by Laura Burton
“This is our tenth season, and the producers have introduced a twist.”
My ears prick up. I love a good twist. Maybe I’m here to break couples up? Or maybe women have to fight to the death for their man? On second thought, probably not. It’s good I’m not a producer. Though it might make good entertainment to have participants fighting in a gladiator arena, it would hardly be ethical.
“This year, we are introducing a fake couple.”
If I was drinking, I would have spectacularly sprayed my drink all over the desk and Jewel’s slender hands. Instead, my mouth hangs open again, and I gawp at her.
“Sorry… what?” I say, dazed. Fake couple? As in… actors? Jewels blinks at me, calm and collected. Maybe waiting for my brain to stop spinning.
“Yes, the British public will be told to vote for who they believe to be the real couple.”
“Wait, the real couple? There’s only one?”
That’s not just a twist. That changes the entire idea of the show. What once was a battle of couples with real life romance and chivalry, is now a shallow ‘fake-it-til-you-make- it,’ competition between actors.
“You have one night to get to know your fake boyfriend. And then it’s up to the two of you to convince the other couples––and the British public––that you are the real deal.”
This is not what I signed up for. Though I’m not exactly sure what I was expecting, being single and coming into a reality TV show about couples. But it wasn’t this. Part of me considers making a dramatic exit, throwing my hands in the air and exclaiming they ask too much of me. When the door behind me swings open and a heavy gust of ice-cold air floods the room and the fire almost goes out.
“Excellent timing, Ronan. Melissa, this is your boyfriend.”
A pair of heavy boots thud across the stone floor, I swear the ground vibrates with each step. And with a sharp intake of breath, I turn in the oversized, broken chair to lay eyes on the fake love of my life.
Oh, great. I thought this could not get any more awkward, but it just did. I swallow against the uncomfortable lump in my throat which seems to drop into the hollow of my stomach.
It’s wire cutters guy.
Chapter Three
“Hey there Melissa, I’m Ronan, it’s nice to meet you… properly.” Ronan stretches out a massive hand and offers me the most genuine smile I have ever seen. As if it is not embarrassing to be face to face after the thorn bush incident. I try to muster some dignity and rise to my feet, but a terrible realisation dawns on me. I’m stuck. This time, my captor is a broken armchair.
“Hi, I’m sorry I can’t seem to...” I place my hands on the moth-eaten arms of the chair and push with all my might. But alas, I have the upper body strength of a gnat. And instead of gracefully rising to my feet and shaking hands with my new beau, I remain seated and my feet twitch as I scramble to break free. My pitiful attempts are fruitless.
I look up at this gorgeous beast of a man. In the firelight, his almond-shaped eyes are dark and wrinkle at the sides as he allows some amusement to break through his polite smile. He offers me two giant hands now. I take them lamely, as if I am a small child. And he easily pulls me up. I yelp as the force has me flying into his burly arms and my head face plants his chest.
“Well, you two will be fun to watch,” Jewel says. I stammer my apologies, and press against Ronan’s hard pectorals and back away. His laugh is so low, it rumbles against my eardrums.
“I’ll show you to your room,” Jewel marches toward the doorway and I take a final glance at the fire, sad to leave its warmth. Without a word, Ronan places an arm around my shoulder and I cry out like a wounded puppy.
“Sorry,” he says, looking alarmed by my reaction. “You shivered. I thought––” he breaks off and just stares at me with his bushy brows raised. I wonder whether he’s trying to gage my level of craziness on a scale of 1–10. I shake my head and chuckle. Already I’m acting, I never chuckle. But I’m stuck with this guy for the next three weeks, so I should try to tone down the crazy and be cool. I’m not sure what being cool looks like.
“No, it’s all good,” I say, flicking my hair back. “I guess we will have to get comfortable touching each other.” As soon as the words escape my mouth, I’m willing them to go back in, realising how very wrong that sounds. My cheeks are on fire now as my hand flies to my mouth. “I don’t mean it like that.”
My shoulders slump in defeat as Ronan shakes his head and we walk in silence. Jewel’s high heels sound like horseshoes clapping against the floors and echo as we cross the main hall. There’s no time to take in the surroundings. Jewel’s pace is so fast, I have to work double time to keep up. Ronan makes one stride for every two of mine. He’s not that much taller than me. Yet, he has a presence about him that makes me feel small. He also does not have a tight lace dress restricting his movements. I cannot breathe.
“Here we are. You should find your luggage inside. Now don’t get too relaxed. You need to learn as much as you can about each other. Take this time to become comfortable behaving like a couple. Cameras will start rolling for the opening ceremony straight after breakfast. Questions?” Jewel looks from Ronan to me with her brows arched and hands on her hips.
“Are we sharing a room?” I say in a little voice. It’s a dumb question. We all know the answer to it. And the thought of sharing a room in a Scottish castle with a total stranger is… well, scandalous.
Jewel doesn’t answer, she merely inclines her head and nods to Ronan as she marches off. I glance at Ronan who gestures for me to walk in first. As I do so, I wonder whether it’s too late to make a break for it. If I ran down the hall, would anyone stop me? I’m no bodybuilder but I think I could take Jewel down and the woman by the front door looks weak. But the beefy-looking bodyguards outside might be tricky to pass. Then Jewel’s words replay in my head, and my ears ring.
One-hundred-thousand pounds.
That money would change my life. I could finally move to London and set up my event planning business. I can picture it now, extravagant boat rides on the Thames. High-class Christmas work parties in the financial district. Oh, the weddings in Hyde Park! I could make a name for myself in the city. All I have to do is pretend I’m head over heels in love with wire-cutters guy. How hard can that be?
“We’ll I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted.” Ronan stretches his arms as he follows me into our room. There’s a four-poster bed with the heaviest, creepiest-looking curtains I’ve ever seen around it. Happily, I notice a burning log fire to the left and a squishy couch in the corner that has my name on it. Ronan closes the wooden door and bolts it. I cock a brow at him.
“Is that really necessary?” I ask. He shrugs back.
“You don’t know who works here, it’s probably best. I don’t like someone I don’t know walking in while I’m asleep,” he says. I cross my arms and turn away to hide the smirk on my face. I want to retort, ‘I don’t like being locked inside with a man I’ve just met,’ but I keep my mouth zipped. Eyes on the prize, Melissa.
I turn back, and my mouth flies open at the sight of Ronan undressing. Unashamedly.
The heat of the flames warm my legs as I stagger backwards. Ronan is now standing beside the bed, his chequered shirt is gone, and he stands bare-chested, the firelight glowing across his lightly tanned torso. His sculpted torso, I may add.
“What are you doing?” I say without thinking.
“Getting changed,” he says. As if this is something he’s done in front of me a billion times before. I gasp as he reaches down and removes his boots and socks and my eyes follow every sinew of his back muscles as they contract with his movements.
I’m a small-town girl. Stuck in a job I don’t like, working for a boss who hates me. My life is insanely dull. If it wasn’t for my bestie, Elsie. My days would be monotonous. And in my town, bachelors––correction––sexy bachelors are in short supply. I’ve never seen one up close. Not even at the local swimming pool.
I gulp a
nd swear that he can hear it even from across the room. Ronan straightens, and his hands move to his belt buckle. I can’t take any more. I’m no longer sure if it’s the fire, or the view that has got me so hot, but this has to stop. Before I melt.
“Do you have to change in front of me?” I stammer. Ronan drops his hands and looks around the room. My eyes flicker to the door to my right and I shakily push it open.
“There’s a bathroom,” I say in a wobbly voice. I need to blink. Swallow. Move. But I stay rooted on the spot, eyes bulging, throat constricted as I hold my breath and wait for Ronan to pass.
As he walks my way, I am consumed by the heat of his body. Forget the fire, he is on fire. And it’s lighting up many places in my body. Yet, I’ve got chills. He winks at me just before he closes the door and I am left alone in the room to find my courage.
It may be easy to pretend I like this guy. But acting comfortable around him, even when he’s standing two feet away from me, will be difficult. Besides, by the end of this, I’m pretty sure there will be nothing left of me but a puddle on the floor. Let the shenanigans begin.
Chapter Four
“Okay, so we’ve covered the basics… now we need to come up with a story of how we got together,” Ronan says as he drags a hand across his tired face. He looks at me with his brows knitted together and his eyes are so intense, it takes me aback.
We’ve been talking for hours and my temples are pulsing as my mind tries to organise the massive influx of data. Ronan is an only child who raised by a single mother. Yes, she was a big Boyzone fan. No, he’s never been to a Boyzone concert. He likes sushi, but he never buys it at the Supermarket. He skips breakfast and reads the newspaper. No, not on his phone. A real one. He’s old-fashioned and has high morals. I’ve already forgotten the name of his pet. But it’s some kind of snake.
My head is spinning. It’s difficult to focus when he’s facing me, sitting up on the edge of the four-poster bed, his knees facing outward and his big hands clasped together. Even with a t-shirt on, I can see his muscles rippling from shoulder to shoulder. It reminds me of the Loch Ness Monster.
“Why did you apply for the show?” I blurt out. For someone with supposedly high morals and old-fashioned tastes, it seems odd to sign up for a shallow reality TV competition. Ronan’s smile fades and he looks at me with hollow eyes. I know he’s no longer with me but lost inside his own head. Whatever is going on in there isn’t good, because his face pales and his eyes have lost their twinkle.
“Sorry, that’s too personal.” I wave my hands to bring him back to Earth and away from whatever horrors have him captured.
Although, to be fair, it’s an innocent question enough. I mean, he had no problem telling me about the location of a mole that only his mother would know about.
“It’s alright. You should know,” Ronan says with a heavy sigh. He stretches with a groan. I think he’s buying time, but I’m not complaining. I can’t help enjoying the view. My eyes fix on him as he raises his arms and puffs his chest out with a sigh. He must be a model. I mean, normal human beings do not look this good. Not in real-life without Photoshop filters.
“I need to find £50,000 urgently. I know this show is a long-shot, but desperate times call for desperate measures.” Ronan’s eyes won’t meet mine but remain focussed on the tatty old rug on the floor between us. I sit back in my chair and try to stop myself from asking the first question that springs to mind.
Are you in trouble?
Although my curiosity piques, if he’s got loan sharks on his back it would be wise to stay out of it.
“Okay… so if we win, are you expecting to split the money?”
Ronan gives me a look as if I asked something crazy like, “is the sky blue?” I am the queen of asking dumb questions. But asking two in one evening is a record.
“But what about the wedding?” I ask. Wondering where that fits in with his master plan. I never thought I would even make it onto the show so haven’t thought about it. Until now.
“Sorry?” Ronan’s brows fly to his hairline and his lips pucker in a way that makes me a little weak at the knees. Good thing I’m sitting down. With a sharp inhale, I clamp my teeth together and stare at him with shock.
“You don’t know?” I ask. Surely, the organisers told him about the format of the show. Or was he so intent on winning the prize money, that all the other details floated above his head?
“What wedding?” Ronan leans forward and rests his gorgeous elbows on his thighs as he searches my face with his baby blues. Gosh, he’s beautiful. Yet, the absence of a smirk and his relaxed body language tells me that perhaps he doesn’t know just how perfectly crafted he is. As if Michelangelo left blueprints, and he someone genetically engineered him in a lab. Through the thin cotton shorts, his thigh muscles bulge just the right amount. His forearms are defined, with veins running like cables to his elbows. My eyes follow the curve of his neck to his ears––equally proportioned to each other. And his hair now tousled, with a little shine in the dim light to make me guess it’s soft, but not so much that it looks greasy. Then my eyes return to his, framed with lush thick brows. The twinkle is back, and his mouth curves upwards. I swear, I let out a dreamy sigh. His short beard makes him look rugged, but it’s not wild and wiry. I bet he’s a man who goes after what he wants… and yet knows how to treat a lady with respect. Far more respect than I’m giving him, as I’ve just spent the last five hours checking him out. But who can blame me? I am looking at the perfect man.
Several minutes have passed and my stomach lurches at the sudden realisation that I have left him hanging too long, and now I don’t know what to say.
“What time is it?” I ask, succumbing to a yawn. My back aches, and I stretch out awkwardly. Ronan shakes his head and reclines on the bed, propping himself up on one elbow. I force myself to avert my eyes because I can’t stop staring at him. Instead, I grab my bag, then point to the bathroom door and glance at him. He gets the hint and nods.
“Right,” I say, mostly to myself as if I was about to embark on a daring adventure. Which I am. Getting this dress on was no challenge. Peeling it off is something else. “I’ll be back.” I say, imitating the Terminator as I salute him. His bemused face brands itself in my memory as I turn and march to the doorway, hiding the grimace on my face.
Now alone in the freezing cold bathroom, I take a moment to consider my situation. Ronan is oblivious to the wedding at the end of the show and that’s if we even make it that far. The likelihood of us being chosen by the British public to be King and Queen of the Love Trials is not high.
I can’t help but wonder what else he doesn’t know about. Sure, he knows that we are to be a fake couple. Has he even watched the show before? Is he aware of how cringe worthy the challenges might be? Is he self-conscious in front of cameras? Can we pull this off?
There are so many questions it’s making my head spin. I’m tired and everything hurts, but we have a lot of work to do if we are to convince anyone the Ronan and I are in love.
Now would be the perfect time to give my bestie a call. Elsie would know what to do, and now I wish I smuggled my Phone into the Castle. Instead, I am left to navigate this ridiculous scenario on my own with nothing but my wit and quick-thinking skills to help me.
Nobody tells you that castles are cold. They look so grand and luxurious in photographs. But it’s cold in a way I’ve never known cold before. Especially as this Castle is in Scotland and probably the wettest, coldest part of Scotland known to man. The green rolling fields and tall ancient trees looking down on this historic landmark is picturesque, yes. But standing barefoot on the icy stone floor does not fill me with enthusiasm about the next three weeks.
I prise myself out of my dress and peel off the shapewear. My body sighs with relief, before shivering so violently I swear I hear my bones rattling. The harsh cold coming in through the walls prickle my skin like a thousand tiny needles. It takes all my energy to control my shaking limbs, to step into my thick
pyjamas.
I need to take my mind off the fact I’m just minutes away from developing frost bite. So I think about the challenge I’ve signed up to.
The Love Trials begins with an opening ceremony where the host will tell the viewers what to expect from the show. There is usually a twist revealed and immediately after the opening ceremony is a challenge to get the couples in competitive mode. Nobody joins the show to make friends.
Do I know enough about Ronan? During our get-to-know-you chat, I wracked my brains to think about questions I could ask him before morning; his favourite colour, his favourite food, his morning routine. We haven’t even attempted to cross the physical barrier between us. But I know that at some point I will have to tolerate him holding my hand or giving me a kiss without me jumping out my skin––as that would be an almighty giveaway.
I walk back into the room, now wearing the fluffiest pyjamas that I own and a lot more comfortable with a clean set of teeth.
“Right, where were we? Ah yes, let’s talk about how we met,” I say, rolling my bag to the corner of the room. Silence. Actually, not quite silence––a muffled snore greets me. “Ronan?” I whisper, looking up at the bed. I shuffle my feet forward and peer over the mountain of blankets on the bed to see a corner of Ronan’s face, his eyes tightly shut. Well, I guess that’s it then.
I open the closet and pull out a bundle of blankets and fashion myself a nest on the armchair. Part of me is relieved to be going to sleep, even though Ronan and I are unprepared for what’s coming. I don’t care anymore. It’ll be morning soon. Then all the fun will begin.
