Then

Despite the February weather, Paris is incredible, and we spend the first day, just the seven of us girls, touring famous sites while the crew collects footage. We climb the Eiffel Tower and tour Notre Dame. The weather may be cold, but our coats are warm. The cameras following us attract a lot of attention, and random people stop to take our picture.

Camila flirts with everyone she sees, blowing kisses and tossing her hair. We order crêpes au beurre from a street vendor, where Camila's attempts at ordering in French have us rolling. The man making the crêpes proposes to her in broken English. "You...marry...me," he keeps repeating, thumping his hand on his chest. Cam thumps her hand in imitation. "Moi...marry... Josh!"

The world seems larger and lovelier than ever, the French people delightful, and during my one-on-one with Josh during our second week in the City of Love, I tell him I love him again, because once wasn't enough.

"I know you're not there yet," I reassure him as we walk through the narrow cobblestone streets of the Marais at night, our held hands swinging between us, the air chilly and sweet and my feelings even sweeter, "but I can't hold back."

It's true. I've found that not even my fears are enough to make me pull back. They coexist uncomfortably, woven into my passion like two hands meeting, one cold, one warm.

"That's okay," Josh says. He's wearing jeans, a white T-shirt and a black leather jacket, with a stocking cap to keep his ears warm, which contrasts nicely with the soft lavender cocoon coat I'm wearing over my bold floral pantsuit. The sexy and the sweet, the hard and the soft. "I love that you're all in."

We end the night making out against a wall in a narrow pedestrian-only street.

When we come up for air, I'm so high on love that it feels safe to ask Josh the question that I've been turning around privately since my talk with Cam.

"You know how you said sometimes the other girls...talk?" I say. "About each other, or whatever?"

"Mmm," he murmurs, like he's still lost in the kissing zone.

"Well, sometimes, we talk about you." I boop him on the nose with a finger.

He doesn't seem at all concerned. Just amused.

"And what do you talk about?" he says. Before I can answer, he brushes his lips against mine, then comes in for another pass, sweeping his tongue across my lower lip. I gasp a little as his tongue slips into my mouth. My head falls back and I feel the gravity of his body, hovering just above mine. Heat drips down, pooling in my gut, between my legs...

Using all my self-control, I bracket his face in my hands and gently remove him. He pretends to strain against me.

"I was trying to say—"

He advances toward my lips again, but I keep his face clamped between my hands.

"—that Cam and I see you differently, and...it makes me wonder."

He pulls back. I drop my hands.

All of a sudden I'm the teensiest bit nervous.

"Don't take this the wrong way," I say, "but sometimes I worry that I'm not seeing the full picture. Like, I know you've been real with me throughout this process. But when I hear Cam talk about you, it feels like she's talking about someone else. Not the Josh I know."

He takes a half step back. "Are you accusing me of—"

"No! No, I just—" I lick my lips. "Are there parts of you that you're kind of holding back when you're with me? And...is it me? Like, do I make you feel like you have to...repress anything? Because I don't want to. I want you to be yourself with me. Your whole self."

He stuffs his hands in his pockets, and I wrap my arms around my torso. Suddenly my nose feels cold. I want to press further and say, Is this real? Or is this just TV, and I'm the fool? But he's already reacting so strongly...

"Want to walk?" he says.

"Sure." We set off. Not holding hands.

He looks down at his feet as he talks. "It's true that you and Cam bring out different sides of me. That's why I feel so...torn between you." The cobblestones are worn and shining under the soft streetlight. "With her, it's like my younger side comes out. College Josh, who just wanted to party and be adored and have a good time."

"And with me?" I prompt softly.

"Our relationship feels more mature."

"But we have fun together, too."

"Yeah. We laugh a lot. But the flavor is more..."

"Cantaloupe?" I hazard, desperate to lighten the moment even though I'm the one who introduced the heaviness. Prove to him that mature doesn't have to mean boring.

He laughs. "Yeah."

"Tell me more about College Josh."

"I guess I was insecure. I didn't know it at the time. I really didn't want to end up like my mom. Divorced, miserable, alone. So I overcompensated. I got a girlfriend—"

"Stalker girl."

He nods. "—and partied my ass off. Tried to grab happiness by the balls, you know? Dad made Mom so miserable. I didn't want anyone to have that power over me. I wanted to make my own life. And never be anyone's victim."

"That makes sense."

"I guess that's why the stalker girlfriend stuff was so intense. It felt like my worst nightmare. Like, she's going to make me miserable and there's nothing I can do about it." We walk in silence. He seems deep in thought, so I don't interrupt.

"I know it wasn't Mom's fault that Dad left," he finally says. "Dad's the asshole. But I guess I kind of hated her for it anyway." He laughs bitterly. "I guess that's pretty messed up. Despising her for being weak."

Is weakness despicable? He was so tender with me when I was weak, after the attack...but maybe this is different.

"What's your relationship with her like now?" I say.

"Great." Josh grins, and I'm so relieved to see him smiling. "Mom doesn't love that I'm on the show, to be honest. She's not a fan of reality TV unless it's home makeover shows. But once she sees me happy, she'll get over it."

"I hope I get to meet her. How will she feel about...you know."

"What?"

I whack him on the arm. "That I'm a Synth."

He acts surprised, like he forgot, which is...good?

"She might have trouble at first. But like I said, if I'm happy, she'll come around."

Okay. Not ideal; I'd prefer to hear his mom would embrace me with open arms. But I appreciate his honesty, and—isn't honesty what I was looking for?

"So. Have I addressed your concerns?" says Josh, coming to a stop. We're about to move from the narrow, solitary street onto a busier thoroughfare.

"Yeah," I say, my eyes taking in the curve of his cheekbone, the little twist in his lip. He's so damn beautiful. "Thanks for being so open. I appreciate it. A lot."

His grin crinkles. And suddenly Josh's hand is at the small of my back where I like it, and he's spinning me against the nearby wall. He braces an arm above me. Shadows settle into the angles of his jaw, his brow, turning his eyes into wells of darkness.

"Now, where did we leave off, Miss Julia?"

I stroke his cheek, rough with stubble. "What you're trying to say right now is, less analyzing, more kiss—"

But his mouth pressing into mine cuts off my words.

I've never been so deliciously silenced.