Hopeless Vows

by Rachael Duncan

  Holy shit! I nod, unable to speak.

  “Miss Taylor?” Amanda questions when she gets no audible response from me.

  Shaking myself out of my trance, I clear my throat. “Sorry, I’m just in shock right now. When do you want to meet?”

  “As soon as possible. We really need to get this done now since you only have seven days before you walk down the aisle.”

  My mind starts spinning. Seven days. In seven days I’ll be a married woman. I feel like I should be freaking out more than I am. Maybe it hasn’t set in yet. “I can meet you during my lunch.”

  “That works. You are not to tell anyone you’ve been selected until you’ve signed your new contract. We also want to get your family’s reaction to the news.” She quickly rattles off an address to meet at before hanging up.

  I take a deep breath and stare at the phone in my hand. This is it. For better or worse things will never be the same. A swarm of butterflies take flight in my stomach. So many things are going through my head all at once. Who is the guy they paired me with? What does he look like? What’s his name? God, I know absolutely nothing about him. I hope we’re truly compatible. Am I crazy for doing this?

  My first instinct is to call Janey, but then I remember what the producer said and know I can’t. Looks like I’ll just have to wait a little while longer, even if it kills me.

  The next four hours crawl by. No matter how hard I try to focus, it’s useless and I get next to nothing done. At twelve o’clock sharp, I make my way down the elevator and toward the coffee shop I’m going to meet Amanda in.

  Right before I walk into the restaurant, I wipe my sweaty palms on my skirt and then enter. A woman in the back corner waves me over and I walk her way. “Thanks for meeting me,” she says once I have a seat.

  “No problem. You’re Amanda, I assume?”

  “Yep. Okay, here’s the contract,” she says, not wasting time on small talk. She slides a packet of papers in my direction. My eyes widen when I see the amount of small print on each page. Holy shit. It looks like I’m signing over my first-born child. “I’ll go over the high points with you, but you’re more than welcome to take this home and read it. You can also have an attorney look at it. Once you sign this, there is no going back. Do you understand that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” She begins by going over the schedule and how filming works. “A crew will follow you daily from now until your eight weeks are up. They’ll be at your house at seven every morning, and will go home at 12 every night. If you want to talk to a friend or family about anything, you are to wait until the crew gets there so they can film it.”

  She goes on some more about how I’m not to discuss the show while it’s filming or until after it airs. “Next, once you sign this, you are completely committed to the process. No matter how much you hate the guy, you must marry him and fulfill the eight-week requirement. Once it’s over, you’re free to do whatever you want. You’ll also be expected to appear at a reunion show following up with you guys six months after your decisions have been made.”

  “So you’re basically saying cold feet aren’t allowed.”

  “Exactly. We can’t make a show when you become a runaway bride or up and leave two weeks into this thing. This is a social experiment and you are to complete the terms. You can talk about how nervous you are or how you’re not sure if you can do it. We actually love that kind of stuff. It builds angst, anticipation. But ultimately, you will go through with it.” I nod. This whole conversation intensifies the nerves that were lying dormant. Now that the reality of the situation has been spelled out for me, I’m slightly queasy. “Do you have any questions about anything I’ve gone over with you?”

  Looking down at the stack of papers, I shake my head.

  “Would you like to take these home and look over them?” she asks.

  “No, you went over each paragraph, so I think I’m good.”

  “Alright. If you’ll just sign the last page, we can get the show going,” she says with a clap of her hands and a beaming smile on her face. It’s the first time I’ve seen her show any kind of emotion through the whole conversation. Maybe she was worried I’d back out before she could get me to sign.

  “When will you be telling your family? We want to make sure we capture that.”

  “Uh, I don’t really have any family.”

  Her eyebrows dip in confusion. “No parents, grandparents, nothing?”

  “No. My parents died in an accident and my grandparents have since passed away.”

  “Okay . . .” she draws out, “so who do you plan to tell? Who will be attending the wedding?”

  Through this whole application process, the thought never really crossed my mind as crazy as it sounds. “I’ll have my friends there, and I plan to tell my best friend tonight after work.”

  “Perfect. I’ll have the crew set up at your house, so don’t tell her before then. We’ll also need signed permission from your boss to film you at work.”

  Shit.

  My boss.

  Dread fills my body. I’m not sure how she’ll react to this whole thing, and honestly, I’m afraid she’ll judge me for it. I mean, who goes on a television show to find their husband?

  “Okay, no problem.”

  Glancing down at my watch, I see I’m running a few minutes late coming back from lunch.

  Shit.

  Hopefully, Karen isn’t in and won’t notice.

  “Are lunches two hours now, Ms. Taylor?” she questions as I rush past her door. No such luck. Technically, I was gone for an hour and ten minutes, but I’m not going to correct her.

  Closing my eyes, I turn around on my heel and approach her office reluctantly. “Sorry, I actually need to talk to you if you have a minute.”

  She looks up at me over the rim of her glasses. “Close the door.”

  Taking a seat in the chair directly in front of her sleek desk, I take a deep breath as my fingers fumble together. This may violate my contract, but the hell with it. I don’t want her to fire me on national television. “I’ve applied for this . . . social experiment. I didn’t think I’d actually be selected, but I just met with the producer and it looks like I made it. It was a—”

  She takes off her glasses while holding up her hand, effectively cutting off my rambling. Leaning back in her chair, she studies me carefully. “Cut to the chase, Jillian. Just tell me how this will affect your job performance.”

  “I’ll need two weeks off starting next week.” I hold my breath waiting for her to tell me no, that she’ll have to find a replacement.

  She’s silent for a lot longer than I’d like, making me sweat. “How many vacation days do you have left?”

  “All of them. I’ve never taken any time off.” Hell, I come to work when I feel like I’m dying. I don’t tell her that though.

  “You’re not exactly giving me much notice . . .” She trails off, tapping her pursed lips with her index finger. I open my mouth to reply when she says, “I suppose you can have the time off then.”

  I’m stunned speechless. No one gets time off around here. I don’t know if that’s because we’re all too scared to ask her, but I can’t remember the last time anyone had a vacation in this office. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Van der Boor.”

  She waves her hand in her typical dismissive fashion. “Anything else?”

  “Well, there is one more thing. You see, I’ve signed up for a reality television show of sorts.” This gets her attention as she glances up at me with an arched eyebrow. “The producers want to film me at work and they need written consent from you.”

  “What kind of show is this exactly?”

  I let out a sigh, readying myself for the inevitable ridicule. “The show is called First Comes Marriage.” I go on to explain the premise behind it and what I’m preparing to do.

  “So you’re just going to marry a complete stranger?” Her tone isn’t mocking me, just intrigued.

  “Yes.”

  Af
ter a few moments, she speaks up. “I’ll allow them to mention the magazine and they can display where you work, but I don’t want film crews in the office. No one needs the distraction.”

  Shortly after, I’m dismissed and sitting at my desk. Hopefully, the network will be okay with not filming me at my job, but overall, that went a lot smoother than I’d expected. All this time I’ve been putting off telling her about the show, now I don’t know why I was so nervous. Maybe this is a sign of things to come. A sign this is meant to be.

  A SMALL CAMERA crew is waiting for me outside of my apartment when I get home from work. “Hey, guys,” I greet awkwardly. I don’t really know what I’m supposed to say. They’re going to be filming my every move, watching my every reaction. It’s going to be hard not to feel self-conscious around them. After they show their credentials, I say, “You can come on up.” I wave my hand for them to follow me up to my apartment.

  Once we get up there, one of the guys speaks up. “We’re ready to go and will start filming now. You just carry on like we’re not here.” Easier said than done. “You don’t interact or acknowledge us at all. We want everything to look as natural as possible. The only time you’ll talk to us is when the producer sits you down for a one-on-one to get your thoughts and reactions to certain events we’ve already filmed. Got it?”

  “Got it.” At that moment there’s a knock on my door. “That must be Janey. I text messaged her on my way home.”

  “Remember, we’re not here.”

  “Oh. Right. Sorry.” Before I open the door, I look over my shoulder. Cameras are pointing at me as three people stare. I guess it’s show time. Taking a deep breath, I try my best to calm myself. This is what I signed up for. There’s no turning back, so I might as well get used to it.

  “Hey, girlfriend!” Janey exclaims as the door swings open and gives me a big hug. When she pulls away, she sees everyone standing behind me. “What’s going on?” she whispers, still looking at them.

  “Let’s sit down. I have something to tell you.” I grab us two glasses of wine before joining her on the couch. My eyes travel around the room, taking everything in. Nervous energy runs down my spine and out to my extremities. I’m not sure how I’ll ever get used to this.

  “So, what is all of this?” she asks. I know she already knows, but I’m glad she’s playing along for the sake of the show.

  “Well, I’m getting married in seven days,” I casually respond.

  Her mouth hangs open and her eyes bug out. I’m sure she wasn’t expecting it to be so soon. “What?”

  “I’ve been going through this process where a panel of experts try to match me with the perfect person. They’ve found that guy apparently, and I’ll get married to him a week from today.”

  “A week! That’s crazy! Will you get to meet him before?”

  “Nope. I’m going in completely blind.”

  She shakes her head in disbelief. “You’re insane.”

  “So you’ve told me,” I mutter before taking a drink of my wine.

  “Are you nervous?” She’s taking on a more serious tone, and I know she’s worried this is all a huge mistake.

  “Honestly, I’m terrified.” And I am. I usually strive for order and structure in my life, and this is the furthest thing from that. Everything about this experiment is out of my hands. The thought alone makes me twitch with the need to gain control over the situation.

  “Why do it? You’re gorgeous, smart, and successful. You could find a guy on your own.”

  I shake my head. “You know better than anyone how bad I am at finding a guy. I either don’t have time or attract douches. This feels . . . safer.” That sounds crazy, especially with how much I seek stability in my life, but I can’t explain it. “I just believe in it for some unexplainable reason.”

  “What if you see him and aren’t attracted to him? What if he has a hairy back or something?” The horror on her face is enough to break the tension and make me laugh.

  “I guess I’ll shave it for him then,” I say through my laughter.

  “You’re a better woman than I am.” She picks up her glass and takes a drink, eyeing me over the rim of her glass the whole time. “So, what’s next?”

  “Dress shopping. Wanna go with me?”

  “Are you kidding? Hell yeah I wanna go!”

  The next week goes by in a blur. It feels like one minute I’m sitting in my living room telling Janey I’m going on this show, and the next I’m getting my hair and makeup done for my wedding day. I keep trying to imagine how this day would go, and now that it’s here, I still don’t have a clue.

  Will I look at him and know without a doubt he’s supposed to be my husband?

  What if I’m not attracted to him?

  What if I hate the way he eats or he snores too loud?

  What am I going to do if there’s no connection or we have nothing in common?

  My face falls. Oh God, what if he expects me to sleep with him tonight?

  The thought alone has the butterflies already residing in my stomach bouncing against my body like a pinball machine. I wipe my sweaty palms on my thighs and pace the room anxiously.

  There are so many variables and uncertainties leading up to this moment. The only thing I know for sure is there is no turning back now. In a few hours, I’ll be married to this stranger in front of my friends, God, and millions of people sitting at home watching this on their television a few months from now.

  “I just want to make sure we’re clear you are under contract and must go through with this,” Amanda, the producer reminds me for the one hundredth time.

  “Yes, I’m aware.” It takes an extreme amount of effort not to roll my eyes at her. My attitude must not go unnoticed if her arched eyebrow is any indication. She leaves without another word.

  I take a deep breath and look at myself in the mirror. My makeup is done in a way that accentuates my blue eyes and full lips. A few loose curls frame my face while the rest of my long, brown hair is pinned up in a low chignon. I’m wearing an ivory gown that hugs my body until it flairs out slightly at about mid-thigh. The lace overlay and sleeves give it a traditional feel while the completely open back adds some sex appeal. A long veil cascades down, trailing behind me as I walk. As I stare at my reflection, I’m happy with what I see. I look classic and elegant, which is exactly how I pictured I’d look on this day. Granted, I always envisioned I’d know who I’d be walking down the aisle toward.

  “Okay, we’re ready for you to come down,” another crew member says as he pokes his head in through the door.

  I exhale out in a rush. My feet carry me down to where I’m supposed to go and I’m trembling the whole way. My bouquet of purple and white calla lilies is sitting on a table right outside of two closed double doors. It was one of the few things I got to pick out for today. Most girls fantasize about their dream wedding and how it’ll look. It’s a good thing I didn’t because I had virtually no say in anything. I was able to pick out my dress, the flowers, and his wedding band.

  That’s it.

  But that’s not what’s important right now. My focus is on what waits for me on the other side of these doors. The groom. My future husband. The man whose last name I will take in mere minutes from now. I shift from one foot to the next, anxious to get started.

  “We’re ready. Go ahead and send him in.” Looking behind me, I see one of the crewmembers talking into a walkie talkie. “In five minutes it’s go time.” This time she’s addressing me. I simply nod and face the door again.

  I swear I can hear a clock somewhere in this building ticking. Each second feels like an hour, each minute feels like an eternity. I just want to get this over with because the anticipation is killing me. Right when I don’t think I can wait another moment, the same crewmember from before says, “Okay, he’s ready.” She gives me a reassuring smile when I glance at her. When I face forward, the doors slowly open and I feel like I could be sick.

  Here we go.

  No turn
ing back now.

  Music plays softly from inside, announcing my entrance. When the doors are completely open, I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. For all the nerves I’m feeling, I’m also really excited. From this distance at the doorway, I can’t quite make out his face. He’s tall with a frame made to wear suits. His dark brown hair looks to be short on the sides and long on top from here. The only other feature I can make out is his beaming white smile. His smile gives me the encouragement I need to put one foot in front of the other and walk toward him.

  My cheeks start to hurt from cheesing so big, but it’s quickly wiped off of my face as soon as I’m halfway down the aisle and can clearly see him. I freeze, unable to move.

  No.

  This can’t be happening.

  The corners of his mouth slowly pull down as his eyebrows furrow in confusion when I refuse to continue toward him.

  You’ll be in breach of contract.

  This rolls through my mind on a loop.

  I’m going to be sick.

  Oh, God.

  How is this even possible?

  I can’t let them know why I’m freaking out. I’ve worked so hard to separate myself from my past. But the past is rearing its ugly head and sucking all the air from my body.

  I know him.

  Austin

  WAITING FOR THE go ahead to walk into the ceremony is pure agony. I pace back and forth at a side entrance to ensure I’m kept separate from my soon to be wife.

  Wife.

  Damn, that sounds weird. I’m going from a single guy to married in a matter of minutes.

  “Austin, you can go through those doors now.” Here goes nothing.

  With a deep breath, I open the door and instantly see my close family and friends. They’re all smiling and showing their support. I expected them to be more reluctant to the idea, but they surprised me by welcoming it. Once I make it to the altar, I nervously glance across the center aisle to get my first glimpse into the life I’m going to marry into. At first, I’m a little surprised. There are only four guests seated on her side. She either has a really small family, or they weren’t supportive of her decision to go through with this.