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“So…is this silence going to be indicative of the next five weeks?” Nero drums agitated fingers on the steering wheel of his 1966 Thunderbird. He’d gone out on a limb, decided to pick up the star of his show at the airport.  So far, aside from confirming identity, they’d exchanged a grand total of five words.

The young man in the seat beside him shifts, and Nero belatedly wonders if he might have been asleep. He’s not, turning with a vaguely annoyed expression to look at Nero rather than out the window where the costal ocean shimmers in the California sunshine.

“What would you like me to say?” He asks, lazily.

“Something, maybe anything.  There are no cameras here, no script,” Nero steals glances at him from the corner of his eye.

Angelo Lagusa cuts a striking profile, ivory skin, delicate features, jet black hair and enchanting golden eyes. On looks alone, he’s a prime choice for this season of The Bachelor.

Unfortunately, Nero knows all too well the type these shows draw in: petty, shallow pretty boys, high-maintenance and difficult to manage. The least he can hope for is that this one will have enough obnoxious personality to make for a good drama. Although based on the taciturn nature Angelo has thus far displayed, Nero has serious doubts.  A sullen, scowling Bachelor doesn’t sell, for that he could have simply gone into modeling.

“You don’t know how to talk to me,” Angelo intones, voice neutral, “is this your first time being director?”

And that, that really cuts Nero because it’s true.  Yes, the Vanetti network has a host of programs under their wings, but it’s the first time he has been given the chance to direct one of them.  On top of that, it needs to be an utterly perfect season of The Bachelor, it’s the best chance Nero has to move on to different shows.  He doesn’t want to be doing reality TV his whole life.

Graciously, the filming location appears on the horizon and Nero pulls into the driveway.  He kills the engine before answering.

“You’re right.  It is my first time being director of a show on my own,” he gets out of the car and goes to Angelo’s side, opening the door for him before he can open it himself.

“Then you can start by talking to me like an actual person,” Angelo looks up through long dark lashes, “don’t worry, I won’t bite.”

His tone is vaguely feral and ignites Nero in fear and excitement in equal measure. He might bite and Nero might want him to.

An attendant appears and takes Angelo’s suitcase and carry on out of the back of the car.  He adjusts his sunglasses, gold rims, which accent his bleached high-waisted shorts, striped t-shirt, and matching bleached chambray button up. Nero leads him to headquarters, a trailer where all the cameras feed into. A handful of people await.

“This is Fio, our producer and my younger sister,” Nero motions to a beautiful blonde woman, undeniably related to Nero in looks.

“Vanno is in charge of the cameras,” a burly man with dark hair and a square jaw raises his hand to wave hello, friendly smile on his lips.

“Where’s your younger brother?” Angelo asks.

Fio looks mildly impressed, “you did your research on us.  He’s one of the contestants.  You’ll be meeting him this evening at the cocktail party.”

“Whoa! The new Bachelor!” Tronco, the intern, exclaims as he enters the trailer, arms full of mint-infused lemonades.

“That’s me,” Angelo shrugs, in fact, he couldn’t look any less enthused to be there.

“Are you going to manage more than one facial expression for the duration of shooting?” Nero snaps, irritation with the young man reaching a breaking point, “that might have worked for you last job, but not here.”

“Nero!” he distantly hears Fio hiss.

The trailer goes uncomfortably silent, save for Tronco awkwardly trying to hand out all the lemonades before retreating to the safety of a corner.

“There are ten perfectly eligible guys out there who want to get with you. Your only job is to go out there and be charming, cute, and sexy and make them fall for you and fight over you. I don’t care how you usually are, but for the next five weeks your ass belongs to me,” he punctuates his rant by jabbing a finger at Angelo’s face.

“Is that all of me you want to belong to you?” He asks, innocuous. He doesn’t flinch away from Nero’s proximity.

Nero feels another deluge of words building up behind his lips but Fio grabs his arm in a vice-grip.

“Nero come outside with me I have to discuss something with you,” she leaves no room for negotiation and begins to drag Nero outside.  “Also Tronco, take Mr. Lagusa to his trailer, the makeup team is going to want to get their hands on him before tonight.”

Once outside the trailer, Nero braces himself.

Fio’s arms are crossed, manicured nails drumming on her arm, “alright first of all what the hell was that? Full offense, this is not a dick measuring contest.”

“What was what?  That brat clearly isn’t reality show material! How is he going to make everyone fall for him with the personality of a cardboard box?” He argues, feeling unduly chastised.

She throws her arms in the air, “ok, it’s concerning, but maybe he’s just saving himself for when he’s on camera.  He was nominated for a reason Nero, we didn’t just pluck the first pretty face off an ad agency listing.”

Nero feels mildly relieved. Mildly.

“Look if you want this to be the ‘best season ever’ or whatever, you need to give him a chance,” Fio sighs.

Nero agrees, grudgingly and beams at her, “what would I do without you?”

“Apparently, fall apart on the first day of shooting,” she teases, lightly punching Nero’s shoulder.

“Rude.”

“I’m going to go do camera checks with Vanno, see you tonight,” she waves over her shoulder.

“Yeah don’t have too much fun with your fiancé,” Nero shouts after her.

She flips him off and it’s enough to bring a smile to Nero’s face.

*

Angelo looks like a whole different person when he emerges in a fitted charcoal suit, a stark contrast from the light, breezy clothes he wore earlier.

Part of the beach has been converted to a chic patio setting for the cocktail party, lights strung between lattice arches, tall standing tables decorated with candles floating in a dish of colored water with sea-shell and white quartz accents.  Attendants keep drink trays abundant, deliveries from a setup bar, off camera.

Angelo moves through the environment with ease, an ethereal being conjured from the ocean and gleaming lights.  He makes conversation with each contestant present, a drink always in hand. Unlike earlier, he simply oozes charisma, seeming to know exactly what to say and when, a well-timed smile, a salacious wink, a subtle brush of hands.

To Nero’s slight annoyance, he seems to hit things off with Frate the best.  He can see them chatting amicably in the distance, but he’ll have to wait until they watch through the tapes to know if Frate felt the need to share any embarrassing childhood stories involving Nero. 

The other person Angelo seems to have an instant connection to is a rather plain, bespectacled man named Corteo.  Angelo doesn’t need to play any of his cards with him, he’s already enamored.  It grinds on Nero’s nerves more than he would like.  Checking his records, he finds that, in addition to Corteo being a microbiologist, he and Angelo had been friends growing up in the same town.  He can roughly glean that they’d lost contact after graduating high school and now they were reconnecting on the show. 

One other contestant really defined themselves during the cocktail party, not in regards to Angelo, but just in general.  Fango, with his outlandish bob cut, loud, unfiltered mouth, and aggressive flirting, made him a perfect reality TV addition.  Each season needed their fair share of drama, and based off tonight alone, Nero was certain he could be easily persuaded to stir things up, if necessary.

By the end of the event, all the contestants line up and Angelo presents each one a rose, welcoming them to the show and wishing them luck for the coming weeks, emphasizing how much he was looking forward to getting to know everyone and finding love. He hits the perfect balance of sincerity and sappiness, something which can easily be overdone or not done with enough flare to maintain interest, Angelo handles it with ease.

After the opening ceremony, contestants are escorted back their trailers, instructed to rest up and, if necessary, sleep off any hangovers, for day two of filming, featuring a group beach date.

The next morning Nero reads over the daily agenda: group beach date beginning at noon with a series of games to earn contestants more talking time with Angelo.  During the hottest part of the day, contestants will convene under a tent and enjoy a light, refreshing lunch, followed by casual interacting time and concluding with a bonfire. It’s a full day, and Nero needs to make sure to save time at the end of it to check in with Angelo and get his opinion of the candidates.  He should start drawing up a narrative, giving more focus and screen time to candidates who have a higher chance of moving forward.

Nero gives Vanno the thumbs up to start the cameras rolling, then almost falls over when he sees the swimsuit Angelo chose. They are certainly not from among the stylist approved options, he must have brought it from home and somehow charmed the style department into letting him have his way. 

To maintain some semblance of decency, and probably to prevent getting baked like a lobster, Angelo wears a white short-sleeved button up, left open, over his shoulders. The wind shifts, blowing the hem of the shirt up like a cape and giving Nero an eyeful of tight tight speedo, a tasteful pastel blue, with an almost comical cartoon pineapple right over the dick.

Day two of filming: Nero dies of an aneurysm.

He doesn’t, but it takes a long few minutes for his useful, director brain to reboot.

Angelo has a long standing love affair with pineapples, mentioned often even back in his interviews, the joke being that anyone he met on the show would always be second to his love for pineapple.  Fans of course, took this information and ran, discussing on internet forums about whether the pineapple might be a metaphor for Angelo’s personality: prickly exterior, sweet interior.  Nero has yet to be graced with the latter part of the theory.  Instead, he rationalizes: the pineapple speedo, though unexpected, is not the most radical thing to ever appear on reality TV and two, it fit with the contestant’s personal style so the whole thing was actually fine and Nero should really just focus on making sure no one is cheating at the relay game they’re currently engaged in.

Fango and Strega appear to be two of the more aggressive contestants, teaming up in the relay.  The teams would receive points based on their performances in a variety of beach games, which would determine how close to Angelo they would be able to sit at their lunch. In the meantime Angelo flits around, cheering everyone on, flirting with contestants as they complete the relay.  He owns the scene with a detached confidence which only seems to intrigue the contestants more.  Nero may have severely underestimated him.

At the end of the games, Tigre ends up in first, followed by Fango and Strega, with Barbero in dead last. Though that ranking was definitely from a lack of effort. Corteo fell second to last, though he already has the advantage of knowing Angelo.  To be fair, most of the games relied fairly heavily on athletic ability.  Tigre is a former football player.

Under the shade of a gauzy tent, the contestants gather for a refreshing lunch of finger foods.  Someone makes the suggestion that the contestants closest to the Bachelor should feed him.  Tigre, to Angelo’s right, does so looking extremely flustered when Angelo’s lips brush his fingertips.  He seems like a good guy, though Nero’s not entirely convinced that Angelo in into the burly, beefcake type. Fango, to Angelo’s left, is all too eager to feed him, making a big show of reaching across the table to grab an elegant truffle, despite many repeat dishes, so that he’s forced to be in close bodily proximity with Angelo.  He seems mildly amused by the dramatic display, going so far as to lean in when Fango presses the chocolate to his lips.

Fortunately, in the ensuing conversation, Angelo focuses on talking more to Tigre, so it stays sane.  In the background, Fango speaks loudly and animatedly about his chef business, not seeming to care that the attention of the Bachelor is not on him. He’s satisfied so long as other attention is focused on him. 

Nero nods to himself, with the right coaching, Fango would be a great tool to keep the season interesting.

Some of the camera men chat amongst themselves when they call a break.

“The bachelor this year is an interesting pick,” one mentions.

“Yeah, very different, usually they go for your standard beefcake guy in a muscle shirt.”

Fio interrupts them, “yup we definitely took that into account.  Nero helped with the selection process.” She shoots him a look that essentially says, which is why your tastes subconsciously contributed to our choosing.

He sends her back a look that he hopes their sibling telepathy will interpret as: I’m disowning you.

She smirks and wanders over to Vanno, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, showing off the conspicuous shine of her engagement ring.

The rest of the afternoon goes smoothly, leading organically into a bonfire into the evening.  Angelo does a superb job of giving each contestant equal attention, not drifting to any favorites, yet. It’s admirable, especially since each contestant decides to make a s’more for Angelo.  He’d admitted in interviews that he had “a bit of a sweet tooth”, which is total bullshit because he eats every.  Single. One.

Running on the sugar high of the century, Angelo takes it like a champ and barely seems affected, more cheerful, possibly.

When they retire, Nero wanders over to Angelo’s trailer, hoping to catch him before he crashes.

Angelo opens the door for him, slight look of surprise on his face.

“To whom do I owe the pleasure?” Nero can’t tell if he’s teasing or being a snot.  Neither would really surprise him.

“I just wanted to talk to you about your first impressions of the contestants, I’ll need to start drawing up a potential narrative for the season,” Nero explains, accepting a seat on one of the low couches divided by a low glass table from a plush loveseat in Angelo’s trailer.

The younger man takes a seat across from him, lounging in the chair, legs crossed.

“Narrative? I thought the whole point of reality TV was to drop me into the pit with ten other guys and whatever happens… happens.”

“Unfortunately, it’s not that simple, we have to make sure the season has appropriate amounts of drama and twists to ensure interest,” Nero explains, hands folded in his lap, “you just keep doing what you’re doing, it’s my job to sit back here, pull strings, and make it look like it happened organically.”

“I see,” Angelo drums his fingers on the armrest.

“So, why don’t you give me a rundown of your impressions of the other contestants before you hit a sugar low,” he tries to keep his tone amicable.

“Sugar low?” Angelo frowns.

“Yeah, because you had like…ten s’mores.”

“Not counting the ones I made for myself,” he smirks.

“Are you human?” Nero deadpans.

Angelo shrugs, “I have a bit of sweet tooth.”

“Yeah ‘a bit’ my ass,” Nero mutters, smile tugging at his lips.

The younger man leans forward, hands folded on the glass table, “alright, the contestants.  Here’s my unedited opinion.”

Nero mirrors his posture, “hit me.”

“Strega, for starters, is kinky as shit.  I’m not sure you could air anything he talks about on television without some extreme censoring,” Angelo ponders.

“He told you as much?” Nero sounds incredulous.

“He told me enough.  Also, between us, he might be a spy for a rival network, cause he seemed pretty interested in the finer points of production and marketing strategies,” he holds his hands up, “luckily, I know nothing.”

“Noted,” Nero mulls over the information.

“Speaking of kinky, Fango is definitely into masochism.  I’m not sure what to make of him,” Angelo admits.

“He is quite the character.  If it’s alright with you, I was planning on keeping him on for a few weeks for drama and entertainment reasons.”

“Fine by me,” he shrugs, “so then…Volpe is pretty but he hasn’t made much of an impression on me yet, Tigre is a little dumb but seems sweet and genuine.  Not really my type though.”

“You have a type?” Nero drawls, “what is it?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Angelo smirks, “and speaking of not my type, Serpente seems like a chill guy but I’m really not into silver foxes.”

“Fair enough, we wanted to introduce you a variety,” Nero explains.

“Cerotto is a funny guy…maybe a little too goofy but I’ll give him a chance with the rest,” Angelo pauses a moment, thoughtful, “Barbero…I have zero chemistry with him.  On top of that, he seems to just not like me.”

“Yeah, I know him outside of this show…I guess he misinterpreted what it would involve when I invited him to be on the show,” Nero sighs, lacing his fingers together.

Still grinning, Angelo teases, “I bet he thought you were going to be the bachelor.”

Nero’s face flushes, “what? No!”

 “So that leaves…Frate,” he hesitates.

“Yeah you’re in dangerous territory now,” Nero says it with a smile.

“Honestly, he seems like a great kid, but possibly a little young.  I couldn’t keep up with his meme and Vine references.  Reminded me of you a little bit though,” Angelo seems to mull over his thoughts.

Nero wonders what sort of inhuman powers of perception Angelo must have to notice the connections between two people he’s known for less than forty-eight hours.

“Full disclosure, he’s using this show as a stepping stone, he doesn’t want to win, just wants to get his name out in a big way,” Nero admits.

“I’ll keep that in mind the next time we go on a date.”

Nero doesn’t miss the conspiratorial gleam in his eye, “so that leaves Corteo and Ronaldo.”

“Yes, it’s been really nice to reconnect with Corteo,” his says fondly.

“You knew Corteo before now?” Nero ventures.

“Yeah, we were best friends as children,” Angelo nods, a soft smile gracing his lips, no doubt reminiscing on childhood memories.

It makes Nero want to be a part of his memories, to have that sweet warm smile trained in his direction.

“Oh right and Ronaldo,” he falls quiet, “he’s the bottomest bottom I’ve ever met.”

“He told you?” Nero blurts.

“No…I just get that vibe off him,” he leans back in the chair.

“And you?” Nero asks before common sense stops him.

“Hm?”

“Do you have a, um, preference?” He flounders, realizing that he’s accidentally traipsed into extremely personal territory.  They’d been having such a nice, easy conversation too…

Angelo’s expression shifts, eyes half lidded, predatory, “want to go to my room and find out?”

Nero’s brain shorts out long enough for Angelo’s face to go from sultry to outright concerned.

He tries to cover his inability to think straight (or think at all) with a cough, “um, no thank you, that would be imprudent of me.”

Angelo shrugs, unaffected, “I do have a preference, but no spoilers, wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise.” He holds a finger up to his lips.

“And as far as Ronaldo goes,” he continues as if none of the previous chunk of the conversation even happened, “he also has a douche-y personality.  Big turn off.”

“Alright, who do you want to eliminate first?” Nero asks vaguely, still buffering a bit.

“Probably Strega, in case he is a spy and for the sake of network decency.  And Barbero, no one wants to be here less than him,” he looks pleased with his choices.

“That…I can work with,” Nero stands to leave.

Angelo stands in tandem, “before you go, I have a question.  You said that you just need to make the show look like it happened organically, I know all reality shows have their fair amount of string-pulling, so you’re implying that everything here just has to look real, it doesn’t have to be real?”

He takes a good thirty seconds to consider before answering, “yes. It doesn’t need to be real.” A pause. “But you’re here, if there’s someone you like, you should pursue them.”

“Do you really think people find true love on reality shows?” Angelo asks dryly.

“Do you?” Nero counters.

“No, I think it’s all a bunch of smoke and mirrors.” He crosses his arms, “People want to believe they’re seeing true love unfold, but it’s not plausible.  A lot of things can happen on camera, but the real stuff, what really matters, I think that can only happen when the cameras aren’t rolling. The best we can do is keep up that illusion, give the audience a good show.”

Nero is fairly impressed, he hasn’t been giving Angelo enough credit.  He’s not the cotton-headed pretty-boy he’d expected, and on multiple occasions he’d shown himself to be cunning if not outright manipulative. Nero would need to tread carefully with him.

“Of all things, I wouldn’t have pegged you as a cynic,” he remarks.

“I think you pegged me as a lot of things,” Angelo retorts.

“Yeah I, sorry about, yesterday,” Nero scratches his head ruefully.

“I’m over it.  I had plenty of preconceived notions about you as a director.”

“And now?”

“I’d say I’m pleasantly surprised,” Angelo smiles, more with his eyes than anything.  Somehow it feels more genuine than the wide, almost vicious smiles he reserves for the cameras.

Nero feels a glow of warmth stab his chest, “In that…the feeling is mutual.” He turns around to leave, before his stay becomes suspiciously long.

“If you do…find someone you like…tell me,” he looks over his shoulder, “I realize we had a whole talk about how fake reality TV is but…you’ve been given a perfect opportunity to prove yourself wrong.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll let you know,” it sounds like a threat rather than a promise.

The rest of the week goes about as well as reality TV can.  Nero allows a certain amount of shenanigans involving mostly Fango, stoking a bit of drama between contestants as Angelo begins to show favoritism towards a handful, shifting each day to a different bunch.  Though he does make an appoint to ignore Barbero and brush off Strega.

By the time the rose ceremony arrives, it’s not a massive surprise who was eliminated. They both take it well (Barbero, a little too well) for the cameras. They cut filming short for the day and let the cast mingle a bit before everyone is escorted back to their trailers.  No sense in creating an environment for drama with none of the cameras rolling.

Nero gathers his crew in the camera trailer with a whiteboard.

“Ok folks, I spoke to Angelo a few days ago to get his input and this is the rough plan I’ve come up with,” he begins drawing on the whiteboard, slightly dry pen squeaking obnoxiously.

“Most of this is still fluid, but we can lock in the details as we go. The main players we have to contend with are Fango,” he draws an arrow to the name, “and Corteo”. Another arrow.

“For Fango, he’s going to be our prime source of drama stirring, ‘bad-guy’-esque person.  We’ll keep him on for no more than the third or fourth elimination round for entertainment purposes, then the last two weeks we’ll focus on playing up the tension between the final contestants, sound good.”

Vanno, Fio, Tronco, and a handful of others nod.

“Corteo is the contestant that Angelo has shown the most interest in so far,” He pauses when Fio raises her hand.

“Why Corteo?  If I remember correctly, you distinctly don’t like him,” she asks innocently.

Nero shoots her a dirty look. “It doesn’t matter if I like him, Angelo does,” WOW did that come off more bitter than intended. He reels himself in. “They were childhood friends,” Nero pauses, disliking the idea of pairing Angelo off so soon.  “It’s simple, but we could play up the narrative of reigniting a first love or reconnecting with a childhood sweetheart.  Something like that,” He finishes lamely.

Fio nods slowly with the others, “that’s…very mature of you.”

Nero rolls his eyes at her and she smiles back sweetly.

“Ok that’s all from me, as always if any of you stumble on some drama, let me know so we can play it up.”

The group, clearly tired from a week of almost non-stop filming, gives him vague affirmation before dispersing to their respective trailers, presumably to sleep.

Nero runs through some footage of the week, trying not to zero in too much on the moments where Angelo was particularly sweet towards Corteo.  That kind of negativity would give him indigestion.

Eventually, eyes burning, he calls it a day and returns to his trailer.

For the second week, Nero spends way too much time agonizing over who to pair up for the sets of double dates (two contestants to the one bachelor). Should he put candidates who are likely to continue together so they’ll have to fight for attention?  Should he put one who would likely continue and one who wouldn’t?  On top of that he needed to make sure the pairings wouldn’t steamroll anyone’s personalities.  Ultimately he settles for Frate and Corteo, Volpe and Tigre, Serpente and Fango, and Ronaldo and Cerotto, drawn by lottery to decide who went first.

Volpe and Tigre are first, which is probably the most neutral choice of all. Neither have a terribly high chance of making it to the final rounds, but they are an amicable duo. Because of Tigre’s tendency to get flustered, Volpe ends up having the chance to converse with Angelo. He’s a model, so they have that in common.  Unfortunately, neither know much about football which is Tigre’s forte, though they both seem to enjoy his animated stories about particularly notable games.

Ronaldo and Cerotto go next, and Nero is pleasantly bemused by the outcome of the double date.  Though Ronaldo aggressively tries to capture Angelo’s attention, Angelo continually interrupts him to allow Cerotto to interject. He ends up taking over the conversation to which Angelo listens with rapt attention. Cerotto is surprisingly witty for someone he’d initially pegged as more of a goofball than anything, leading to some truly entertaining banter between himself and Angelo.  Ronaldo simply can’t keep up with their remarks and seems to stew to himself. Of all the pairings Nero anticipated, Angelo and Cerotto were…unexpectedly…kinda cute.  Very much so a case of opposites attracting with Cerotto’s animated gestures and way of speaking contrasting Angelo’s deadpan remarks.  Despite this, they seem to get along swimmingly.  Unlike Ronaldo whom Angelo, perhaps not so subtly, allows to fall into obscurity.

Nero braces himself for trouble when it comes to Fango and Serpente’s date. Angelo seems to make an effort to be judicious in his attention of the both of them, though predictably Fango dominates the scene.  He plants himself as the focal point of conversations, and makes outrageous gestures towards Angelo. It’s all very gauche, to the point where Nero isn’t sure if Fango genuinely thinks any of this will work.  Serpente seems to have a mollifying effect on Fango, by some miracle, which is probably the only thing keeping their date from devolving further. When Serpente does manage to converse with Angelo though, it’s clear they have very little in common. They end up cutting the date a little short, especially when Fango takes it upon himself to feed Angelo open-faced oysters in the most obscene way possible.

Speaking of Fango, Nero is (appalled) to find that, despite the show not even being on air yet, that hot mess of a human being has a surprising fan backing. And they ship him.  With Angelo. Nero knows too much now, after scrolling through forums. He consults Fio, Vanno, and Tronco, who agree: they gotta film some Fango/Angelo action.

With a heavy heart, Nero finds himself standing outside of Angelo’s trailer, ruminating over the best way to break to him this proposition.

He knocks three time and before the fourth the door swings open.  Fortunately he manages to halt his knocking and avoid punching the star in his face.

“Yes?” Angelo asks, wary.

Nero composes himself, “right, um, can I come in? I have a favor to ask of you.”

He leans against the door frame, arms crossed, “what kind of favor?”

The way he quirks his eyebrow is definitely not accidental so Nero barges past him before he can read too much into it.

Sighing, Angelo closes the door behind them and stays leaning against the wall beside it.  Nero positions himself on the opposite side of the trailer, a safe distance.

“Online ratings show that fans are already invested in Fango as a contestant,” he begins.

“The show hasn’t aired yet,” Angelo scoffs, eyes suspicious.

“Apparently he has a large social media following and some of his audition video was leaked.  Everyone loves a good hype train,” Nero hesitates, “so that leads me to the favor: after consulting my producers, I’ve made the executive decision that you need to make out with him on camera.”

He winces, waiting for a response.

Angelo snorts, “is that all?”

“Yeah it’ll…improve ratings, stir up drama, there’s a decent amount of shock factor involved,” he trails off when it seems Angelo isn’t particularly interested in his rationale, “we’re hoping for a 30 second kiss.”

Nodding, Angelo seems like he’ll go along with the plan after all.

“What’s in it for me?”

Nero’s head jerks up, “for you?”

“You ask me for a favor, what favor will you give me?” He stares back, immovable.

“Um,” Nero falters.

“Or does it not matter because my ass belongs to you for the next six weeks?” A sly smile plays at his lips.

Evidently he’s never going to live that one down. Nero wants to fold himself into a tiny box and not emerge for the next year maybe.

“Did you have a request?  A reasonable request,” he amends.

“I want to see the ocean,” Angelo states.

Nero points to the door, “have you tried looking outside?”

“Not like that,” he waves his hand in front of his face, “I want to get off set for a couple hours.  It’s getting stifling.”

“So…you want to leave set and go to a different beach for a few hours?” He clarifies.

“I’d settle for you taking my on a drive down the coast,” the slyness returns to his eyes.

“Ok, yeah, that…seems fair enough,” Nero puts a hand out to shake but Angelo stops him.

“You said a 30 second kiss? Buy me gelato in addition to the ride and I’ll give you a full minute.”

Nero’s not about to turn his nose up at that. They shake on it, Angelo’s hand maybe lingering in his a bit too long, though he doesn’t really notice because Angelo makes eye contact with him for the entirety of the exchange, and it’s all he can do to not fall headlong into those golden depths. 

“I’ll bring you a map of the hidden cameras tomorrow, you’ll just need to pull Fango aside and make sure you’re in view of one.  I don’t anticipate there being any difficulty with that,” Nero explains as he quickly finds himself an out.

Angelo waves to him from the door frame, haloed in the soft light emanating from his trailer.

He musters up the courage to wave back.

In the daytime before the final double date, contestants are given the chance to mingle. It’s a prime time for Angelo to lure away Fango.  Which he does.

Nero, Fio, and Tronco watch with rapt attention through the various hidden camera feeds as Angelo whispers something to Fango, who excuses himself in the direction of Camera 3.  Angelo follows shortly after. Angled perfectly in the camera’s field of vision, Angelo reaches up and caresses Fango’s cheek.

“Holy shit he’s actually gonna do it,” Tronco gasps.

Fio shushes him, mouth hanging open.

Fango takes his somewhat innocuous gesture as an open invitation. He pushes Angelo up against the nearest wall, guiding his leg up to hook around Fango’s waist, practically lifting him off the ground.

With the decorum he lacks in just about every other aspect of his person, Fango kisses Angelo, filthy and deep, a hand curled under his chin.  Angelo reciprocates, every bit as feverish, one hand gripping the front of Fango’s Hawaiian shirt, the other fisted in his fluffy bob of hair.

The trio on the other end watch in gross fascination, camera picking up way too many slick, wet sounds and whatever indecent noises Fango was making. 

After exactly one minute, Angelo turns his head to the side, pressing a finger to Fango’s lips.  A trail of saliva still connects them. He murmurs something low, out of reach of the mics, eyes heavy lidded.

With what appears to be great reluctance, Fango sets Angelo back on his feet. 

“Head back first,” Angelo orders, voice low, “it’ll look suspicious if we disappear and reappear together.”

Still looking blissed out, Fango bobs away with what he must assume is a great victory.

Once he’s out of eyeshot, Angelo turns and looks directly into the camera, wiping off his mouth with the back of his hand. He waits a couple minutes before rejoining the mingle of other contestants on the beachside patio.

“Wow he looked really into that,” Tronco’s eyes are wide like dinner plates.

“Not an ounce of that was genuine,” Fio scoffs, glancing over at Nero, “down, boy.”

He jumps when addressed, realizing he’s been white-knuckling his water bottle through the whole exchange, the taste of bile in the back of his mouth.

Fio crosses her arms, “how did you convince him to agree, Nero?”

“I agreed to do him a favor,” Nero admits, immediately regretting.

Fio turns to Tronco, “could you run out and get me a lemonade?”

The intern nods and scrambles away.

Nero braces himself for the full brunt of the Fio Inquisition.

“And what favor did he ask of you?” She demands.

“I’m just…just to take him on a drive along the coast.  He wants to get off of set for an hour or two, for his own sake,” he says defensively.

“Uh huh,” she taps her foot, “you know there’s a 100% chance you got manipulated into this?”

“There is a 100% chance I let myself get manipulated into this,” he agrees.

She huffs, exasperated, “you know he likes to play games, why let him win?”

“You’re doubting my ability to function like a professional around him? It’ll be fine Fio, it’s just a car ride.  I’ve already survived one with him,” he mirrors her posture.

Fio softens, “I trust you.  It’s him I’m wary of.  I’ll let the issue lie, he did, after all, give us this gift of drama.”

“Hopefully we can splice together a clip that still adheres to network decency standards,” Nero teases.

“Yeah,” she shakes her head, “any part of me that was looking forward to lunch is thoroughly un-appetized.”

The final double date with Frate and Corteo is perhaps the softest, and also most frustrating.  For Nero.

Both Frate and Angelo seem to establish at the beginning that they have a good rapport, as friends. It’s been pretty clear that Frate’s interest in the show has waned, and Angelo acknowledges this, keeping him included in any conversation, but most clearly focusing in on Corteo. 

As with the other double dates, the contestants sit on either side of Angelo in a horseshoe shaped booth. While Frate keeps a friendly distance of a couple inches from Angelo, Corteo is pressed against him, thigh to thigh. He feeds Angelo tiny cubes of tiramisu in a non-creepy, completely cute manner and Angelo reciprocates.  Though he also proffers a bit of tiramisu to Frate, who accepts the gesture, slightly disgruntled.

They converse like there hadn’t been a six year gap between now and the last time they’d hung out. Angelo laughs, it’s a beautiful, musical sound that Nero wishes he could contain in a little box, listen to it on bad days.  Or maybe everyday.

The date ends with Angelo cordially shaking Frate’s hand as he had with the other contestants, but giving Corteo a full-body hug.  It’s a clear declaration.  From a directorial point of view, Nero should be patting Angelo on the back, setting up a clear favorite and establishing a “villainous” counterpart in the form of Fango.  The narrative is playing out better than he could have hoped. 

Still, he can’t bring himself to be completely happy.

 With the four double dates completed, the contestants would have another cocktail party, in which to make any last attempts at securing their position, before another rose ceremony.

Before all that however, Nero has dues to pay.  He borrows Frate’s cherry red Alfa Romeo 4C Spider, a two seated convertible sports car.

Angelo approaches right on time, wearing perhaps the shortest pair of booty-shorts yet, distressed at the bottom, acid washed, with pockets hanging below the bottom edge.  Tucked into the devastating shorts he wears a sleeveless black turtleneck, outfit completed with silver reflective aviators, and bright red hightops.

“You wear a lot of booty shorts,” Nero remarks as they climb into the car.

When Angelo quirks an eyebrow over the rims of his sunglasses Nero amends, “just an observation! They look good on you.”

“They make my legs look longer,” he shrugs, “might as well flaunt it.”

Nero, frankly, couldn’t be happier for his flaunting. For now though he needs to focus on driving, not drooling over the snacks in the passenger seat.

The midmorning seaside air is refreshing as Nero zooms along the coastal highway, waves sparkle in the sun. Angelo sits slightly turned, looking out the car, inky black hair buffeted around his head.

“You were a model before this?” Nero asks out of the blue.

Angelo tilts his head towards Nero, “yeah.”

“How’d you start?” He might not have many opportunities to converse with Angelo after this so…

He shifts in his seat so full attention is turned to Nero, “it was a side hustle in college, there were a lot of opportunities.”

“You went to school in Florida, if I remember right?” Nero prods, changing lanes to pass another sports car.

“I’ve always loved the ocean,” Angelo admits, yet though it stretches endlessly out to their right, he seems content to focus on Nero, “I grew up in the Midwest, so it was always my goal to go to school somewhere by the ocean.”

“Sounds like you love it more than pineapples,” he teased.

“Not even close,” Angelo snorts, but there’s a smile on his face.

It’s contagious and Nero finds himself grinning broadly, “so how did you end up in California if you were on the other side of the States?”

Angelo adjusts his sunglasses, “the company I modeled for was going out of business, they told me if I was serious about modeling I needed to go to California.  I’d majored in business, so I thought, why not try it, anyone can get an office job. I had that to default to if needed.  They wrote me some recommendations and I moved out here.”

“That’s…pretty incredible,” Nero is impressed.

“Sure, I had to supplement modeling with bartending for a bit, but eventually I was able to just model…then someone suggested I sign up for The Bachelor, and…here I am,” he seems reserved, like sometimes he can’t even believe he’s here.  “You’re here because of some family obligation?”

Nero sighs, “yeah, the Vanetti network owns the rights to a bunch of shows, I was handed off this show to test my ability as director.” It sounds bad, knowing that he’s essentially here on the premise of nepotism.

“You’re doing better,” Angelo remarks, “talking to me, that is.  I think any residual awkwardness is just your personality.” A smirk teases the corner of his mouth.

He laughs, but quickly sobers up, “I don’t want to do reality TV forever though.”

“What would you do?” He seems genuinely interested.

“Don’t laugh but…I want to do a show about alcohol…but like…traveling around America, maybe the world eventually, and finding the most unique microbrew places, nothing commercial,” Nero stops himself.  He hasn’t told anyone this, not even Fio.

“I’d watch it,” Angelo looks at him curiously, “though it would be more fun to be with you taste testing,” he smirks.

Nero feels a warm glow settle in his chest.  The exit for gelato comes up, and he pulls over by a roadside vendor.

Angelo gets a scoop of mango and raspberry, and Nero doesn’t get a chance to think about his flavor because, on top of Angelo’s devastating booty shorts, when asked to pay, he motions to Nero saying, “oh no, he’s paying.”  The vendor, then, has the audacity to say, “that’s nice of your boyfriend.” It’s enough to turn his brain to mush, he numbly points to a flavor, pays for both with card, lest he make a mess of himself dropping change and bills because he’s not fully convinced his motor skills would function.  Angelo masks his reaction to the “boyfriend” comment with a crafty combination of his reflective glasses and intense focus on eating his gelato.

Nero hands Angelo his gelato bowl and returns his focus on the cathartic action of driving.  He doesn’t yet return to the highway, but instead pulls over on an observation deck, built on an outcropping overlooking the ocean.

“This is beautiful,” Angelo says softly, handing Nero back his bowl.

They eat in silence for a few minutes and it’s heaven, perfect weather, refreshing gelato, and Angelo’s company.  Nero is going to take these few moments and cache them away forever.

An elbow nudges his, “want to try mine?” Angelo asks.

“Sure,” Nero pulls out his spoon, ready to take a sample when Angelo beats him to the punch, proffering spoonful.

The gears in Nero’s brain come to a screeching halt.  Angelo holds up his spoon, expectant.

This isn’t happening, he thinks.  After he’d promised Fio he could be a professional…

The spoon brushes his lips and Nero accepts the taste, mouth instantly filled with a delightful combination of mango and raspberry.

“It’s good,” he mumbles.

Angelo smiles triumphantly, then frowns, “hold still.”

Before Nero can process, he reaches forward and swipes a smidge of gelato from his lower lip with his thumb, instantly bringing it back to his own mouth. Nero’s brain whites out for a few seconds, burning sensation on his lips, and it’s a long enough lapse that Angelo has to repeat himself:

“Can I try yours?”

Not even trying to fight it, Nero takes a scoop of his gelato and brings it to Angelo’s lips.  The younger man eagerly accepts, eyes fluttering shut as he does.

“You like it?” Nero prompts, withdrawing his spoon.

Angelo considers, “mine’s better.”

They finish their respective gelato in silence, enjoying once again the ocean view.

When Nero’s heartrate calms down to a pace he feels comfortable driving with, he begins driving them back to the set.

He pulls into the lot and parks Frate’s convertible next to his Thunderbird.

“Who were you thinking of eliminating?” Nero asks, leaning against the car door as Angelo tosses their empty gelato bowls.

“Ronaldo, can’t wait for that, and,” he hesitates, “Frate.  He’ s not into the show anymore, I can tell.”

Nero lets out a relived sigh, “he approached me actually, asked if I could convince you to eliminate him.  He’s not sure if he’s as bi as he thought he was.”

“Sure. He’s young, I’m glad he’s taking the time to figure himself out,” Angelo nods, wandering back to stand in front of Nero.

The older man claps his hand on Angelo’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze, “thank you for understanding.”

Angelo gives one of his slight smiles. His expression shifts a moment later to curious, “Nero, are you gay?”

He stalls for a moment, “Oh, yeah, I am. I’m not usually super open about it when it comes to work.” (Other than Fio and Vanno, but they are family.)

“Ok,” is all Angelo says before walking away.  It’s probably the least painful coming out he’s ever experienced.

Later, at the rose ceremony, Ronaldo and Frate walk off of the show just as planned.  Tigre sports a black eye from having fallen out of his bed earlier.  Of everyone, he seems the most pleased to still be included in the lineup.

After everyone is ushered back to their trailers, Nero lies awake in his own, tracing a thumb over his lower lip, memorizing the feeling of Angelo’s where he swiped the drop of gelato away.

It’s something he’ll never experience again.

In contrast to the snazzy dinner dates of the previous week, the next block involves six one-on-one beach dates, meant to be low key and relaxed. Which of course they’re not, especially with Fango involved.  Nero cannot wait to vote him off in a couple weeks. Angelo takes Fango’s largely unwanted advances like a champ, feigning just enough interest to string Fango along hook, line, and sinker. Tigre and Angelo play catch with a football and though a well-aimed throw Tigre could probably send Angelo flying, they manage an amicable game. The most entertaining beach date is with Cerotto who sneaks in a bucket of water balloons.  They spend the couple hours telling jokes and hurling water balloons. 

The only other notable date is of course, with Corteo.  Nero is reminded that he will likely be the winner of this competition. He and Angelo sit on the beach shoulder to shoulder after wading in the shallows.  They appear to be deep in conversation, a kind of bond shared only between close friends. Or lovers.

**

Nero gets to push these thoughts from his mind, however, because this is the week that a family member of choice gets to visit the set and weigh in on the options.  Angelo has selected his younger brother Luce. When a lanky blonde boy swaggers onto the set, Nero is ready to escort him out until he’s introduced as Angelo’s sibling.  The two couldn’t look more different, Luce’s blonde hair long enough to pull into a short ponytail in the back, and bright round blue eyes. Then he opens his mouth, and Nero instantly finds resemblance in their witty, tongue and cheek banter. Luce, like his name might imply, is a much brighter, happier person in contrast to Angelo’s deadpan nature. He chats with the other contestants amiably, though beneath his sunny smiles, a predatory calculation lurks.

When he’s interviewed later, he admits that he’s surprised Angelo even took the job, because of how cynical he is towards reality TV.  Nero will need to strike that from the record.

“Do you see a clear-cut winner?” Nero asks.  It’s a standard question.

“I do,” Luce laces his fingers under his chin.

“Who do you think?” Now he genuinely wants to know.

“Pfft, I’m not going to tell you, what’s the fun in that?” He snorts, again resembling his older brother.

Nero’s going to have to get some nice candid shots of Luce mingling because the interview portion is not going anywhere soon.

Later in the camera trailer, while Nero and Fio watch footage from the day, Frate comes in to visit, looking dazed.

“Who was that blonde guy today?” He asks, vacantly.

“Luce Lagusa, Angelo’s little brother,” Nero replies, squinting at three different screens simultaneously.

“Ok yeah…remember when I said I might not be as bi as I thought I was?  I’m definitely still bi,” he wrings his hands out.

“Please tell me you didn’t flirt with him,” Fio groans.

“Wait why?”

“He’s 17! He’s underage! The last thing we need is some kind of harassment lawsuit,” Fio shakes her head.

“I didn’t flirt, I swear!” Frate holds his hands up, “if anything…he might have been hitting on me?  I can’t tell with guys ok?”

Fio relents, “alright, it’s fine.”

Frate sighs and puts his hands in his pockets.  Brow furrowed, he withdraws a slip of paper he doesn’t remember placing there.

Written on it is a phone number and the message: “Call me in three months”, with an anime caricature of Luce at the bottom, complete with a little heart.

He holds it up, “check this out, he does like me!”

Fio reads the note and nods, “congrats.”

Nero feels himself zone out and focus on the footage from the day, mostly on Angelo.  Three more weeks, and he won’t have to deal with multiple guys hitting on Angelo.  Three weeks until he gets to walk out of his life forever.

***

He’s in the process of getting ready to wind down when he hears a knock at his door. Curious, Nero answers to find Angelo.

“Can I come in?” He asks, sounding odd.

“Sure,” Nero ushers him in.  It’s unusual that he’s the one visiting Nero. 

“Is there something you wanted to talk about?” He asks, taking a seat on the edge of his bed.

“You haven’t been honest with me,” he says.

Frowning, Nero answers, “I never lied to you.”

Angelo walks towards Nero deftly, smooth motions so natural that Nero barely notes between Angelo being on the other side of the room until he’s right in front of him.

“Not lying, but there’s a difference between lying and not being honest,” he explains.

Before Nero can properly process, Angelo is in his lap. He straddles Nero’s hips, head ducking down to press a wet, open mouthed kiss to his neck.  The sudden heat of contact sends a shudder through Nero’s body, his breath hitches.

Angelo sits up straight, eyes triumphant, voice slightly breathless, “there we go.  That’s honest.”

And what can Nero do? With this ethereal being poised against him, brazen and unafraid. After weeks of self-restraint and careful composure, who is Nero to deny Angelo anything?

A moment later he’s pulling Angelo’s face towards his, tilting his head so their lips meet in a forceful kiss. Angelo tilts his head farther, slotting their mouths together as close as humanly possible.  Angelo sucks at his lower lip, breaking to nip the reddened skin. Nero traces the seam of Angelo’s mouth with his tongue and Angelo opens wide for him, tongues sliding against one another in a feverish exploration.

He’s so overtaken by Angelo’s heady, consuming kisses that he barely notices Angelo’s long, fine fingers making short work of the buttons of his dress shirt. Pushing the garment off his shoulders, Angelo tosses it to the floor. Curious hands roam over Nero’s chest as his lips remain locked in a dizzying series of kisses. He groans, shamefully loud, into Angelo’s mouth when his wandering fingers tweak over his nipples.

Angelo seems to take this as encouragement, rolling his hips against Nero’s, hands sliding up to cup his jaw.  Nero’s body cants back against the slightest friction of Angelo’s rolling hips, sending shudders through his body and letting another indecent noise escape his mouth.  The hypnotic thrusts, the heat pressed between their bodies feels incredible

Pressing back against Angelo’s persistent hip rolls, Nero lets his hands roam over Angelo’s lower back, tracing the knobs of his spine upward, hiking his lightweight sweater up with him. Angelo arches instantly into his touch, breath stuttering against Nero’s lips.  He groans, pressing into Nero’s exploratory hands, still kissing Nero with a mind-numbing intensity.

Angelo begins pulling his arms out of the sleeves as Nero lifts the garment higher.  They part from Angelo’s dizzying series of kisses just long enough to pull the sweater over his head. 

The break in contact is enough to afford Nero a wave of clarity: Instantly the tabloid headings hit him: “Director Nails Bachelor”, “Scandal on Set”, “Bachelor too good for Other Contestants, Sleeps with Director Instead.

Nero can’t move, feeling nothing despite the persistent press of Angelo’s hips against his. 

While Nero has sat frozen, Angelo moves his attention to his neck, alternating biting and licking down over his pulse point.  It would be so easy to fall back into him, to let the bottled up frustration from the past few weeks crescendo and spill over into a natural conclusion.

But he doesn’t. 

Mustering all of his paper-thin composure, Nero physically withdraws himself from Angelo, pushing the younger man back with a hand firm on each shoulder.

Confused and held at arm’s length, Angelo asks, “Nero?  Is something wrong?”

Doing his best to not be distracted by Angelo’s red, slick lips, he stutters, “you need to leave.”

“What?” Angelo’s voice is muffled by Nero roughly pulling his sweater back over his head, simultaneously steering him to the door.

“Nero what’s going on?” Angelo protests as he opens the door and somewhat ungraciously pushes him outside.

Nero slams the door behind him and locks it, sliding to the floor a moment later: back against the cool metal, knees drawn to his chest.

Outside Angelo pounds on the door, calling Nero’s name twice, three times, before trailing off.  Long minutes pass until Nero can be certain he’s given up and left.  He digs the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, trembling.  A pit is forming in his stomach, nauseating, paralyzing, it takes all his strength to pick up his discarded shirt and slip his arms through the sleeves.  He collapses onto his bed atop the covers, curling up on his side, a bitter taste on his tongue.

Nero avoids direct contact with Angelo for the next twenty four hours.  It’s not terribly difficult, he plays it off well enough that even Fio only sends him a couple confused glances, rather than confronting him. The eliminations happen: Tigre and Serpente.  Both are good choices, Angelo has made it clear neither are his type.  As agreed, he keeps Fango on for another week. Corteo and Cerotto are most likely going to be first place and runner up, respectively. Volpe as always is just there. He is pretty though, he and Angelo look good together in photos so he’s not a bad choice to keep for another week.

Later in the evening, Nero is on the verge of pouring himself an irresponsible glass of some hard and unforgiving liquor when he hears knocking at his door and a persistent voice:

“Nero! Open up! We need to talk,” Angelo pounds the door.

Nero waits a solid minute to determine how stubborn Angelo is going to be.   He doesn’t stop knocking or shouting for the entirety of the minute, so Nero opens the door.

“Fine, we’ll talk,” he preempts, “but you need to stand over in that corner.”

Angelo grumbles something to the tune of “this is ridiculous” but obeys anyways.

Nero positions himself on the opposite end of the trailer, arms crossed. Before he can fully form what he wants to say, Angelo speaks:

“I wanted to apologize for my actions yesterday.  I thought you had been giving me every indication that you were into me, and I threw myself at you.  Clearly I was wrong.  So I’m sorry I pushed myself on you, it won’t happen again,” he pauses to breathe, “but you can’t avoid me for the next two weeks.  We still have a job to do.”

It’s not what Nero had expected at all, “Angelo it’s not that I don’t- you need to understand the – I had to push you away,” he says finally.

Angelo doesn’t move save for raising an eyebrow.

“The kind of scandal that could happen if someone discovered I was having a fling with the bachelor…it would destroy my career…I’d have to kiss any dreams of having my own show goodbye,” he explains.

He’s still not convinced, but the younger man concedes, “alright then.” He seems to consider something for awhile, “I wasn’t just looking for a one-night-stand with you.”

“Then surely you see why that’s impossible,” Nero shakes his head, “you said it yourself, the show must go on.  You have three perfectly reasonable guys and Fango pursuing you, you’re going to end up with one of them.”

He doesn’t look convinced. Nero doesn’t know what he needs to say to get Angelo to understand that the most they could have is a fling, asking for anything more would ruin the conclusion of the show they’d been working towards for weeks.

“You have my word that I won’t try anything, if that’s what makes you happy,” Angelo says defensively, “with that in mind you shouldn’t have any trouble working alongside me the next two weeks.  Goodnight, Nero.”

He starts letting himself out of the trailer.

“I’m sorry,” Nero calls after him, voice rough and full of sadness.

Angelo pauses, thumping a closed fist against the doorframe, “yeah, me too.”

The fourth week alternates one-on-one dates with group contests. Nero personally contacts Fango to occasionally stir up drama when he feels the contestants are getting a little too comfortable. He doesn’t speak to Angelo outside of curt, directorial comments. Before he really notices, the week is over and the time arrives for Angelo to hand out the second to last round of roses.

Cameras rolling, Nero awaits the eliminating of Fango and Volpe.

Angelo holds two roses, dressed in his signature charcoal suit.

He opens his mouth to speak, but Corteo steps forward.

“I um, have something to say,” he stammers.

Nero is tempted to cut and redo the scene, but something possesses him to let it continue for the moment.

“Never in a million years would I have thought this would happen but…” He glances over at Cerotto who also steps forward, coming to stand next to him.

“We found each other,” Cerotto announces, lacing his fingers with Corteo’s.

“Yes,” Corteo’s face is flushed, “we’d like your permission to eliminate ourselves from the competition.  There’s no one else I’d rather be with here than Cerotto.”

“That goes double for me,” Cerotto squeezes Corteo’s hand tighter.

Nero should really cut now but…

Angelo steps forward, roses in one hand, and hugs them both.

“We all came here in the hopes of finding love.  The two of you found each other despite the odds.  Who am I to stand in the way of that?” Angelo steps back from them, beaming.

The duo looks relieved and move off to the side where eliminated contestants are supposed to.

Turning his attention back to a flabbergasted Volpe and Fango, Angelo hands each a rose.

“Congratulations,” Angelo says to them, sly smile on his lips, “the two of you have made it to the final round.”

Nero does cut the scene there and the set somewhat erupts into chaos. Choruses of “what just happened?” and “is this allowed?” coming through most strongly.

He marches over to Angelo.

“What was that?” He demands.

“Exactly what it looked like,” Angelo shrugs.

“We’re going to need to re-shoot the whole rose ceremony, you realize?” Nero insists.

Angelo finally makes eye contact with Nero, mere inches away from him, “do you like duplicate footage? Because I will make exactly the same choice.”

Nero catches a glimpse of Cerotto and Corteo huddling together over Angelo’s shoulder, and he relents.

“Alright, let’s all take fifteen,” he shouts.  Fio appears instantly, herding different groups of crew members around.

They reconvene long enough to do individual interviews, Fango and Volpe expressing their pleasant surprise in making it this far and their plans for winning.  A joint interview for Corteo and Cerotto is held and it’s mostly a bunch of sappy questions with the two of them smiling at one another, holding hands.  It’s so cute Nero could vomit. Though the nausea is also the knowledge that his entire plan for the show has essentially been uprooted.

Fio approaches him, “before we all meet tonight to discuss the rest of the show, you need to ask Angelo if he wants to break up those two.”

“He’s going to say no,” Nero counters.

“Probably, but it’s your job as director to do the hard thing and ask.  This is, after all, about making sure the show is successful,” she shakes her head, patting his shoulder.

Once again, Nero finds himself knocking on the door of Angelo’s trailer.

The door swings open.  Angelo must be in the process of getting ready to sleep, dressed in loose, fluffy pajamas.  His hair is damp and slightly ruffled.

“You’re mad at me,” he states.

“I’m not mad,” Nero instantly defends.

“Why else would you be here?” He deadpans.

“I’m…can I step in for a minute?”

With clear reluctance, Angelo ushers him inside, positioning himself on a couch as far from Nero as possible.

Nero begins with some preamble, “as director, I am contractually obligated to ask you if you want me to break up Cerotto and Corteo if either of them were going to be your final choice. You’re the bachelor, you get first pick.”

“Absolutely not,” Angelo states. 

Nero expects some sort of explanation, but Angelo is apparently uninterested.

“I thought you’d say that,” Nero admits.

Angelo stands, staring at Nero coolly.  He interprets this as a sign he should leave.

“I’m not about to let the rules of some dumb TV show stand in between two people who love each other,” he says, leaning against the side of the couch.

Nero nods, letting himself out the door.

He meets with Fio, Vanno, Tronco, and others.

“Alright, let me just begin by saying…the show is ruined.”

Fio pipes up instantly, “take that off record it is not ruined!”

“Explain to me what’s not ruined!  Volpe has been average this whole time, we barely have any footage on him, and Fango is-is a joke who’s now been on the show way to friggin long-”

“We can still salvage this,” Vanno argues, “we can whip up some footage of Volpe and play this up as a dark horse, underdog kind of thing.  Lets get Fango a respectable haircut and he can be…something,” he falters.

“A joke gone right?  It seems kinda counter to your themes that the most aggressive guy would win but it’s still doable,” Tronco chimes in, “if you make him more respectable.”

He has a point.

“Alright, thank you all,” Nero calms down in stages, “one last thing, as far as I’m concerned, I was going to let Angelo just choose a winner?”

He gets a unanimous “yes”.

Angelo goes on another set of lackluster individual dates, reaching the perfect balance of engagement and disinterest with the contestants, leaving his final choice completely ambiguous until the last possible moment.  For Nero, a sort of dread settles into him as the competition edges to a close.

The night before the final rose ceremony, Nero finds himself buried in a bottle of brandy, drunk off his ass.  It’s not something he’s done recently, or ever makes an appoint to do often. The drink has a lovely numbing effect that he wishes he would have employed earlier, though it may have come at the expense of his good ability as director.

****

Fio finds him in the morning, two thirds of a bottle down, face planted on his desk, hand still loosely curled around his drinking glass.

“What are you doing?” she shrills, “you’re supposed to be at makeup already!”

Nero groans, trying to shift away from the piercing sound of her voice, made worse by a throbbing hangover headache.

“You’re hungover,” she accuses.  She is absolutely not wrong.

He hopes she’ll give up and try later, after Nero has a chance to rest more, but Fio is persistent. She appears again with a huge bottle of water and three aspirin which Nero accepts gratefully.  While he floods his system with water, Fio continues tearing through his trailer.

Nero has made it to a sitting up position, water all but finished, when Fio shoves a stack of clothes in his face.

“You don’t have time to shower but at least brush your hair.  And put this on,” she orders.

Left without choices, Nero obeys.

He emerges in dress slacks, a button up, and fitted vest, “isn’t this a little too nice? Why do I need to dress up?” He grumbles.

“There are going to be interviews later today so you need to look your best,” Fio insists, “come here.”

Nero quietly endures her aggressive application of stick foundation over the sizeable bags under his eyes and red, botchy skin. By the time she’s finished he looks like a passable human being.  On the way to set, she even slips him some hash-browns, and by the time the filming actually starts, his headache has dissipated.

All three contestants are dressed handsomely, but Angelo steals the show, sleek high-waisted dress pants paired with a simple dress shirt, loose and light.  It gives him the feeling of being both elegant and soft, classic and ethereal. It has Nero wishing he could just be drunk again.

Angelo holds a single rose and a ring box with some horribly ostentatious engagement ring inside, no doubt.

He gives the signal to Vanno, and the filming begins. 

Standing before Volpe and Fango, Angelo speaks.

“As we enter the final rose ceremony, I wanted to say a few words. I will be the first to admit that I have a bit of a cynical view of reality TV, coming onto the show I was almost convinced that I would simply be playing a role, and that finding real love was out of the question.”

Nero groans internally because that segement is already going to need to be majorly edited down.

“Five weeks later and, I am pleased to admit, I was wrong.  I did find exactly what I was so certain I couldn’t find here. We didn’t exactly get along at first, but I soon saw in this person’s actions an incredible integrity of character and utmost kindness,” Angelo says.

He takes a step towards the two contestants, ring and rose in hand.

“For this reason, with a full heart, I can’t choose either of you.”

Nero jolts at the sound of this, the proper line was “I can only choose one of you.”

Fango and Volpe don’t seem the slightest bit ruffled, if anything, they are looking over in Nero’s direction, expectant.

“Nero Vanetti,” Angelo announces, “would you please step forward to receive your rose?”

His heart does a ridiculous set of acrobatic flips before freezing back into place with the rest of his body.

It’s got to be a joke, some terrible joke.  That is, until someone gently takes the bull horn out of his hands and Fio grabs him by the shoulders and fairly shoves him onto the set.

He’s on the verge of protesting, yelling at her for pulling this prank, but then he takes in the neutral expressions of the other contestants, Fio’s insistence that he look presentable, and it all clicks into place: he had been played from both sides.

Nero composes himself quickly, registering that this is indeed happening, and now he is on camera. Somewhat hesitant, he strides up to Angelo, standing a less than a foot away from him.

“Hey,” Angelo says, breathless.  His eyes are soft with fondness, warm and just a little bit uncertain.

“Hi,” Nero stammers, voice dropping off when Angelo’s fingertips brush his cheek, soft and gentle, as though checking to see if he is really there.

He’s smiling, that slight, genuine smile, rivaling the sun.

Angelo drops his hand, seeming to remember why he’s there. He goes down on one knee, eyes imploring.

“I know we’ve barely known each other five weeks, and despite our lackluster first impressions of each other, very early on I felt like I’d known you for most my life. You once told me that…if I found someone I liked here, I should tell you.  So here I am, taking this chance of a lifetime,” he holds open the ring box, revealing the band inside.  It’s surprisingly tasteful.

“Nero will you marry me?” Angelo asks, voice quavering just a bit at the end.

He drops to his knees and wraps his arms around Angelo’s shoulders.

“Yes,” he breathes, face muffled in the crook of his neck.

Angelo laughs softly, and Nero realizes he kinda did the whole accepting of the proposal incorrectly.  He stands up in tandem with Angelo, hoping to heck that the camera person keeps the shot framed from the waist up.  Sand pours off of his knees, no doubt ruining his fancy trousers. His thoughts are interrupted by Angelo’s cool hand taking ahold of his long enough to slide the engagement band onto his ring finger. Angelo wraps his arms around Nero’s neck a moment later, hugging him close. Nero’s hands rest lightly on his hips, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

“In a moment we’re going to hold hands and walk towards the lattice arch on the beach so they can get a nice picture of us kissing framed by the sunset, ok?” Angelo whispers in his ear.

Nero is reminded that it’s not just the two of them standing on the beach, “right, I remember, I helped write that part.”

Still grinning lumens, they part long enough to reposition themselves, hands loosely intertwined. As they walk, their arms swing slightly, looking entirely the part of the young, infatuated couple.  Which they are, Nero notes, the reality of the situation continues to dawn on him in stages.

It doesn’t really feel concrete until Angelo’s hands are sliding up his chest, settling at the back of his neck to draw him downwards enough for a kiss, sweet and simple.  Nero cups Angeo’s jaw, deepening their kiss just enough to sell it, their bodies almost touching.

Someone yells cut, and the crew again erupts into chaos. Nero can’t tear his gaze from Angelo’s anchored by his deep golden eyes.

“What just happened?” He breathes.

“Exactly what was supposed to happen,” Angelo soothes, standing on his toes to peck Nero’s lips.

Fio looks unfairly smug, and he will have words with her later.  For now he’s content to stay glued to Angelo’s side.  Crew members congratulate them, so do Fango and Volpe, with similar smug expressions as Fio. Nero’s never been so happy to be so thoroughly played, he thinks.

They shoot a couple more scenes of them together, followed by individual interviews with the contestants.  Apparently Fango breaks out his best fake tears and Volpe does his best to look utterly crushed in the interview.

Nero is then spirited away for a while to do his actual job, but eventually Fio calls it a night for everyone.

He opens the door of his trailer, letting the day sink in a bit.  Angelo chose him, and really, no thanks to Nero. But he doesn’t care, because he gets to be with Angelo, they have a chance to work out a life together.  He’s also indebted to his crew for their heroic effort in pulling together a cohesive season narrative, compensating for the major twists and turns.  They’re going to be advertising the season as having two of the biggest twists in Bachelor history.

As the door clicks shut behind him, Nero is startled by a silhouette sitting on his bed.  Upon further inspecton, he sees that it’s Angelo, dressed only in a translucent, silky gold robe.  Nero needs to sit down.

“Took you long enough to get back,” he teases, looking like a pampered prince.

“Where did you get that?” Nero asks dumbly.

Angelo gestures to the robe, “Oh, this?  Snagged it from the costume department, I didn’t think anyone would mind.”

He does not mind.

“I’m…I probably should look over some footage,” Nero admits, “Vanno is going to be sending it over.”

“Hmm, that’s too bad,” Angelo leans forward, causing his robe to fall open in a deep vee to the waist, precariously clinging to his shoulder. His voice is low, “because I was hoping to continue where we’d left off a couple weeks ago.”

Nero’s going to need to reevaluate a few things, because at this point he’s not sure he can deny Angelo anything…and if they want their relationship to last he’s going to need to set some boundaries.

But that doesn’t apply for tonight. He’s quick to remove his dress shirt, then belt, making his way to the edge of the bed.  Angelo watches him the whole time, and with anyone else it would make Nero uncomfortable, but he knows with Angelo his gaze is curious, observing, free from ill intent.

Nero jumps slightly when he feels Angelo’s hands brush against his hips, resting lightly.

“Need some help with these?” he asks, gesturing to his boxers.

He nods, holding his breath as Angelo hooks his thumbs under the waistband and pulls them downward.  The moment Nero can kick that last article of clothing off his ankles, he climbs onto the bed, pulling Angelo into his lap in a smoot motion. Predictably, he is bare beneath the robe, which is barely doing its job, closed at the waist only by a slim sash, sliding off both his shoulders. Angelo’s legs wrap around him, ankles locking behind his back. Nero runs appreciate hands down the length of his milky thighs, fingertips pressing into his skin.

“Like what you see?” Angelo teases, busying himself with tracing his hands over Nero’s back, something he’s wanted to do since pretty much day one, and it is well worth the wait.

“Nice to get to touch instead of look for a change,” Nero admits, leaning forward to press a kiss to Angelo’s lips.

He lets out a chuff of laughter, “you could have had me any time.”

Nero grumbles, busying himself with kissing Angelo as the younger man’s hands migrate to cup his jaw.

Between kisses, Angelo teases, “but you had to be soo proper, I had to force my hand.”

Nero draws back for a second, “you made unprecedented changes to the show, went behind my back, and manipulated the other contestants.”

“But I did it for you,” Angelo grinds his hips against Nero’s to punctuate his point.

A stuttering sound escapes Nero’s mouth instead of words for a few seconds, “I’m not complaining,” he manages, pressing his forehead against Angelo’s shoulder.  He reaches between them and liberates Angelo of the robe, tossing it aside.

Angelo hums, pressing light kisses down the length of Nero’s throat, “I was hoping to find some lingerie, but there wasn’t any in the trailer.”

Nero jumps slightly at the mention, eyes wide, “sorta glad you didn’t. I might have died.”

He gives another experimental roll of his hips before scooting farther into Nero’s lap, “hmm, you’re right, I’m too young to be widowed.”

They resume kissing, trailer silent save for slick sounds and the slide of hands over bare skin.

Nero seems to tire of Angelo’s thighs and moves his hands back, squeezing his ass. The younger man startles.

“Ready to move things along?” He demands, Nero’s hands are distracting, kneading the soft skin. “this has been a nice talk, but can we get on with it.”

Nero nuzzles his neck, sucking over his pulse point, “you’re hard,” he notes, smug.

“Please,” Angelo growls, blunt nails digging into Nero’s shoulders, “so are you.”  He pauses, trying to compose himself enough for a coherent thought, “besides, I never answered your question.”

“Question?” Nero asks against reddened skin, voice sending vibrations through Angelo.

“Top or bottom,” he pants, making eye contact with Nero, full challenge, “want to find out?”

Nero returns to his mouth, giving himself over to Angelo’s searing kiss, and pounces.

Later, though he won’t be hearing the end of it from Angelo, Nero peels himself out of bed, finds an extra pair of boxers, and starts looking through the footage Vanno sent him hours ago. It’s going to be excruciating, he realizes, now that he has to watch himself on camera, hear his own recorded voice.

About a half hour into working, Angelo must notice the glowing blue light of the monitor.  Nero can hear him shifting around. 

“You’re doing work?” He grumbles.

“This is still my job,” he shrugs, smiling when he hears Angelo mutter something that sounds suspiciously like “the only thing you should be doing right now is me.”

Nero peers back at him, taking in his disheveled hair and grumpy expression.  The monitor light washes his already pale skin even lighter, the same shade as the sheets pooling at his waist.

“Nero, save your work and come back to bed,” he orders, gently.

“Tomorrow is going to busy,” he mutters, “I won’t have time to-”

“Exactly,” Angelo interrupts, “tomorrow is going to be long, you need to rest.”

Nero concedes, because in the grand scheme of things to be stubborn about, this is not one of them.  He’d much rather be curled up with Angelo in a warm bed.

They lay cuddled together for long minutes, both heavy with sleepiness.

 “You’re real, right?” Angelo asks, cheek pressed against Nero’s bare chest.

“You say that, and I’m over here thinking that I’m going to wake up and you’ll be walking off with another contestant,” Nero says, chuckling. He tucks a strand of hair behind Angelo’s ears, “I’m very real, and so are you.”

Angelo presses a soft kiss to his sternum and nestles in, eyes falling closed.

Nero remembers Angelo saying something about how the real things happen off-camera, he’s never felt the statement more keenly than now.  Tomorrow, at the interviews, he would hold Angelo’s hand and kiss him with just the right amount of pressure with an appropriate distance between them, and the viewers would have just enough to know they love each other. Afterwards, maybe he’ll take Angelo out for gelato again, drive along the coast and pull over somewhere private to kiss Angelo breathless, taste whatever ridiculously sweet flavors he chooses.

That would be real.

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Epilogue

The next couple weeks pass in a blur of crunching to meet deadlines and rose-colored bliss. Even if most the time he and Angelo only see each other if Angelo patiently sits in on meetings and test viewings.  He doesn’t understand all of it, but seems fairly interested.  By the end of it he’s going to know more about the reality TV process than any star should know.

By the time the show actually airs, it feels like the filming occurred a lifetime ago.

Naturally, it’s a hit, one of the highest rated seasons in history.  Angelo and Nero have to do a sort of follow-up press tour which Nero finds excruciating, though having Angelo with him brings it to the point of being bearable.

After putting the Bachelor nonsense behind him, Nero gets a chance to pitch his own show idea. Fortunately, due to his dual success on the Bachelor, as director and unwitting contestant, it gets approved.  Fio assumes full directorial control of the Bachelor which she really should have had since the start.  She is cut out for reality show business.

Nero on the other hand is much better suited for finding unique breweries, and taste-testing.  The show will begin in Angelo’s hometown of Lawless, Illinois, where Corteo owns a small brewery and distillery. 

Angelo is, of course, Nero’s co-star and perfect fiancé. When filming in Lawless however, they are a bit surprised, albeit pleasantly, when Corteo proposes to Cerotto. 

“You weren’t already engaged?” Angelo asks once the cameras are done rolling.

“We didn’t get engaged the moment we left the Bachelor, we wanted to try dating in a normal setting before jumping into anything,” Cerotto explains.

“So you’re saying…you took your relationship at a sane pace,” Nero summarizes, feeling maybe a twinge of jealousy that most of their relationship hadn’t been a matter of public interest.

“Don’t feel bad though, the two of you are made for each other, there wouldn’t have been any need to take things slow,” Corteo smiles at the two of them and Nero forgets why he’d ever disliked this guy.

When the show takes a break after the season finale, Angelo and Nero get to take a well deserved vacation.  They make a pilgrimage to Florida and rent an ocean-side condo with beach access. It’s two weeks of absolute bliss.  That is, until Angelo makes the mistake of checking Luce’s Instagram.

“Nero?” He asks.

 The man in question is lying on a beach chair, reading while the sun bakes him a perfect tan.  Florida looks good on Nero.  

“Yeah?” He looks up.

“My little brother is on vacation in the Bahamas,” he states, still scrolling Instagram.

“That’s weird, so’s mine,” Nero bookmarks his page and sits up.

“Luce is enjoying adulthood and the lowered drinking age in the Bahamas,” Angelo shakes his head.

“Frate’s not big into social media, outside of work, I only know he’s there through Fio,” Nero admits.

Angelo seats himself on the edge of Nero’s chair, holding up his phone.

“This is how I knew Frate is also in the Bahamas.”

Nero pulls off his sunglasses and squints, eyes instantly blowing wide.  The series of photos uploaded less than twenty-four hours previous show Luce and Frate in swimsuits, in the midst of some crazy beach party, hanging off one another.  The next selfie has Luce pressing a kiss to Frate’s cheek, flushed from what Nero can only assume is indecent amounts of alcohol, in the next they are both making duck faces.  The caption reads “In the Bahamas with my boyfriend, #Partylife #Bahamas #bae #relationship goals”.

“Are you…ok with this?” Nero asks, once he’s recovered a bit.

“We can have a double wedding,” Angelo smirks.

Nero tugs Angelo over until he’s lying atop his chest. The chair creaks in protest.

“I think three of us would have objections to that,” Nero snorts, kissing the tip of Angelo’s nose.

“Think of it though,” Angelo props himself up on his forearms, “The Vanetti/Lagusa wedding event of the century!”

“Please no,” Nero groans, pressing his hands over his eyes.

“I jest,” Angelo nuzzles his collarbones.

They lie together peacefully, relaxing to the sound of the waves and their heartbeats.

“We got renewed for a second season,” Nero announces.

“Of course we did,” Angelo snorts, “the audience loves us.”

“Not everyone,” Nero laughs, “wanna go upstairs and read mean reviews about how the show is ‘pushing the gay agenda’?”

“Is reading mean reviews code like ‘Neflix and Chill’, because in that case I am absolutely interested,” Angelo extricates himself from the beach chair.

“It can be,” Nero feels himself flush.

Angelo picks up his book and helps pull Nero to his feet, adorably impatient.

“Is this how you’re going to be on our actual honeymoon?” Nero teases.

“Why don’t you come upstairs with me and find out,” Angelo tugs his arm. 

Nero smiles, helplessly, stupidly happy.

[the asteriks in the story correspond to these extra snippets from Angelo's perspective.  Can be read out of context on their own or with the main story]

*

Maybe the first thing Angelo notices about Nero are his forearms, out in the open with shirtsleeves tastefully rolled up at the elbow, tensed as he grips the steering wheel.  He’s nervous, Angelo realizes, and it strikes something inside him, makes him want to reach over and rub the tension out of his shoulders, gently knead away the furrows in his brow. He doesn’t, because, of the ample opportunities he will have to get with other attractive men, this one is off limits. It’s unfair.  Nero has kind eyes which leads Angelo to believe he won’t be as douche-y as his hairstyle might suggest.

As with many things, it seemed the moment Nero had been placed in the “off limits” box, Angelo wanted him more.  A challenge.  The other contestants were going to be throwing themselves at his feet, where is the fun in that?

**

Corteo leans his head on Angelo’s shoulder, like he had when they were kids.

“I don’t know how to tell you this,” he sighs.

“Tell me what,” Angelo watches the ocean, eyes half closed.

“I’m in love.”

“Who’s the lucky guy?” He pries, then instantly, “it’s Cerotto, right?”

Corteo jumps, face flushing, “how did you-”

Angelo smirks, his friend was always so transparent, “he said something to me, to the tune of ‘he likes me but he likes someone else better’.”

“I know it’s horrible form but…” Corteo presses his face into his hands.

“You should go for it,” Angelo says, quietly.

“But it’s your show, we’re stealing the spotlight from you-”

Angelo wraps an arm around his shoulder, “listen, if this show is really about finding love, it’ll be fine. I’m giving you my permission, as the bachelor, to go off with the guy you love.”

Corteo visibly relaxes, arms wrapped around his knees, “thank you.”

“Why him? Just curious,” Angelo asks.

“He makes me laugh,” Corteo’s face turns redder.

Angelo snorts, “that’s gay.”

Corteo shoves Angelo over with two hands and he collapses into the sand, laughing.

***

“Ok what gives,” Luce demands the moment their escort leaves.

“You’re going to need to elaborate,” Angelo adopts a similar tone.

“You don’t like any of them, not romantically, at least,” he accuses.

“I like one guy here,” Angelo shrugs.

Luce crosses his arms, “uh huh, that doesn’t count.”

“What is it they say? The heart wants what it wants,” Angelo says, nonchalant.

“Mmm, right, because you’re absolutely thinking with your heart right now,” Luce scoffs.

“Don’t be lewd,” he scolds, crossing his arms to match.

“Alright, changing tactics since it’s clear you massively missed the point of the show.  Why him? You don’t even like beards!”

“It’s just a goatee,” Angelo says defensively.

“You hate all facial hair on guys,” he deadpans.

“Tastes can change,” he’s just being bull-headed now, “you’ll understand when you’re older.

Luce gives him a withering look,” did you really just pull that on me?  Ugh, fine, just don’t do anything stupid.”

“Glad to know you’re invested in my happiness little brother,” Angelo waves him off.

****

For each of Nero’s carefully planted plots, Angelo has been right behind him every step of the way. 

Uprooting all of them.

Step one in Angelo’s amendment to Nero’s plans is to meet with his final two competitors.

Fango and Volpe cluster in the entryway of his trailer, looking a bit confused.

“I suppose you’re wondering why I called you both here,” Angelo announces, standing across from them, poised.

“I think I have a pretty good idea,” Fango eyes both of them, licking his lips.

“Tomorrow I choose a winner.  I’m here to inform you that I’ll be choosing neither of you and both of you are going to play along with me,” he says coldly, eyes sharp and darting, as though daring either one to oppose him.

Fango frowns, “ok that’s not what I thought.”

Volpe face palms, “I told you he wasn’t calling us here for a threesome.”

Angelo sends him a withering look, “what part of you made you think that I’d be wanting us to have a threesome?”

“All of me was perfectly amenable to having a threesome?” Fango supplies.

Largely ignoring him, Angelo forges onward, “so tomorrow.  Both of you are going to act like it’s totally normal when I choose Nero to propose to.”

“Ha!” Volpe punches Fango unnecessarily hard in the shoulder, “told you so!”

Fango shrugs “my money was really on the intern. Also as long as we’re being honest, full disclosure I was totally hooking up with Serpente when he was still here.”

“What? Why?!” Volpe yelps.

“Uh-hum, because unlike some of us here who think they’re too good for silver foxes,” he shoots a look at Angelo, “I’m totally up for it.”

“Not sure there’s anything you wouldn’t get it up for at this point,” Volpe mutters, Fango giving him a concessionary shrug.

“Anyways,” Angelo drags the conversation back, “no objections?”

“Of course not,” Volpe shrugs, “neither of us expected to get this far, my agent is thrilled by this publicity boost, I’ve gotten a ton of offers to model for.”

“I’ve gotten a handful of mainstream modeling jobs, and a shitton from my usual channels,” Fango admits.

“Didn’t realize the porn industry had such an interest in masochism,” Angelo deadpans, shameless.

Fango makes finger guns, “you’d be surprised.”

Angelo seems to relax, “Alright, you two can leave. I have one more stop to make to ensure tomorrow goes as planned.”

“What might that be?” Fango asks, super into being a part of the plan.

He hesitates, “I need to visit Fio.”

The two other men give him sympathetic looks, as if to say “It was nice knowing you.”

Fio corners Angelo, “so are you really in love with my brother? Because I can’t always tell when you like something or just don’t give a shit.” Her hands are poised on her hips; she looks ready to verbally rip Angelo to pieces, if needed.

Angelo feels a faint flush creep into his cheeks, “I do…I am.  In love with Nero, that is,” he pauses, collecting himself as best as he can under Fio’s dissecting gaze. “I may have snuck to his trailer a couple days ago to make out with him…”

He expects some kind of retaliation for the admission but instead Fio relaxes a degree, “you two only kissed?”

“Nero pushed me away…afraid of a scandal or something like that,” Angelo rolls his eyes.

“Idiot,” Fio pinches the bridge of her nose.

“That’s what I thought too,” he crosses his arms, “it’s unconventional but…will you help me?”

Fio kneads her temples, “yes.  It’s a very doable move, will probably shock the audience…but in a good way.” She shakes her head, “what am I saying.  Anything to get Nero off his goddamn pity train.”

“Thank you,” Angelo breathes, jumping slightly when Fio puts an affectionate hand on his shoulder.

“I’ll have him ready for you tomorrow.”