift for my excellent work on this project." She let her body fall backwards, her head colliding with her pillow, and closed her eyes to the light. "One from each of you—don't cop out with a gift you bought together."

"You are overly invested in this relationship, and I find it creepy."

"No you don't, you're secretly chuffed that someone else can see you're a better fit for him than Isabella, but if you want to pretend you're not grateful, blame Rita for not letting us have books or telly."

"I'm not—" she began, but Beatrice wasn't exactly wrong. "When am I supposed to expect this strictly platonic series of compliments?"

"Oh, you shouldn't," Bea said. "I mean, he'll try, probably at the cocktail party where he can get you alone, but he won't be able to pretend he's not besotted when you're standing right in front of him."

"He won't need to pretend—he's not besotted."

"Believe what you want, but I know for a fact that I'm right. You didn't see the high level emotional breakdown he had at the picnic, once he figured it out for himself."

Lily had no argument to refute that point. She hadn't seen. Only Beatrice had, and Rita, and Bozo—neither of whom would ever agree to tell her anything—and possibly Euphemia, and with Peter having spent the morning at the house with the girls instead of on the date to spy, she couldn't just march up to James's mother and say, "I fancy your son—does he fancy me?"

Euphemia would probably be delighted to hear that Lily had a crush on James. She had confessed to wishing she'd had a daughter just like her not twenty-four hours earlier.

She'd only come here to write a bloody article.

"So," she said, after she'd heaved a sigh, "essentially, I'm supposed to let James take me aside for a private chat at some point soon, knowing everything the two of you talked about today, and lie by omission to his face?"

"Yep."

"And you see nothing wrong in that?"

"Nope." Bea turned her head towards Lily on her pillow, and flashed her a winning smile. "It's dead easy. Just be cool about it."

"You're always telling me to be cool about things, and it's never as easy as you say it is."

"Being cool is easy, you just need to work on it, and you will, at the group date tomorrow. Speaking of, d'you know what it is yet?"

"It was supposed to be an excursion on a yacht, but something fell through this afternoon and now it's paintball assassins. Peter texted during dinner."

"Well, well," said Beatrice coyly, turning her gaze towards the ceiling. "What a conveniently fitting date for secret agents Jack and Ruby."

"Almost as if they planned it, right?"

"Almost," Bea agreed, and let out a laugh. "Sometimes, I swear, you'd think we were all on TV."

---

Trapped in his room with his cat, his DVDs, and nothing more, James sank to the ground, his back against the door.

"Hullo," he said as Algernon crept up and settled into his lap. "Been lonely all morning, I imagine. I should've let you out to play with Lily, but you were asleep when I left."

He did not remind Algernon about the five sets of scratches he still bore from previous waking attempts.

"Mwreow," said Algernon, staring up at him.

James stroked the back of his head. "Never thought I'd be wishing I were at work instead, but even that would be better than suffering through reality television."

"Mreow?"

"I know. That's how bad it is. I'm even starting to miss giving Jenkins shit." James cupped Algernon's face with both hands. "Rita thinks I'm alone and miserable in here, but I've got you, so that's all right."

Algernon shook his face free, and James let him.

"The good news is you're not wearing a mic so I can tell you everything." James paused and narrowed his eyes. He bent down to check along Algernon's belly. "Just making sure."

Algernon's head bobbed like he was nodding, agreeing that Rita was devious enough to mic a cat.

The story of the one-on-one date spilled out of James, as did the awful, brief confessional he'd been forced to film. When he told Algernon that he was quite possibly, and most unfortunately, in a love triangle, Algernon butted his head into James's chest. He nuzzled against James's t-shirt, purring, more affectionate than he'd been in days.

James squeezed him in a hug. "Cheers, mate. At least someone's on my side."

He spent the rest of the day watching Disney movies with Algernon curled up on his lap. It actually didn't feel like punishment since Disney movies were amazing. Being trapped also meant James had no chance to fulfill his promise to Bea.

He eventually passed out during Aladdin, and woke up to the DVD intro page on a loop and the distinctive sound of his mum's angry voice in the corridor. Sunlight peeked through a gap in the curtains, falling directly across Algernon's midsection beside him.

James rubbed his eyes and yawned.

"So help me God," his mum shouted at someone, "if you keep me from my son I will personally string you up in the backyard by your neck and summon wolves to eat your remains."

James pushed his torso up, stretching out his legs in the process, and waited for his mum to enter.

She did so with a flourish, flinging the door wide open and crying, "My son!"

"Morning, Mum," he said blearily, as Algernon gave an annoyed growl.

While Algernon jumped off the bed to run for cover, Euphemia leaped onto the bed to throw her arms around James. "They jailed you!"

She was normally protective, yeah, but it wasn't like Rita had hit him again. This was a bit much, even for her.

"I mean," he said, "only a bit. I didn't fancy going out anyway."

She pulled back, resting her hands on his upper arms. "My sweet child. My dearest son. My—"

James's heart sank. "Oh my God you've seen the footage."

She tilted her head, playing innocent, the fiend. "Whatever do you mean?"

"You watched my date with Beatrice."

"Well of course I have, but I can't imagine why that should—"

"You're about to have stroke of joy because Beatrice thinks Lily fancies me."

"She had a sex dream about you." Euphemia ran a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. "My darling boy. Finally helping this show become everything it should."

"If she had the sex dream, how am I helping—" He stopped, then batted her arms away. "Oh, fuck off. You think I fancy Lily, too."

"I always knew you'd see sense. Eventually. You're quite thick sometimes. Especially about women." She sighed. "You get that from your father. And my father, too, come to think of it. In fact, truly all men are dim-witted about women—"

"Please stop talking. I am begging you."

"Rita cooped you up in here all day yesterday! You must be dying to talk about your newly realized feelings."

James pressed his lips together and scooted to the other side of the bed, where he let his feet connect with the floor. "As it happens," he said as he stood up, "no. I'm not."

Of course, he had been madly desperate.

Yesterday.

But after chatting with Algernon, and realizing how truly shattered Isabella would be if James so much as hinted that Lily sent his heart racing...it wasn't worth it. Did he fancy two girls at once? Improbably, yes. He did. But he had chosen. And that was fine.

The show did not get to make a big deal of this.

His mum did not get to make a big deal of this.

"I'm your mother, James. You can tell me all about any sex dreams you may have had about Lily. Or should I say, Ruby Raptor."

He scowled at her waggling eyebrows. "That was a platonic nickname," he said. "And I am never discussing my sex dreams with you, you utter pervert."

"It was the hug, wasn't it, that got you hooked?"

"Christ, would you—I said I'm not talking about it."

Euphemia patted her hand on the space next to her, but James remained firmly in place across the room.

"Look," she said. "I didn't support you the way I should have when we started this. I admit that. I apologized. But now I'm trying to be here for you. So you," she gestured at the place beside her, "should be here. So I can be there for you. Or here, as the case may be."

"I get that, but I don't need your help about this. Nothing's changed since yesterday morning. Not really."

"Lie to yourself all you like," she said airily. "But don't you dare lie to me."

"You can be there for me by getting Lily croissants, all right? Like a lot of them. A lot."

"That's not all she wants from you," Euphemia sang.

James walked over to a wall and banged his head against it. "If you don't leave now, I will knock a hole in this wall with my head to escape this attempt to force a conversation."

"Fine, fine." She stood up, smoothing out her skirt. "No need to be dramatic."

A hacking meow that sounded like a laugh came from under the bed.

Euphemia lifted her chin, shook her long, white hair over her shoulders, and made it very clear she had heard Algernon but was pretending she hadn't.

Once she'd gone, James dropped to the floor to smile at Algernon. "Next time leave room for me down there, yeah?"

Algernon made a noise that was, like many of his sounds, difficult to interpret. James decided to take it as acquiescence.

As promised, the camera crew stalked him vigilantly throughout his morning routine, but James was getting very good at ignoring them and doing nothing of interest. He didn't even butter his toast out of dedication to being completely bland.

Unfortunately, everyone else in his life was dedicated to giving him shit.

He and his unmerry band of forced followers paraded out to the car for the group date, where Sirius, Rita, and Euphemia were waiting.

Sirius clapped his shoulder by way of greeting. "Mate," he said. "Brilliant move, really."

With the cameras still rolling, James said nothing.

"Going for two of the girls," Sirius continued, as though James had spoken, "genius. Definitely the best way to hedge your bets. Or to break tradition and end up in a poly situation. Either way, well done."

"I don't know what you mean," James said blandly, and pushed past Sirius to the car.

He blasted the radio the whole drive to the group date set. Euphemia insisted on one pit stop—which James was not allowed to participate in—and she emerged from the bakery with a bulging paper bag, tapping her finger to the side of her nose.

He managed a feeble tap back but not much more, then let his head rest against the window.

Rita had advised him to wear clothes "he didn't care about too much but that still also made him look good." This made much more sense when they pulled into a driveway by a sign announcing DELTA FORCE PAINTBALL. Beneath the red-painted words was a small drawing of a person with a peg leg pointing a long gun at the sky.

James's hand flew out to spin the volume dial down on the radio. He craned his neck around in his seat to tell his mum, "You bloody genius!"

She tapped the side of her nose again. "Mummy knows best."

She did, in a lot of ways. Less so than others. But it had surely been her influence that had brought him horseback riding, too. Even if that had gone less well than planned, but that wasn't her fault.

She was shit at the romantic support, but she was supporting him in other ways.

He was going to play paintball. Finally! Another thing on the list of activities his dad had banned for James.

Admittedly he was less enthused about playing with a bunch of attractive women than he would be to play with his mates, who deserved some paint bullets stinging against their shoulders, but it was still a dream come mostly true.

James's eyes slid over to Rita, who was tapping away at her phone as she had been the whole trip.

"If you shoot anyone on the production crew," she said without looking up, "you'll get nothing but dry toast for the rest of your meals."

James looked in outrage to his mum, who shrugged.

"Get your revenge another way," Euphemia advised. "Ideally when they're least expecting it."

The remaining contestants were already chatting outside the entrance building when James's car arrived. He took a deep breath and stepped out, putting on the best smile he could manage.

"Morning," he called, and made a beeline for Isabella. He swept her into a hug and pressed a kiss to her cheek, drawing a blush from her.

"Morning," she said shyly.

"Rude," said Beatrice loudly.

James turned to her to reply, but then a ball of red paint exploded on the ground in front of him.

"Jesus Christ!" he shouted, jumping back.

A few flecks still managed to decorate his shoes and trouser legs.

He and everyone else immediately turned to the paintball's origin, only to find the most badass person James had ever seen in his life wielding a loaded paintball gun.

"Constant vigilance!" roared the man, who had a wooden leg from the knee down, a mass of scars across his face, and a bright blue glass eye.

Isabella slipped a hand around James's waist, drawing him close and clenching her fingers in his t-shirt.

"Oh my God," James whispered. "He's amazing."

"He shot at you," Isabella whispered back.

"I know."

"This is Delta Force Paintball," the man announced. "My name is Moody and that's what you'll call me."

James found his eyes searching out Lily, who was looking at Moody as if she were a child meeting Santa Claus in real life.

He grinned, then remembered he was playing it super cool and boring.

It was hard to keep that composure, though, while Moody doled out equipment to everyone and explained the rules. Or, rather, the lack thereof.

"You'll all head into the fenced-off territory at once," he barked. "No shooting until you hear the horn, but once that's gone off, it's up to you to avoid your enemies. You get shot, you come back here—you're out. Last person standing wins."

James was bouncing on his feet, his goggles on top of his head, his gun—his paintball gun—fitting naturally into his arms.

Once they were all set-up, they headed for the back door.

"You get one minute to run," Moody said. "And you'd better make it count."

James nodded firmly, his blood racing through his veins. Isabella stood at his side. She kept biting her lip and looking around uncertainly.

"It'll be fine," he whispered. "I've got a plan. Hang back for a sec out there, yeah?"

At Moody's command, they rushed out the wide door, guns in hand. James immediately broke away and darted over to Lily, grabbing her arm.

Obviously, this would not play into his previous plans for avoiding Lily on camera, but he needed her. He'd just have to keep it professional. And the fact that they were in a high-adrenaline situation would explain the mass of butterflies that had invaded his stomach at the thought of this Lily-involving plan.

He jerked his head toward Isabella and tapped the side of his nose.

"Come on," he said in a low voice.

Beatrice let out a loud, obnoxious peal of laughter, slapped Lily on the back, and dashed off, her long, brown ponytail swinging from side to side as she ran.

Lily looked down at her arm where he'd grabbed her, then up at him, her brow furrowed.

"Fine," she agreed, "but don't slow me down."

Helena, dressed in a camo top and a pair of miniscule jean shorts, chased after a fleeing Bonnie with the energy and enthusiasm of a maddened panther.

With everyone else gone, James huddled with Isabella and Lily.

"Right," he said quickly. "Here's the plan: Isabella, you go hide somewhere. Lily, you and I go after Bea. I'm not allowed to talk about why but I'm out for revenge and you should be, too."

"What makes you think I'm not already?" she said, and twisted away from him, looking left and right. "She could do with a couple of bruises."

"Brilliant. Then let's head out."

Isabella, looking vaguely anguished, broke out, "Oh, I just hate this."

"It's okay," James told her. "Bea's got it coming."

"She really does," Lily said. "Don't worry about getting shot. I'll protect you—James probably can't, but I can carry him."

James made a scandalized noise. "I can, too."

"No," Isabella moaned, gesturing with her gun. "Paintball. It's so violent."

"I know," said Lily longingly, her eyes taking on a faraway look. "Shooting people with non-lethal ammunition and teaching my conniving mates lessons—this is like Christmas. I wish we did this every group date."

James couldn't help but lick his lips, even though two cameras were pointed directly at them.

God, Lily was great.

And so was Isabella. She had principles.

"Go turn your gun in, then," James said soothingly. "It's no big deal."

"Oh, I couldn't." Isabella let the front of her gun drop toward the ground. "I don't want to be the person who won't join in."

James held his tongue—they didn't have time for this dithering—and did not tell her that she couldn't have it both ways.

"Why don't I shoot you?" Lily suggested. "Friendly fire. That way you didn't quit."

Isabella's eyes lit up. "Oh, would you? That would be so wonderful."

"Yeah, of course, only you'll need to get much further back—getting shot at close range hurts. I broke my ex-boyfriend's ribs at close range once." She frowned, considering this for a moment. "Of course, that's because I shot him in the back and he fell on a big rock, but the point kind of stands."

James only mostly repressed his laugh. "Right, then," he said. "Let's get this going."

After Lily very kindly assassinated Isabella, splattering her shin with red paint, James and Lily rushed into the woods just as the horn went off. One of the cameramen hurried after them, while another followed Isabella back to the building.

It seemed that Lily had been formulating a plan of her own before James had pulled her into his own scheme. Once she had scanned around, checking that the immediate area was clear of all but the cameraman, she slung her paintball gun—which was attached to a strap that wound around her torso—over her shoulder and planted her hands on her hips.

"I know Bea's game," she informed him matter-of-factly, "and she's not going to come after us, so I'm going to hop up one of these trees and try to spot her from up high. Are you good on your own, or do you still need me?"

He shook his head. "You keep an eye from above, I'll cover the ground."

"If you insist," she sighed, and jumped, her arms closing around a thick, low hanging branch. She swung her legs up to meet it and hooked them around the branch. "Are you sure you're up to the life-threatening task of standing around down there?"

He nodded toward a low fence of corrugated metal forming most of a rectangle on the ground, a shelter of sorts. "Who said anything about standing?" James beckoned the cameraman to follow him into the shelter, where they both crouched down, only the tops of their heads visible from a distance. The camera pointed up at Lily, while James rested the end of his gun on the top of the fence.

Lily, meanwhile, had hoisted herself up and climbed further up, until all James could see of her was her long, pale legs, and a pair of battered white trainers with bright green laces.

It was quiet for a moment—several long moments—then she let out a snort of laughter.

"Helena's in a clearing about twenty feet away, just slipped over in the mud," she said, keeping her voice at a normal volume. "D'you want to go after her, or do you want to keep on with this murder-Beatrice plan?"

The camera panned down to James.

"Not worth the effort," he said. "She's probably just ripped opened her chin stitches anyway."

"Okay. Gimme a sec to find Bea."

There was a rustle from up ahead. Lily's feet disappeared for a bit when she climbed up higher, vanishing into the leaves overhead, and James and the cameraman were accompanied by nothing more than the distant chirping of birds.

That, and a muted cry that sounded very much like Helena.

A minute later, Lily reappeared, swinging down on the same branch she'd climbed. She hopped to the ground, landed on one foot and almost stumbled sideways, but righted herself at the last minute.

"Bea's by herself, hanging around by a bush that way," she said, pointing to her right. She pushed a strand of hair which had escaped her ponytail away from her forehead, let out a deep breath, then smiled at him. "Hi."

"Er, hi?" he said, standing up.

The damn butterflies in his insides needed to chill the fuck out. So what if she was strategic-thinking and gorgeous and into paintball?

"Is your tummy feeling better?" she asked, swinging the gun around from her back to rest in her hands. "Bea said you were sick yesterday."

"Oh, er, yeah." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm, ah. Fine. Today." He raised a finger toward where Lily had pointed. "That way, yeah?"

"That way, if you're fit and healthy," Lily agreed, then pulled her goggles down over her eyes and turned on her heel. She stalked off further into the forest, apparently of no mind to wait around. "I can't see Bonnie anywhere, but I don't think she's much of a threat."

He hurried after her while trying to step lightly, the cameraman their silent stalker. It was funny, really, how quiet this nameless, blond cameraman could be. He was the perfect choice of their options—James didn't think he'd ever said a word the entire show, and his footsteps were as quiet as James's.

"So, what's our story here?" said Lily quietly, after they'd moved a few feet in total silence. "I know why Lily Evans wants to knock Bea on her arse with a paintball, but why are Jack and Ruby after her?"

James peeked nervously at the camera. "Er. I'm not sure, exactly..."

"I think she kidnapped my only son, Onyx Raptor," said Lily thoughtfully, "and is threatening to do something unspeakable if I don't pay her a hefty ransom, like raise him with far-right ideals. We have to save him because I'm all he's got—his father was killed in a tragic mining accident."

Enthusiasm swelled in James's chest. Onyx Raptor was an ingenious name, a mining accident was a classic solo-parent explanation, and the kidnapping motive was a natural fit.

He forced down all the excited words that were fighting their way to his mouth.

"Er," he said instead. "Cool."

She glanced sideways at him. "Are you sure you're feeling totally better?"

"Yup. Absolutely, I am as healthy as a cucumber. Er, I mean, cool as a horse." He pointedly stared straight ahead and swallowed. "So, how are we handling the attack: surprise, or something else?"

"If I was by myself, I'd hide behind a bush or something and shoot her down like a sniper, but since there are two of us, we can split up to surround her." She shrugged. "Up to you. As long as I get to shoot her, I'm not too fussed."

"Yeah, let's surround her. I'll charge, and you can get her from the side or back or something? You're definitely owed the final hit."

"Sure," said Lily, though it came out rather weary, more like a sigh, "if you're going to be—" She stopped in her tracks, clamping a hand on his arm to stop him, her head whipping around in the direction of a clump of close-knit trees. "Did you hear that?"

James sucked in a short breath, following her gaze.

Nothing was moving, but he had heard something—

There. A few leaves of tall grass swaying wildly, like someone had just brushed past.

"Duck!" he shouted, throwing himself at Lily and toppling both of them onto the grass. He rolled off her immediately and aimed at the bush, just as Beatrice popped up, gun blazing.

A paintball burst onto the grass just shy of his left foot.

"Back off, Booth!" he cried.

She dropped to the ground just as two red paintballs slammed into the tree at her side, courtesy of Lily, who'd taken the shot while lying on her stomach, the gun propped on her shoulder.

"Come along, Jack," Lily said, grabbing his hand.

They heaved each other up and started running, with Lily taking frequent shots in Bea's direction to keep her down.

A paintball whizzed by James's ear—too close.

"Ruby, here!" James pulled her by their connected hands to another piece of corrugated metal, this one a single piece that came straight up from the ground, ending just above his head. They took cover behind it, panting, and both peeked their guns around opposite sides of the metal to shoot.

"So much for a bloody surprise," Lily said, glancing at him and grinning.

He shot a grin of his own back at her as several of Bea's paintballs pinged against the other side of the metal. "No fun if it ends too soon, though."

"Fair point." She paused to take another attempt at hitting Beatrice. "Better than sitting in that boiling hot castle."

"Well well well," Bea called out. "Jack Diamond and Ruby Raptor, teaming up. Color me surprised and pay me my winnings."

"Give Ruby back her kidnapped son, Booth!" James cried, his shoulders flat against the metal.

"Don't you mean," Bea said dramatically, "your son?"

James flung a look at Lily. "Ruby," he said. "Why didn't you tell me?"

The barest hint of confusion crossed her face, but vanished quickly. "I'm...sorry you had to find out like this?"

"You lied to me!"

"Shout at me later—we need to get Onyx out of her clutches first."

James nodded firmly. "Right. I'll run out to the side and loop around to her back. She can't chase both of us at once—she'll have to pick a target. I'm less protected so it'll probably be me. I'm dead quick, though, so I can probably avoid her shots."

"I can keep getting closer when she does—there are plenty of trees between us."

"I'll try to keep the kill shot for you—"

"—but if you see the shot, take it," she said seriously.

He nodded grimly. "Stay safe, Ruby. And don't come home without our son."

---

When James ran off, leaping needlessly over a moss-covered log that a crawling baby could have cleared with ease, Lily leaned sideways against a tree and let herself catch the breath he'd robbed when he barreled her into the ground.

"Side stitch," she told the silent cameraman, who'd stayed with her instead of following James through the trees, perhaps concerned that he'd be struck down by a flailing limb.

The stitch was a lie, of course, not that the cameraman cared. Lily felt physically fine, but for her racing, inconstant heart, which had recently learned to skitter about in all manner of unruly ways. She blamed James Potter, bad influence that he was.

He'd jumped on her.

Jumped.

That was an oversimplification, and Lily could, for once, have afforded herself a little drama.

James had grabbed her and recruited her help, only to act as stiff and uncomfortable as if her company were a chore, then tackled her to the forest floor like a bloody rugby player, suddenly in the mood to play their little game of spies, all within the space of about ten minutes.

Lily didn't even have the time to think on what it meant—why he'd gone for her instead of Bea or Bonnie, if that should have meant anything, how she should feel about it, and why James kept touching her when apparently they were just meant to be mates—because he'd darted off like a rocket, and she had to find and assassinate her mocking best friend.

Her best friend, Beatrice, who was gleefully complicit in all of this.

She straightened up, mindful of the yelling voices up ahead—one male, one female, growing gradually fainter as they raced deeper into the woods—and pushed on through the trees, her gun trained in front of her, prepared for a sudden ambush. Beatrice Booth might have been faster than Lily, on account of her longer legs, but she was stark raving mad if she thought she was taking Lily down.

Lily would win this thing if she had to shoot the lot of them herself.

Bea deserved to be shot. She and James both.

Their son. Theirs. When Lily had deliberately added the tragic-mining-incident father to her tale to keep all inklings of romance out of the situation!

Sodding Ruby Raptor and Jack Diamond had slow-burn love story written all over them and any movie executive would have agreed, even if James couldn't see it, and now he'd doomed Lily to spend an agonizing half-hour discussing their fictional son on a confessional stool. Their names matched, for crying out loud. She'd been the biggest idiot in the world to ever suggest it.

It was all too stupid for words—the codenames, their plan, this entire scenario—and every ridiculous second of it was captured by prowling cameras. Lily had no choice but to act like it was all a tremendous laugh, lest she slot neatly into the role of Pining Girl and attract the amused sympathies of a telly-watching nation.

She'd been so excited for paintball earlier, expecting to spend a fun hour with Bea while James played the hero for Isabella, relishing the idea of shooting Helena once or twice, and barely holding in her laughter when she was pulled aside and warned against enacting revenge on Rita with her gun.

Then along came James "I'll take you this time, not Isabella, thanks" Potter, and ruined all her fun.

That wasn't entirely fair, she reflected. It was fun, really, only sort of painful. James was exponentially more fun than most people she knew. Fun sort of dripped off him, seeped into the air around him, bounced alongside him with boyish leaps and bounds. Under any other circumstances, in any other situation, if she wasn't falling for a man who didn't want her on national television, Lily would have been having the time of her life.

If he'd only been consistent, if he hadn't bloody tackled her...

The voices up ahead were growing louder again. James and Beatrice had slowed, or come to a standstill.

Lily pushed all other thoughts out of her head, and quickened her pace, her steps carpeted by the thick grass underfoot. Her conniving mate needed to be taught a lesson.

In half a minute, she reached a handy spot by a gorgeous alder tree—its low branches and plentiful leaves providing her some cover—just in time to see Beatrice rush into the midst of a small, mulch-logged clearing. Beyond her was James, who seemed to have outstripped her, dodging a flying paintball with an unnecessarily complicated forward roll across the muddy ground.

He could come out of this match without a drop of paint on his person, and still be the filthiest person in the group. Rita was going to throw a fit when she saw the grass and mud stains on his clothes.

What an idiot.

He'd been right in what he said, though. He was dead quick.

"I'm surprised to see you rushing into action like this, Cubic Zirconia," Beatrice was saying, her tone mocking. James sent a paintball at her and she sprang behind a tree, laughing. "Haven't we established that you're a bleeding coward?"

From where Lily was standing, James made for a far easier shot than Bea, and the thought flitted through her head for a second, wickedly appealing.

"I'll have you know," he said loudly, "that Danger is my middle name."

Beatrice screwed up her nose. "Christ. Not really?"

"Obviously not really, it's for the—" He made an exasperated noise. "Play along, would you?"

"Sorry," said Bea, not sounding sorry at all, "but your mum seems like the type to give you a stupid name like that. No offense."

"No offense?" cried James hotly. "My mother would never name me anything but the most noble, the most impressive—"

God, they were like children, arguing back and forth, neither of them getting anywhere.

Why was she so fond of people like this?

Lily could have caught Beatrice easily on the side of the arm, but that didn't have quite enough panache for her liking. Besides, her friend was never going to turn towards her as long as James was out there, darting back and forth to dodge her shots, sending paintballs of his own in her direction.

Only one thing for it, really.

She crept further into the clearing, keeping her body low, and aimed her gun directly at Beatrice.

"Ow!" she screamed in terrified agony.

Beatrice and James whipped around at once, two pairs of concerned eyes turning in the direction of her voice, two weapons momentarily forgotten, hanging loosely by their sides.

Constant vigilance, Moody had said earlier, yet Lily had successfully fooled them both with a basic damsel in distress act.

It took one shot to catch Bea neatly in the stomach.

Her friend let out a sharp, shrill scream as a paintball burst across her lemon yellow shirt, and clapped her hands to her abdomen as if afraid she might bleed out.

"You lying liar!" she cried, as Lily straightened up, laughing. "I thought you were really hurt!"

Lily stepped out from her makeshift hiding place, grinning smugly at her defeated friend. "And I'm grateful for your concern, really," she said, keeping the gun trained on her, "but more grateful for your stupidity."

"You brilliant, beautiful bastard," said Beatrice dramatically, "sending your inept sidekick in as a distraction."

"Sidekick?" he squawked. "How dare you imply—"

"She's just pissed because we took her down," said Lily, and tossed him a consoling smile. "Caught your forward roll, by the way. Pretty impressive."

His shoulders pulled back while his chin lifted. "Years of football practice paid off. Especially the way my mates play it."

"I knew he was a diver," Bea said derisively, then to Lily she added, "Divers like to pretend they're injured so the ref will—"

"I know what a diver is, thanks," Lily interrupted, "and I'm the one who faked an injury. Don't give my sidekick credit for my ingenuity."

"Top class work there, by the way," he said with a salute. "Well done."

"I call him your sidekick and he weeps, but you do it..." Bea let out an exasperated sound. "Why don't you two just kiss already?"

"Beatrice," James yelped, his cheeks reddening as he clutched his gun to his chest.

"You're a child, Booth," said Lily coolly, and looked at James, opting to ignore his overblown reaction. She jerked her head towards Bea. "You shoot her this time."

He pressed his lips together and wrenched his gun down to point at Bea. "Another stellar idea."

"Oi!" Beatrice squeaked, and backed away several steps. "Literally shooting the messenger? Really?"

"He's earned it. Go on," Lily urged him. "Then we can get Bonnie and Helena."

"Bonnie shot Helena in the eye by accident, so they're both out already," said one of the heretofore silent cameramen—the one who had been trailing Beatrice previously—touching his earpiece.

"Looks like it's just you two left," said Bea, eyeing James's gun warily, even as it shook while he laughed, "a fact I'll gladly bring up at your weddi—" She screeched as a paintball splattered loudly against her shoulder. "This is my favorite summer top, you shits!"

"Why did you wear your favorite top to paintballing?" said Lily in disbelief.

"This is a summer top I'm vaguely fond of," Bea admitted. "Tell him not to shoot me again—this is outright bullying."

"Go back to the others, if you don't want to get shot." Lily gestured with the gun in the direction from which all three of them had come. "I'll follow you in a minute."

"Fine," said Beatrice, and made a big show of rolling her eyes before she turned and stomped away. "Jack and Ruby need their privacy, whatever, I know when I'm third-wheeling."

She picked her way through a clump of soggy, fallen leaves and vanished behind a tree, leaving Lily alone with James, and two seemingly omnipresent cameramen.

Lily only had to shoot one of the three, though this fact seemed to have escaped James entirely.

He took a deep, pleased breath, and held out a fist for her to pound. "Another win for Jack and Ruby."

She considered his fist for a moment, then pointed her gun at his chest.

"Nah," she said, "just a win for me, I think."

He blinked at her, as innocent and doomed as a stupid deer in headlights. "What?"

It might have worked on any other day, but James deserved it. He'd jumped on her.

She pulled the trigger without hesitation, and bright red paint exploded across his chest with a satisfying smack.

"Got your heart," she said, with a tight, triumphant smile. "You're dead now."

He let his gun drop down, hanging on the strap around his shoulders, as his hands pressed against the paint. He stared down at his colored hands, then drew his shocked gaze up to Lily. "But what about our son?"

Lily let out a dry laugh, and shook her head. "Nice try, but Ruby would never shoot Jack, even if he did neglect their secret love child for the past ten years. This"—she gestured in between them—"was Lily shooting James. Lily and James don't have a son."

His eyebrows drew together, the movement half-hidden by his goggles. "But I bought you croissants," he said in a confused voice.

This was so out of left field that she thought he was joking, and laughed again, but his expression didn't change at all.

She pushed her own goggles up and over her head—no danger now. "What?"

"Croissants. I bought you—" He paused as one of the cameramen took a step closer, zooming in on James's face. "As an apology," he clarified. "Because I, ah, said something stupid the other night, and I felt bad, and you wanted...you wanted croissants."

"I did, but then you said you wouldn't get me any, because you can't endorse the French," Lily reminded him. "You were pretty adamant about it. Was that the stupid thing you said?"

"I do loathe the French, but no, I—I think you know what it was," he said with a glance at the camera. He picked up his gun and fiddled with the trigger. "But I put my very reasonable hatred aside because—because I didn't mean it the way I said it, and I think you were hurt, and I—I needed to make it right."

Lily felt her face grow tellingly hot.

Why on earth was he bringing this up now?

"God, you mean—that was nothing. I'm fine," she said quickly. She didn't want anybody else to know that he'd hurt her feelings, least of all him, of all people. "It's not like we're—I mean, that's very nice of you, but really not necessary. You don't owe me anything."

"It's not about owing, it's—I wanted you to have them. And to say, you know, that I'm sorry, and everything, because this show is—it's mad, and I hate—ugh. I just want you to have something like this. And you don't—you don't have to take the croissants, but there's like a lot of them, and there's no way in hell I'm putting one near my mouth, so…"

Her face must have been so pink that they'd need to dim it down in post-editing. "How many?"

One of his hands rubbed at his hair. "Er...the thing is...I'm not actually sure."

"I only wanted one croissant, and it's not like I crave them constantly," she said, and bit back a nervous giggle that threatened to bubble up from nowhere. "How offended did you think I was?"

His cheeks tinged pink. "Ah...I had received the impression that it was...somewhat more than it seems you actually are."

"I can't believe you panic-bought croissants because Beatrice told you I was upset," she said. There was a strange, oppressive tension in the air that she felt compelled to break. "You shouldn't listen to her—she's got all sorts of hidden agendas."

"I didn't buy them in a panic, I bought them—"

"We need to return to the entrance," said the same cameraman who had told them of Bonnie's accident.

"Right," said Lily, blinking at him, then turned back to James. "We should head back before Rita sends Moody after us."

James nodded and pulled his goggles over his head, looking deeply uncomfortable, so Lily turned and led the way back to Moody, Rita, and the rest of the girls. She asked the talking cameraman—his name was Will, she discovered—questions about what his job entailed while they walked. He was kind enough to answer them with enthusiasm, perhaps because Rita wasn't there to shush him or loudly disapprove.

Will even talked her through the workings of his camera, offered to teach her to use it one day, and told her that she was the most photogenic girl on the show.

He was quite flirty, actually.

Bold of him, as Lily was still wearing a microphone. She fully expected Rita to have words with him, once they got back to the house.

Alas, poor Will, she reflected, though knowing Rita, Lily would be the one who got punished for attracting his interest in the first place. Charlene had been booted off the show for fooling around with Sirius—fair enough, as the whole point was for the girls to brawl over James, not one of the hosts—but Sirius had got off with a meager slap on the wrist.

The lack of fair treatment on this show transcended every level of the production.

James was completely silent the entire way back, save for his feet, which crunched across the forest floor as if they were out for revenge against the ground. She looked back at him once and caught his eye, but he averted his gaze from hers at once, staring resolutely into the distance with his lips pressed together.

He was probably pissed that she'd shot him.

If he was, that was entirely his problem.

Rita seemed happy with the footage she'd got when they arrived back on the entrance, to a small smattering of applause from the waiting girls, high praise from Moody, and even a small trophy that Lily was allowed to take home with her. Helena, they learned, had taken off her goggles because she didn't like the way they looked, only to be shot in the eye almost immediately by Bonnie. Poor Bonnie had got very upset and spent the rest of the excursion being comforted by Isabella.

"Helena will be back at the house when she's released from hospital," Rita told the waiting crowd. "I'll update you on her condition as I see fit. Everyone, back to the cars."

Lily followed Beatrice to the waiting van, but was stopped by Euphemia, who placed a warm, wrinkled hand on her bare shoulder.

"Not yet, dear," she said, and pointed towards the second car, where James was leaning awkwardly against the rear passenger door. "Go and see my son first. He's got something for you."

Bea grinned wickedly and opened her mouth to say something, but Lily beat her to it.

"Take this," she said, shoving the trophy into Bea's hands. "I know what it is—be back in a minute."

James regarded her as if she were his executioner when she made her way towards the car.

"Croissants, I assume?" she asked, lifting an eyebrow.

He took a few reluctant steps to the open boot, and rested a hand on the rear bumper. "Right," he said. "So, at the time, I told my mum to buy 'a lot' because—reasons. But, er, thinking about it now, this might be a bit...ah…"

"Well, there's nothing you can do about that now," said Lily flatly. "Plus, I'm hungry. Hand them over."

He picked up a literal paper grocery bag nearly overflowing with buttery croissants and shoved it toward her, arms fully extended while he looked distinctly away from her. "Here."

Despite herself, and her familiarity with the Potters and their deep love of going over the top, Lily's eyes widened in disbelief at the sight of it.

They must have cleared out every croissant in whatever shop they'd stopped at.

"Are you serious?" she said.

"Sirius is over there," he replied vaguely.

She took the bag from his outstretched hands and stared at its contents.

Then she laughed.

"There are at least twenty croissants in here," she pointed out.

He lifted one shoulder in a shrug, still staring at the ground.

"I mean, this is more than anyone could reasonably eat before the rest went stale," she said, punctuating her words with stray giggles. "You absolute loon."

Again, James said nothing.

God, but he was confusing. All go one minute and silently sullen the next.

She wished that he could pick a mood, stick to it, and stop doing this to her, stop prodding at feelings that made her blush like a poppy, stop making her suspect there might be something—bright and warm and mutual—between them, only to snatch it back away before she had a second to tentatively consider it.

But he'd bought her croissants—or his mum had—despite his ridiculous vendetta against France and that was...something. Some indication that she mattered, or at least, that he wanted her to feel as if she did.

Lily turned and set the bag on the ground to her right.

It was so full, and therefore solid, that it didn't lean or sag sideways.

"Right," she said, when she straightened up, and took a valiant step forward. "C'mere, you."

He looked up at her with a light of curiosity in his eyes, but Lily ignored it, wrapping her arms around his neck, pushing herself up on her toes to better fit against him, and pulled him into a hug.

She felt his entire body stiffen beneath her touch.

Oh well. She couldn't take it back now, and he would simply have to deal with it. James Potter wasn't the only one who got to land unexpected embraces on people.

"Thank you," she said quietly. Her chin tucked neatly against his shoulder. "It was really sweet of you, and strange, but mostly sweet."

After a moment he relaxed into the hug, his arms coming up to squeeze her just so, and breathed out what sounded like a sigh of relief.

"You're welcome," he said quietly, and then pulled away too soon, ending the hug before they'd really had the chance to make it a good one.

"I'll try to enjoy as many of these as I can," she informed him, hoisting the bag into her arms again. "You smell really good, by the way. Clean. Not like that awful stinky aftershave some blokes wear."

"Oh, er, thanks?" He grabbed the back of his neck with one hand, scuffing his foot against the dirt driveway. "You too."

"That's the scent of victory, I'll be bathing in it for the foreseeable future," she said with an airy shrug. "I'll see you tomorrow, then?"

A smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. "Yeah. See you tomorrow."

They stared at each other for a moment that felt suspended, heavy and awkward, in slowed-down time—as if both of them had something else to say, but neither could remember exactly what it was—then Lily turned, comically oversized bag of croissants and all, and walked back to the van.

---

Rita looked much too smug as James returned to their car. He sent her a two-finger salute and slid into the front seat, where he rubbed his hands on his thighs.

That had not gone according to plan.

He was an idiot.

A paintball-loving idiot, it turned out. An idiot who got swept up in things and left his intentions to be perfectly bland behind.

Thankfully Isabella hadn't been there for any of it. And Lily probably wouldn't tell her about Jack and Ruby…

But Beatrice might. In fact, Beatrice definitely would because she was an interfering busybody who apparently had nothing to worry about besides ruining James's life. This was what happened when people lost access to the internet for too long!

Maybe if he snuck her a smartphone she'd lose interest in her scheming.

Curse his promise to Lily to keep Beatrice in as long as possible. And double curse Rita, who hadn't said it, but was undoubtedly savoring every moment of James's Bea-induced torture. Rita wouldn't want to send her off, not when Bea kept throwing James head-long into situations ripe for reality television.

Because he definitely was in a love triangle. And he definitely did not want to be.

If only Lily Evans hadn't turned out to be such fun. If only she hadn't been game for making everything more fun and dramatic and silly. If only she hadn't had a mind of her own and the will to follow through on it.

If only she hadn't hugged him!

Yes, he had hugged her, but that was...basically the same. Shit.

At home he ignored his gleeful mum, an amused Sirius, and an inquiring Algernon who met him at the door. Instead James followed Rita into the confessional room and shut the door before anyone else could join them.

"Right," he said, plopping down on the stool. "Let's get this over with."

Rita was doing her not-smiling-but-smirking thing. "You won't catch me arguing over getting to the point. Have at it."

James took a deep breath and sat up straight. "Today we played paintball," he began, "which was a terrible idea because I didn't even see two of the girls."

"Right," sighed Rita. "Get the commentary out of your system."

"It's true," he pointed out. "I didn't see Bonnie or Helena at all. And not just because Bonnie shot her in the face, which I do want to see the footage of later, by the way."

"Only if I can film your reaction."

"Right. Never mind, then."

He was so not cut out for this show, where he had to be guarded and careful or he'd hurt someone's feelings.

He couldn't lie and say he hadn't had fun working with Lily, but he also didn't tell Bozo and Rita about how right he'd felt next to Lily, their backs to a metal fence, working in tandem to bring down the enemy. How he never knew what Lily would do next and it was intoxicating. How even though he'd been covered in a thick layer of dirt after his parkour-type moves, and he'd later found some caterpillars crawling along his back, she hadn't hesitated to hug him.

He saved all those thoughts up for Algernon, who was perfectly amiable about James's lovelife for once.

He really seemed to be developing a sense of pity for James in all this. Unlike the previous long days spent waiting for the evening cocktail party, Algernon didn't even try to escape James's room at all. Instead James and his cat cuddled up for a continuation of their Disney marathon, and sending pained, longing looks at the wall chart counting down the remaining rose ceremonies.

Near lunchtime Euphemia barged in and insisted on staying with him until she could sing along with "I Won't Say (I'm in Love)." Then he forced her out, replayed the song, and sang along himself as he preferred to do.

Algernon didn't even claw at him for it, which was saying something.

Eventually, completely boneless after all his stir-crazy energy had left him, James was finally allowed downstairs to the cocktail party.

It was fine, he told himself. He had a plan. And tonight he was going to stick! to! it!

Then he saw Beatrice's conniving grin and remembered he had a promise to fulfill.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, double shit fuck. So much for playing it cool.

When he entered the entrance hall, he found the women all in a line, facing the main door. He sent a questioning look at Sirius—this was not how the parties typically started—but got only a wink in return.

The parties also usually didn't start with girls looking distressed, and yet Bonnie's mascara was already running a bit, and her bottom lip was trembling. Isabella was holding her hand tightly between them, saying something soothing in a low voice.

He smiled. She really was super sweet.

Then he realized smiling at a sad girl would look very odd, and instead turned to watch Remus come through the front door.

Only next to Remus was Helena actually-bloody Hodge, wearing a dress that seemed extremely close to exposing her nipples and also a bedazzled eye patch.

"James!" she cried, throwing herself forward with her arms outstretched.

He easily side-stepped her, leaving her to close her arms around nothing. He felt a little guilty for this, considering her perception was all wonky, but it wasn't like he'd shot her in the eye.

"Er, hey, Helena." He took a tiny step back from her as she turned toward him. "Cool eyepatch."

"Thank you," she said primly, brushing nothing off of her dress. "It's devastating for everyone that they can't enjoy my beautiful eyes right now, but that's why I need to protect it when it's damaged. It'll be better for everyone in the long run."

"Ah, yeah. Sure." And because he wasn't a complete cretin, he asked, "Does it hurt?"

She pressed the back of a hand against her forehead. "It's agonizing. I'm only enduring being out of bed to be here one last time with you."

"Last?" James asked much too perkily.

Just then Rita strode in through the door, looking peeved. "The doctor insisted that Helena leave the show immediately. She won't even stay for the cocktail party."

"Not by choice!" Helena cried.

"No," Rita said sourly. "But the show can't risk a lawsuit so Helena's out. No one else is going home tonight."

James found himself grinning. "So we get to skip the rose ceremony?"

"No. We'll still film it, but everyone gets a rose."

"So...what's the point in doing it?"

"The point is I'm in charge, Potter, so stop asking questions."

James let his hands fly up in a "whatever, you win" gesture. Some things weren't worth the fight on this show. Filming something pointless was not one of them.

After some quick deliberation and much pleading on Helena's part, he allowed her to give him an overly handsy hug goodbye. It just seemed like the gentlemanly thing to do, when someone had been injured twice trying to win his affection.

She didn't have any hugs for the remaining women, though. Instead she stood in front of them, flipped her middle fingers at them, and shouted, "You can all go to hell, bitches!"

Which was, truly, the only way James could have imagined her leaving: grabbing his arse, cursing at the girls, and being dragged away shouting by security.

He'd never have guessed the eyepatch, though.

From there Rita directed them to have the party as usual, which was code for drink up, ladies. But only Bonnie broke free from Isabella and headed straight for the champagne.

Thankfully this left Isabella alone. He had a promise to keep tonight, but that didn't mean he couldn't be respectful to Isabella about it first.

"Hey," he said, smiling as he approached. She didn't fully smile back, partially looking over at Bonnie.

"I've got it," Lily told Isabella, and hurried over to Bonnie.

He brushed his hand against Isabella's. "Can we go talk somewhere?"

She faced him fully, but her smile stayed a little tense. "Yes. Of course."

The ever-silent blond cameraman and Rita trailed them out to the pool. When James and Isabella sat down on the loveseat, Rita placed the two champagne glasses she'd brought on the table in front of them.

"Really?" James asked her.

"In case you get thirsty," she said innocently. "Now just pretend we're not here."

Isabella placed a hand on his knee. "Forget them, James. What did you want to talk about?"

"Oh, ah." Shit. Maybe he should have some champagne. "Just—we didn't get to talk much earlier, you know."

"No, we didn't. I really wish they'd picked another activity. There's no need for regular people to engage in such violent—" She stopped talking, and picked up a glass for a quick sip before setting it back down. "Never mind."

"At least it was the last of the group dates, eh?"

"Yes, there is that…" Her eyes wandered back toward the castle, dramatically lit as always by ground lamps.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yes. Yes, I am, only—I'm worried about Bonnie. She was so torn up when Helena came in wearing that eyepatch. She feels absolutely miserable about what happened."

He squeezed her hand. "I saw you've been helping her out. You're an angel, really."

She squeezed back, hanging her head. "I feel so horrible asking, but would you—would you mind if we cut things a bit shorter than usual tonight? I know Lily will manage watching her just fine, but I just—I would feel so much better if I could go keep an eye on Bonnie myself."

"Of course," he told her. "Absolutely. No issue at all."

"Thanks." She smiled again, this time genuinely. "You're so understanding."

He eyed the champagne strongly, but wrenched his attention away and back to Isabella. There was no putting this off anymore, and despite the small voice telling him this would all be easier to do drunk, he resisted the alcohol's lure.

"Right, er." He withdrew his hand from hers. "I need to—warn you, I suppose. About something I've got to go do."

She furrowed her perfectly sculpted eyebrows. "What's that?"

"Before I tell you, you need to understand that this was not my idea but that I'm honor-bound to follow through. I also swore the person to secrecy about why I'm going to do it, so I can't tell you what the deal was, but I—"

"James," she said gently. "Just tell me."

"Right. Well. I, er. I need to—I need to go compliment Lily to her face."

Isabella gave a small smile. "Oh. You had me thinking it would be something much worse."

"Oh. Okay. Good. Well, I know you were a bit jealous before, but like—it's not like that, it's because I have to."

"Beatrice is a very determined person," Isabella said.

"How did you—never mind, stupid question." James ran a hand through his hair. "The point is, I've got to. And we—you should know we had fun earlier, playing paintball."

She hadn't been moving, really, but she still seemed to fall still.

After a moment, she said, "You did?"

"Yeah, it was—I was trying to be cool but we had a blast chasing Beatrice down."

"I see." Her mouth formed a slanted line. "You wanted revenge because she's making you compliment Lily?"

"I mean...technically yes. It sounds weird when you put it that way because there's more to, it, but like—sort of, yes."

"I see." Isabella's large brown eyes searched his. "I see."

"So, er. Yeah. I didn't want you to be surprised by anything you might hear. Likely from Beatrice."

She kept studying him for a few moments.

He couldn't blame her—this was a lot to hear all at once. And it really did not sound good from her perspective, probably.

Finally Isabella asked, "Why did you give her croissants?"

He rubbed his palms on his thighs. "Oh, ah—forgot about that bit. I said something the other day that was pretty thoughtless and she was upset, so I—I bought her the food she told me she'd wanted at the buffet." He leaned in. "I would never have bought croissants otherwise. I can't stand the French."

That furrow in her brow returned. "Oh. Right."

"They were not romantic croissants," he added.

"That's—a relief." She glanced up at the castle again. "I'm so sorry, James, but I can't focus. I just keep thinking about Bonnie. Did you know her brother lost a leg in Afghanistan?"

"Oh, shit." James's eyes snapped up toward the balcony outside the lounge. "Yeah, let's head back."

Isabella held his hand on the walk up to the castle, but she remained somber and didn't say anything.

He couldn't blame her. No wonder Bonnie was taking this so hard.

When they'd returned to the "party," which was really just three other women, two of them comforting a crying one, James pulled Rita into the corridor.

"You're not going to make Bonnie talk to me tonight," he told her.

"Not an option—we already lost Helena too early. We need more footage." Rita raised an eyebrow. "Not to mention I just allowed Isabella to walk away early."

"Shit." James rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, can we at least do Bonnie last? I know you're salivating over me talking to Lily. That should be good footage, yeah?"

"Hmm." Rita tapped her lips thoughtfully. "I've reconsidered, Potter. If you're extra entertaining, we may be able to revisit whether you need to speak to Bonnie."

James ripped his hand down from his neck to his side. "You are actually the antichrist."

"If only," she said, turning away from him. "Come on. Let's see what a good show you can put on."

He trudged after her, feeling as though he were walking to his own execution, and stopped by the remaining "contestants."

"Right," he said, his fingers pressed to one temple. "I really do hate to interrupt, but I'd love to chat with you, Lily."

Lily looked at him for a long moment like she was silently contemplating his offer, as if Rita wasn't prepared to swoop down on her and physically force her to comply if she demonstrated an unwillingness to move her legs.

"Right," she eventually sighed—so pointedly that it seemed almost as if she was imitating his lack of enthusiasm—then landed a gentle pat to Bonnie's shoulder and stepped away from her. "Where are we going? Outside?"

He imagined delivering a bunch of compliments in front of a grieving woman and company, and grimaced. "Yes. Definitely."

He led them out to the fairy-lit grotto, which somehow maintained its charm even though he'd been groped here on no less than three occasions. Maybe it was his fond memories of Isabella, or maybe he was just a sucker for ivy-covered pergolas.

"I think this whole production is suffering from a lack of imagination, if this is the most romantic setting they can dream up," said Lily idly, eyeing the overhead lights once they'd settled in. "You know what I think is romantic? A fairground. They've got popcorn and candy floss, you can snuggle on the ghost train, and trying to get in a snog before one of you vomits is like a high stakes game of chance. This is boring compared to that."

His mind had admittedly been wandering a bit, stuck on Isabella and Bonnie and everything else, but when he finally let himself look at Lily fully—properly, fully paying attention—her outspokenness combined with her stunning looks hit him like a gut punch.

"Don't get me wrong," he said, "I'm absolutely into candy floss and popcorn—not so much the vomiting part—but sometimes it's nice just to sit for a bit. Which is not something I've said probably in my entire life until now, but it's been...it's been a weird few days."

She made a small noise of agreement in the back of her throat. Her attention was still focused on the lights. "It's probably nicer when you're not on camera and can actually talk to the other person without feeling like everything you say is being scrutinized."

He placed a hand on his forehead and pushed it up into his hair. "When this show is over, I'm going to delight in all the things I never appreciated before: telling people what I really think. Walking outside without being stalked. Eating McDonald's fries whenever I want. You know. The really important things."

"Emotional honesty, a sense of physical freedom, and McDonald's fries," Lily said, her eyes flicking down to meet his. Then she laughed. "Top three priorities, yeah?"

"That and the internet. God, I miss the internet."

"I don't miss the internet so much, actually. I miss my books, and being able to eat whatever I want, and my mum." She paused. "I really miss my mum. I see her once a week, normally."

"Yeah?" James said.

"Yeah. She's magic." Lily smiled faintly. "Super observant, which I used to really hate when I was younger, but now I kind of love. Sometimes she knows what's wrong with me before I do."

"That sounds dead nice. She's probably much more normal than my mum. I bet she'd never force you to be on a reality show." He whipped his face to the camera. "I mean, my mum is the best in the entire world and I wouldn't change a thing." To Lily, he said in a low voice, "Can't be too careful with her." After a moment, he added, "I do mean that, though."

"I know that, and I get it. My mum can be a bit embarrassing, which I'm sure you'll see for yourself, since it seems you'll be meeting her soon." She let out a hard, displeased sound. "God, she's going to love you. Apologies in advance for all the food she'll shove down your throat."

"She's going to love me?" he asked delightedly.

Lily shrugged, then raised her voice to a higher falsetto, slipping into an Irish accent. "Oh, aren't you so tall and handsome? Please marry my daughter before she dies alone and has her face eaten off by one of her many cats." Lily's voice returned to normal. "I don't actually have a cat because my housemate's allergic, but Mum's never let the truth get in the way of a good story."

"But Bea's not allergic, right? So you can get a cat when you move in together."

"I've already told you I'm stealing yours, and there's nothing you can do about it because he's very clearly set on having me around and will mutiny, should you object."

"We'll have to work out a schedule," he said absently. "Like a timeshare."

Normally cat discussions would have had him blathering on, and playfully arguing about who got Algernon when, and investigating the possible proximity of their flats.

But he'd brought up Bea, and Rita was giving him a pointed look, and somewhere up in the castle Bonnie needed a reprieve...which meant James couldn't put off his debts.

"Right," he said, bracing himself. "Look, I've got to—I've got to say some things."

Lily's expression shifted at once, her lips forming a harder line as she pressed them together, eyes darting back up to the lights again.

"So do I, as it happens," she said calmly. "I know why you brought me out here."

"Er, because this is basically what we do every cocktail party?"

"No, Potter." She dropped her chin, her eyes catching his. "I know about your deal with Beatrice."

Her words took a second to filter in through his ears.

Then he blurted, "What?" And then, "What the hell!"

"Oh, she told me everything," said Lily, with a curt nod, "pretty much immediately, actually. I'm going to assume some of it was exaggerated, but what it boils down to is that you asked her to keep some things to herself, which she didn't, and she asked you to tell me some stuff that, honestly, I don't even want to hear. I'm not interested in being a pawn in some stupid scheme, and compliments don't mean anything if they've been forced out of someone's mouth."

He sat there staring at her, mouth hanging open a bit like an idiot.

Beatrice fucking Booth.

Reneging on their deal immediately! The dishonesty.

To make matters worse, he absolutely should have expected it, considering she'd straight up played him at the lake. The woman had fewer morals than a bear, the most godless of all creatures.

"So, yeah," Lily said, after a few moments of silence, "you're off the hook. Congratulations."

Lily's traitorous BFF might not have any sense of ethics, but Lily clearly did. She could have let him go on like a fool, but she hadn't. She'd been straight with him like she always was because she was a terrific person.

He'd raved about her to Bea for a reason.

He shot up to his feet. "No," he said. "I'm not off the hook. Or I'm on my own hook, at least, and not on Beatrice's, but either way you should know that you're seriously fantastic, all right? She probably didn't exaggerate—I was talking about you a lot. Because you're—you're funny and clever and honest and genuine and kind and creative and—and obviously super gorgeous, that goes without saying, but since I'm at it, I might as well say it—and Bea's right that you deserve to have someone tell you all that, someone who's not a compulsive liar, so you can trust that it's actually true."

While he spoke, Lily sat and watched his face with a clinical kind of interest, the corners of her lips downturned, a tiny crease between her eyebrows.

The only hint that she cared at all for anything he'd said was the barest flush of pink across her cheeks.

"I already know that's true," she said, one hand toying with the stem of the champagne glass on the table. "Bea thinks you have feelings for me. Why is that?"

"Oh, I don't know," he said sarcastically, "because I obviously—" He slammed his mouth shut, inadvertently warned by a slight intake of breath from Rita. Fuck, he needed to bring this down. "Because," he said, glancing at the camera and forcing himself to sound more normal. "Because obviously I think a lot of you."

"Is it common practice for you to mess people around when you think a lot of them, then?" said Lily, folding her arms across her chest.

"Mess around? I just told you exactly how great I think you are."

"That doesn't automatically negate everything else you've done."

He gestured helplessly. "What else I've—what are you even talking about?"

"I'm talking about how, half the time, you stare at me like a puppy, or touch me, or ramble on to my friend about how great I am, and in general act like you fancy me, and then the other half you treat me like I'm patient zero," Lily retorted, supremely calm, considering the accusations she was levelling. "I'd call that messing me around—I feel messed around, so if you'd care to explain what your game is, I'm all ears."

No one had ever called him out like this. Not even his mother, who sometimes had incisive insights that she loved to fling at him when he was struggling. But she'd never say anything like this.

Then again, he hadn't ever had to pretend he didn't love his mum.

Lily knew. She knew he liked her. And she wasn't wrong.

But he couldn't admit to any of that, and that burned, low in his gut. He couldn't tell her in front of the cameras because Isabella—or worse, Beatrice—would learn about it, and he couldn't have that.

"Look," he said. "I'm sorry. That wasn't—it wasn't about you. It's just…" He waved vaguely toward the cameras.

Lily looked at the camera for a moment, then back at him. "I'm sorry, are you trying to say that you've been putting it all on for the show? What, was Rita not happy with you and Isabella, so she roped me in as some sort of pity-party contestant for you to dump on, and you just went along with it?"

"What?" he said. "Oh my God, no, that's not—you've got the wrong end of the stick. In fact I wonder if you've even got the same stick as me at all."

"What else am I supposed to assume when you don't seem to think I merit an honest explanation?"

"An honest—" One of his hands clutched at his hair. "Do you not remember what we were just talking about? I would punch Sirius in the face if it meant I could be honest here. Also because he's been a bit of a dick about all this, but that's not the point."

"I see," she said, her tone biting, her eyes narrowed in a glare. "Because you can't tell me the truth on camera for whatever reason—probably Isabella, let's be real—you can act the way you've been acting and it's fine if I wind up hurt at the end of it? Her feelings matter, but mine don't mean shit?"

Oh sure, his mum thought. Put James on a show where a bunch of smart, attractive ladies got to see him make a complete buffoon of himself.

Because he was being one. Or had been being one, really. He had been cool to Lily for Isabella's sake, and his own, but it hadn't seemed like such an issue because…

"I'm sorry," he said in a low voice, and dropped down onto the loveseat. "I just...I didn't think you'd care."

"Why?" she said, her expression softening for the first time since she'd told him the truth about Beatrice's betrayal. "Because I wasn't all over you on the day we met? I can't do that kind of thing, okay? I need time to decide if I have feelings for someone, because making that kind of decision about a person in the space of two minutes is ludicrous, and careless, and it almost never works out."

She...needed time?

As in...she'd had time and it had passed and she now…

Maybe he had misinterpreted.

He cleared his throat. "So you—I mean, er. Bea told me about your, ah...dream...but…"

"Of course she did, she can't hold her water," said Lily resignedly. She sighed, slumping back against her seat, and tucked her hair behind one ear. "Joke's on her, though. I've had several she doesn't even know about."

Several she didn't—oh Christ.

James sat frozen, his heart thumping against his chest, his face suddenly on fire.

No girl had ever admitted to anything like that to his face. Maybe none of them had ever had one about him at all, but to sit there and feel no shame—

Fuck. He was such a goner.

He cleared his throat again. "Er," he said, but no other words volunteered themselves after that.

"Anyway," Lily said, with another deep sigh. "Obviously, yes, I like you. For real reasons, not because we're on a show or because I want a rose. I don't care about any of that shit. You make me laugh, and I think you have a good heart, and we have fun together and, I dunno..." She shrugged, staring off to the side. "I feel sort of connected to you, I guess. There's some honesty for you."

Now the words I FEEL THE SAME WAY reverberated around his mind, but he bit down on his tongue to keep them from flying out.

She liked him.

She liked him!

He was so screwed.

He was not remotely cut out for managing a love triangle. Although it was really more of a love angle since Lily and Isabella didn't fancy each other, just him, so there really was no third leg.

But the shape was irrelevant and did not change the fact that he was in such a bind. And now it had been much too long since he'd spoken, and he had to say something because she'd just admitted to fancying him, and it would be terribly impolite to follow his instinct, which was to grab Algernon, run for the road, and hitch a ride to London.

If only he had some way to say aloud he didn't fancy her, while silently indicating that he was lying through his teeth.

Maybe if he stood up quickly, turned his back to the camera, and winked?

Rita would murder him. But only after she forced Bonnie into a pseudo-romantic situation while she was suffering through tremendous guilt. Then Rita would shove James off the castle roof and be done with it.

He had to say something. Like, now!

"I don't know what to say," he found himself saying, and feeling thoroughly inadequate.

She studied him for a few moments. Then she rose to her feet, smoothing down the front of her dress.

"Whatever. It doesn't matter," she said. "I'm going back inside. Beatrice wanted a piano lesson, so..." She pointed towards the house, swayed a little as if unsure of what to do, then dropped her arm.

He cast about fruitlessly in his head, certain that the right words had to be buried somewhere, but he kept coming up empty-handed.

Or, as the situation was, empty-mouthed.

At this rate she was going to change her assessment of him and deem him a mute idiot, for all the staring he did.

She shook her head and started to turn away. A second later she spun back to keep saying things to him because she wasn't a wordless fool. "Look," she said, "it cost me a lot to have to say all that stuff on camera, so could you not tell Isabella, please? I don't want any more difficult conversations tonight."

"No," he said immediately, jumping to his feet and silently thanking his brain for finally supplying him with sounds to make. "No, I won't—I promise. Just between us." He scratched at his arm. "And, er. Thank you. For being honest with me, even though I'm—stuck. And I won't, er, be so weird with you anymore. I mean. On purpose. Sometimes things happen and I'm distracted or whatever, but I won't—I won't intentionally mess around, or anything."

"You say you're stuck like nobody ever told you that you're allowed to change your mind," she said heavily, then spun on her toes, her red hair fanning out behind her. "Whatever. Enjoy the rest of your night."

He watched her march away, her flats oddly quiet on the tiles compared to everyone else's heels.

Her shoes might have been quiet, he thought as he wrenched at his hair with both hands, but everything else about her always spoke volumes.