Chapter 25: Full Transparency

Jamie felt a bit grubby.

Unlike Cora, he hadn't enjoyed a mid-afternoon swim in the dunk tank. He could sense the back of his shirt clinging to his skin with an invisible film of sand, sunscreen, sweat, and shame.

His co-star had lost the guessing game, but worse than that. She had lost track of the blurry line between fact and fiction. He could tell from the look Cora gave him, the split second before she went plummeting into the water. "This is true?" she'd asked.

He wished to God he'd hit the lever faster. He never should have given her a chance to read that final card, but his reflexes had proven too slow.

He walked beside her now, eyes on the horizon, careful to keep the tension he felt from showing in his face. The sunset cast a rosy glow. The perfect light for romance. Cameron led the way, walking backward, with the camera steadied on his shoulder, capturing the happy lovers' every move.

Fact or fake, this love affair? That was the question. If Jamie wasn't sure himself, poor Cora didn't stand a chance.

Jamie cringed again at the memory of the words printed on those blasted cards. Of course Cora had believed them, labeled as Fact and printed in stark black and white. Of all the lies his agent could have concocted...

Darius had well and truly fucked him over.

Jamie would have a few choice words for his agent when he got off this island. If Darius would even take his call, that is.

No, Jamie was under no illusions. The agency might not drop him outright, but agents of Darius' stature only dealt with the major fashion houses. He would undoubtedly pass Jamie off to some lowly associate. Someone in influencer marketing, no doubt.

An influencer...

The very word brought a sour taste to Jamie's mouth. There was a reason he had resisted the lure of reality television up until now. His stint here in Cozumel would define him for the rest of his career. A chameleon no longer. Whatever color the TV writers chose to paint him would become Jamie's "reality" hereafter. The world would come to see him in that light and, with any luck, follow him on Instagram. And Jamie would be expected to play the role on social media forevermore.

At least the game had given him an inkling of the character he would portray. The "international man of mystery," as requested from the start by the show's casting director. The so-called "Facts" printed in the cards must have been pulled from some bio Darius provided to help Jamie land the role. Unless the producers themselves had invented them.

Jamie hadn't bothered reading through all the materials his agent had sent over. He hadn't even read his contract in any detail. A cursory scan had been all he could stomach before signing his name on the line.

He'd been hired to represent an ideal, not a reality. This much Jamie understood. It was the nature of the profession. For purposes of go-sees, Jamie hadn't used his true backstory in years. Not that he was ashamed of it. He simply felt no allegiance to it, no sense of loyalty or obligation. If his early life sounded like the plot of a Dickens novel, what was to stop him from inventing other fictions, no less believable than the truth?

But there were limits. Darius should know as much. How could his agent have dared claim the factoid printed on that final card? A bit of misinformation so easily disproven?

No, it couldn't have been Darius. It must have been the producers themselves who made it up. But it wouldn't look that way to the viewing public—or to the woman at his side.

It would look like he was a fraud.

Jamie swiped his palm down the back of his neck, attempting to brush away the grit. He longed for a shower. A long, hot one. That would be his first stop, as soon as the cameras left them for the evening.

A shower to cleanse his skin, and a confession to clear his conscience.

He needed to tell Cora the truth before anything else passed between them. There could be no other course. Only a scoundrel or a fool would crack on under such false pretenses.

At least he'd kept that last outrageous claim from being broadcast. He'd dumped Cora in the water before she could read the words aloud.  They'd both removed their mic packs to avoid getting them wet. She came up spluttering, and Jamie had managed to murmur out of earshot of the boom mic, "Keep that last tidbit to yourself, eh?"

Why? she'd asked him with her eyes.

"Later," was all he'd had time to answer. "I'll explain when we're alone."

He'd been quiet over dinner. Eyes on his plate, picking at his food, avoiding Cora's gaze. But all the while sensing her curiosity rolling off of her in waves.

The need to clarify weighed down on him. Before the shower, even. Immediately. As soon as the cameras left. But why did the coming conversation fill him with such dread?

He knew why.

She'd judged him from the start with those stern schoolteacher eyes, and it would only confirm her suspicions. The truth she'd sussed out within five minutes in his company. The judgement she had rendered from their first conversation over cocktails, reverberating in his mind ever since. "You make a living impersonating men you'll never be..."

She understood that about him instinctively. How could she have forgotten? How could she have fallen for the lie?

But she had. He could tell by the way she looked at him from the moment she read the last card. No more schoolteacher. No more naughty pupil. For the first time since they met, she saw a peer when she looked at him instead of a lesser being.

This was what he'd wanted from her all along, he realized. For her to look at him that way. It was why he'd asked her not to leave. Why he lay beside her, burning all night long, waiting to hear her answer.

She was quality. A person of substance. And from the moment they met, he'd longed for her to see him as the same.

But not like this. Not when it was all based on a lie.

He felt dirty with a grime he couldn't wash away, not with all the showers in the world. Only full transparency would erase it.

It wouldn't be pleasant.

It had to be done.

He would tell her, Jamie vowed. No stalling with long showers. No delaying the inevitable look of disappointment in her eyes when she heard the truth. There was nothing else for it but to disillusion her.

As soon as the cameras left them, Jamie promised to himself. He wouldn't waste a moment. He would come clean.

***

Nightfall approached and Cora yawned theatrically, hoping the crew might take the hint and sign off early.

The bungalow beckoned, its thatched roof cast in a pink light from the sun's waning rays. Surely, the sun would dip below the horizon soon.

"Later," Jamie had hissed under his breath as she toweled off from her dunking, just before the sound tech lassoed the mics back around their necks. "I'll explain when we're alone."

But Cora didn't want an explanation. She wanted him.

The tension had built all day. She couldn't stand it any longer. His lingering touches, applying sunblock to her skin... his hand on her lower back as they took their seats at dinner... Fingertips trailing icicles of fire.

Now his hand brushed hers as they made their way side-by-side up the sandy path to the bungalow's front door. She recognized the tacit invitation and stretched her fingers wide,  hooking his pinky finger with hers.

He glanced downward, noting the connection, but made no comment. He'd been uncharacteristically quiet all evening. Barely a word of conversation passed between them over dinner, not that Cora had minded. The introvert in her was more than content eat in companionable silence, listening to the crash of the waves against the rocks.

But she sensed something had shifted with him, ever since the game. Perhaps he had revealed more about himself than he'd intended.

But why? As good looking as he was, he had to know the fact on the final card would make him infinitely more attractive in her eyes.

**************************************

FACT
Highest educational degree:
Doctor of Philosophy in Comparative Literature and Film.

**************************************

So that was the real story behind all his book quotes and movie references. No wonder he gave off the impression of having memorized the entire Western canon. What had he said to her in bed last night? "Perhaps I'm semi-literate after all..."

"Semi-literate" must be one of those quirky British-isms that tended to confound Americans, like lorry instead of truck or lift instead of elevator. She thought she was familiar with most of those, but she hadn't realized semi-literate stood for just-as-educated-as-you-are, you-condescending-twit.

Cora blushed, remembering all the other cringeworthy things she'd said to him.

"People who reference modern theoretical physics in conversation generally don't look like you."

"What do such people look like in your experience?"

How shallow could she be? And he had played along, letting her swell with smug superiority. Her dunking in the tank had been well deserved.

But Jamie wasn't entirely innocent either. He could have corrected her at any time. He'd had a thousand openings. Like when she told him she had two doctorates—the first thing she ever said to him!—he might have mentioned that he had one of his own.

No, he must have found her cluelessness amusing. He'd been playing games with her this whole time. She should be equal parts mortified and furious. She probably would be both, if she weren't so distracted by the way he kept touching her all day long.

But why wouldn't he want to talk about it on camera?

Cora longed to ask him more.

She longed to do a number of things with him, actually. Satisfying her curiosity was somewhere on the list, but not directly at the top.

She would have to bide her time a little longer though. A new sight greeted them as they strolled over the next rise. Beside the bungalow, the crew had rigged up a hammock between a pair of palm trees. Mel waved them toward it, careful to remain outside the camera shot herself.

Jamie veered off the main path and led Cora as directed. He arranged himself within the hammock but Cora hesitated, uncertain if she should join him.

She had a history with hammocks. They always looked more enticing than they felt. Too precarious, leaving her in perpetual fear she might lean too far to one side or the other and find herself unceremoniously deposited on the ground.

Jamie beckoned with a lazy arm. "Come on," he said as he caught her hand and dragged her toward him. "Plenty of room for two."

Cora let him draw her into the tangled webwork. "I'll fall out," she warned. "I always do."

Jamie chuckled. "Always?"

"You'll see." She crawled in carefully beside him, clutching the edges of the hammock with whitened knuckles as it swayed from side to side beneath the shifting weight.

He made room for her to lean into the crook of his shoulder. "Hold on to me. I make excellent ballast."

She elbowed him lightly in the ribs. "See, I knew you must be good at something."

"Fact," he concurred, with one corner of his mouth hitching upward. "My greatest talent: Dead weight."

His arm tightened securely around her waist, and the tension ebbed as she allowed herself to rest against him in the center of the hammock. "Don't let go," she whispered.

"No, I've got you," he murmured back, giving her a squeeze. "Safe and sound."

They swayed together gently, and the sensation reminded her of how it felt in bed with him last night. Floating in the darkness, with no light to guide her vision and no internal sense of her body's position in space. Only the firmness of his chest and arms to keep her anchored.

It was a complicated feeling, to be steadied by an object that may or may not prove as solid as it appeared—a feeling both soothing and terrifying at once.

"Safe and sound," he had murmured, and she found herself mesmerized by the way his mouth moved when he spoke. At the sight of it, the ache in her belly smoldered with a slowly spreading heat.  

Why did she have the strongest urge to kiss him?

So unlike her. But maybe she would enjoy it with Jamie. No doubt, he brought a certain expertise. He would know just what to do, to keep her safely ensconced here in her current state of physical attraction. Safe and sound from the dreaded ick that always loomed beneath.

The shadows lengthened, but the last vestiges of daylight refused to give way to the coming night. Cora couldn't take it. If she had to hold out any longer, she might just burst into flame.

She made eye contact with Mel, and the producer seemed to understand.

"I think we've got enough for now," she heard Mel telling Robbie. "Should we head out early and let these kids get some rest?"

Cora bit her lip, sending the producer a silent word of thanks. See, Mel wasn't so bad. Probably a lovely person in other circumstances. Cora liked to think of the producers as little more than tormentors, but Mel might just have a heart.

Although subtlety could not be counted among Mel's many virtues. No one within a mile radius could have missed that wink she shot in Cora's direction, Jamie included.

He was gentleman enough not to comment on it. "Thank God," was all he said, the moment they'd extricated themselves from the hammock's clutches. "I'm desperate for a shower."

He ducked past her with a sidelong look and disappeared into the bungalow as the crew packed up their gear.

He saw right through her. Cora had no doubt. Her intentions could not be more transparent.

But what was so bad about transparency? Another word for knowing what you want and having the self-confidence to go for it.

She would go for it tonight, Cora decided then and there. No more dancing around. No more games. No more hints. No more waiting for the man to make the first move.

Full transparency. That's what this evening called for. Starting with her attire.

Cora headed inside the bungalow and made a beeline for her suitcase, rifling through crumpled swimwear until she found the garment she had in mind. Not technically lingerie. A gauzy kimono, meant to be worn over a bathing suit. The sheer fabric concealed no more than a veil.

Did she have the audacity to wear this over nothing? The thought made her flush, even as she pulled it on.

From the bathroom, she heard the water from the shower turn off and gurgle down the drain.

Any second now, Jamie would emerge.

Cora shivered. She slipped on a pair of panties, but she left the kimono open, draping loosely between her breasts. She resisted the urge to wrap her arms around herself and hold it closed. She would give him no opportunity to mistake her intentions.

Cora heard the creak of hinges as his bedroom door opened and shut. She headed into the bathroom, pausing to inspect her reflection in the mirror, summoning up the courage to follow in his wake.

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