Then

"You're going to the City of Love—Paris!" cries Matt.

It's pure, unbridled emotion. Zoe's crying, Emma's whooping, Camila is clasping her hands like she won a pageant.

We've just endured another rose ceremony elimination, and we're down to seven girls. Only four of us will return from Paris as contestants. Things are getting real.

Last week's trip took us to Indianapolis, Josh's home base, and away from the eternal summer of LA. We didn't meet his family or see his condo, but I did get a feel for the city, despite the nasty February wintry mix that fell half the time. Indy has an up-and-coming artsy-hipster vibe mixed with an ineffable Midwestern wholesomeness, and I loved it. I can totally see myself living there with Josh.

"I've never left the country," bawls Zoe. "I'm just so grateful!"

Neither have I, and I feel flushed with excitement.

Champagne is brought out, confetti is released, a giant French flag is unfurled. Josh pops the champagne and a man in a striped shirt waltzes around playing "La Vie en Rose" on the accordion. It's total delightful chaos.

"Who speaks French?" Emma is asking as Josh pours champagne into eight cut-glass flutes. "Does anyone speak French?" No one does, but only Emma seems to care.

As Josh hands me a glass, he leans in, his warm breath brushing my skin.

"I can't wait to show you the world, Julia Walden."

"I can't wait to see it with you, Josh LaSala," I return.

I'm about to get a taste for that bigger world Cam was talking about...but she was wrong. It's not a choice between the world and Josh. I can have both.

Everyone disperses into knots of conversation. Zoe cries into Josh's blazer. One girl is announcing her packing strategy for international travel. "Step one, try to limit yourself to six pairs of shoes!" Another is bemoaning her unflattering passport photo. I just smile.

Once again, I was the second girl called in the rose ceremony, after Cam. She's been called first almost every week, and it's become a comforting routine to see her standing in the "chosen ones" area. She always smiles as I walk toward her and mouths, Bitch. It's our cute little ritual.

Speaking of Cam, here she comes, her dark hair in an elegant messy bun, her figure exuberant in an off-shoulder chartreuse gown with a slit all the way to her hip.

"Were you surprised to see Sarah go?" she says.

Cam's other ritual with me is talking shit about whoever just got eliminated. Well—she talks. I listen.

"I'm always surprised to see who goes," I admit. Every week, I can't imagine Josh sending anyone home. I always have a feeling of unreality as some poor girl who doesn't feel ready to go is forced to leave forever.

"Would you be shocked to know that Josh already told me he was sending her home, on the DL?" says Cam in a smug tone.

"Yes," I say, my cheeks heating. Cameras are picking up our conversation. How is Sarah going to feel when she watches this episode and hears this little dig? I may be in love with Josh. But it doesn't mean I approve of this lack of consideration.

"Don't act so shocked," says Cam breezily. "We all know she was just here to promote her skin-care brand. What was it called?"

LaMareaX, I could supply, and it was more than skin care—a "full lifestyle brand," according to Sarah—but that's not the point. It's Josh's behavior that's concerning to me.

"It's just not very...gentlemanly of him."

"Gentlemanly?" says Cam with a look of exaggerated surprise. "Oh, honey. I wouldn't call Josh gentlemanly."

There's a nasty slosh in my stomach, but I play it cool. "That's how he is with me. What's he like with you?"

"You know. Like guys are."

I don't know, actually. "Which is..."

"Sooo much more emotional than they realize. God. Like, guys think they're all strong and manly or whatever, but they are absolute children on the inside. Their egos are tiny fragile little toys. The wounded pride! The temper tantrums! It's all so dramatic for them."

My eyes are suddenly hot. I blink fast.

"Did I upset you?" says Cam, looking at me with concern, but also like I'm a scientific specimen she's confused about how to classify.

"No! It's just..." To my shock and horror, tears are brimming. "Josh is so nice with me." The words tumble out urgent, fast, and at a whisper. "He's been such a gentleman, so open and considerate, and he says he wants to be a better man when he's with me, and the Josh you're talking about doesn't seem like the same Josh that—" Tears stop me.

What if he isn't what he seems? And why hasn't this possibility occurred to me before tonight? My whole self is in this. My whole heart. Is his?

Cam lays a cool hand on my bare arm.

"Shhh. Hey. You know what this is, Red? It's two different sides of Josh. One comes out with you, one comes out with me. I bring out his crazier, more vulnerable emotional side, and you bring out this steadier, like, stronger person he's striving to be."

Worse and worse. "So he's real with you and fake with me?"

"No!" Her tone is conciliatory. "Not like that! One is more...more actual, and one is aspirational. Both are equally real!" Cam is starting to look distressed at my distress. Like she'll say anything now to calm me down. But I don't want her to say anything. I want the truth.

"Are you trying to tell me I don't know the real Josh?" I catch the shadow of a camera out of the corner of my eye and I almost regret saying this. But it's too important to let slide.

Cam tsks gently. "I think you do know him, Julia. Calm down, okay? Just keep moving forward, and everything will become clearer as you go. And please—" She smiles teasingly. "Don't become a second Zoe, because I swear to God that will be the straw that finally fucking breaks me."

We both glance at Zoe, who, obviously buzzed and done crying, is trying to start a conga line with the accordion player.

"Sorry," I say with a shaky breath, turning back to Camila. "I'll try to chill."

"I mean, your concerns are real. Like, how well do either of us know Josh? This isn't real life. But he's not an orange. You can't peel him." I crack a grin at her metaphor. "He's a person with layers and complications and a three-dimensional personality that has to be discovered little by little. Just keep being honest and keep asking for his honesty."

"Okay." I suck in my breath. I have to calm down, even though I'm still shaken. The casual way Cam just said, This isn't real life? Maybe it's not real life for these girls. Cam has her modeling. Sarah has her skin care. Gill has her lawyering. For me, the show is all I've known.

I know I haven't been alive that long. I know I'm learning. But there's a line between innocence and foolishness, and I don't want to be the only one who couldn't see what was right in front of her. The strain of the accordion grows as the musician twirls past me. "La Vie en Rose"...seems timely. A reminder that the show I'm living through is carefully orchestrated, designed as much for the rosy experience of future viewers as it is for present-day us.

My feelings are real. That, I don't doubt. I just have to make sure that Josh is being real, too.

"You got this," Camila proclaims, delivering a smack on my butt. Then she mouths, Bitch, and I have to smile.

Cam heads off to talk to someone else, and I take a second to reorient myself, out of my mental world and back into the real one. Or rather, into the world that may or may not be real, but is also my entire lived experience.

"Everything okay?"

I startle—Josh has sneaked up behind me. "Oh, yes," I laugh, hoping my mascara hasn't run and my nose isn't too red. It always gets red when I cry.

"Looked like you guys were really getting into it," says Josh, clinking his glass against mine. We both sip. The champagne is cool and dry. Soothing, after the heat of my emotion.

"Yes! Well...you know how Cam is." I smile. "Spicy."

"Yes, sirree," Josh says in a fake Southern drawl. "She's a whole jalape?o."

A hint of fun returns to my heart. It's because of Josh. I love how he can blow in like a fresh breeze and reset me.

"What does that make me?" I tease.

"Hmmmm." Josh squints. "Gold. When I'm with you, I feel like I've struck gold."

"No fair! I wanted a food item, too."

"Fine! What do you want? A cantaloupe?"

I make a face.

"Your hair is kind of orange," he continues, "and you're mellow and sweet and—"

I shimmy my hips. "Juicy?"

He cracks up, and so do I. Hearing him laugh, my fears don't exactly flee. I have more digging to do before I can put these new concerns to rest.

But France is ahead, and there's plenty more time, and for tonight, I have a rose.