Million Dollar Marriage

by Evans, Katy

  He shakes his head almost imperceptibly. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, his fingers stroking my palm. “Breathe, Penny. Just breathe.”

  So I do. But air is not the only thing I need to make me okay right now.

  We’ve been through so much, more than most couples will go through in entire lifetimes.

  And now we’re about to make the decision that will shape our future.

  We move closer to the stage, and as we do, I hear the announcer announcing the full names of the contestants eliminated before us. And then the spotlight is on us. The announcer says, “And here are your Million Dollar Marriage winners, Penelope Carpenter and Luke Cross!”

  Mr. and Mrs. Luke Cross.

  The crowd erupts into thunderous applause. Luke squeezes my hand and leads me out to the center of the stage, waving at his adoring fans. I see signs everywhere that mention Luke’s name, held by beautiful women who probably ogled him all season long. And rightly so. I wobble on my feet as the applause starts to die. Luke doesn’t drop my hand. He helps me, all the way toward the director’s chair at the front of the rest of the contestants. He sets me down in the chair, helps clip my microphone to my collar, and whispers, “Relax, sweetheart—they love us,” before sitting down beside me.

  I catch a look at him in the video monitor. Damn, he looks good. And who’s that pale, weird-looking ghost in the glasses and freckles next to him?

  Oh, right. That’s me.

  I scan the audience. There are so many signs waving for him. LUKE LUKE LUKE, everywhere I look. They love him, that’s for sure.

  The applause ends, and I can hear my heartbeat thrumming in the prevailing silence. Will Wang strides up to the front of the stage and says, “Well, well, well, I’m sure there are a lot of questions for our contestants, but let me just ask the winning couple . . . how does it feel?”

  Luke looks at me, and I nod at him, because my vocal cords are not working. He squeezes my hand. “Phenomenal.”

  Everyone cheers as if he’s just discovered a cure for cancer. Women wolf-whistle. It’s overwhelming how much they love him. Well, except for Ace, who’s sitting a row behind us. The cameras pan to him for a split second, revealing his scowl.

  I smile at that. Luke must see it, too, because he squeezes my hand, and I squeeze back.

  “The people out here want to know . . . how did you two really get along? Looked like it was touch and go there for a while.”

  “It was,” Luke says. “We were trailing a lot of the time. But we worked it out. There were some great competitors on this stage. Any one of them could’ve won. I think we came out on top by sheer luck.”

  People applaud politely. That’s Luke, so diplomatic.

  “And let me say,” says a voice from behind us. I think it’s Cody. “Luke’s really a class act. Always trying to help people. Sure, he was competitive, but if anyone was in a bind, he’d help them first. The money really couldn’t have gone to a nicer guy.”

  Louder applause. People on the stage and in the audience nod in agreement. They seem actually happy to have lost to him. It doesn’t sting as much to lose the money because they’re glad it’s going to him and not someone like Ace. And I agree too.

  Totally.

  But did they forget that I was a part of his team?

  It’s okay, I tell myself. I’m used to fading into the background and being the wallflower. And Luke always gets attention. That’s just who he is.

  “Obviously there were a lot of fights on the journey!” Will Wang says. “Take a look at this.”

  The screens around the arena light up with a montage of couples screaming at each other during various challenges. There’s one of us in front of the locked gate in Colorado, trying to find the key. The part where I went off on Luke with “Maybe I’m not because my name is Nell!” my eyes wild and fierce. People laugh at that. But what about what happened a minute before that, when he was screaming at me?

  Then it cuts to the part where I say, “I don’t worry about anything where he is concerned. He is not my problem. The only thing I’m focused on is winning.” Luke’s standing in the background, looking genuinely hurt by my response. It almost hurts me to see his stricken expression. I hadn’t seen it then, but . . . I can’t even remember when that was.

  Someone in the audience says, “What a bitch.”

  I swallow.

  These people who are cheering? They’re on Luke’s side.

  But is anyone on mine?

  The montage comes to an end, and everyone claps. My hands are sweating so badly that I have to let go of Luke’s hand. I see an image of me on the video monitor, and my forehead is glistening with sweat. I look terrified. Luke leans forward and mouths, “You okay?”

  I nod.

  But am I?

  “But it wasn’t all hate at Million Dollar Marriage. There was actually a lot of love to go around,” Will says, pointing to the video screen. There’s another montage, this one of couples hugging during various victories. Ace and Marta making out, to which half the audience says, “Wooooo!” and the other hisses, “Booooo!” It’s clear they’re the couple people love to hate.

  Then, big as life, on every one of the twelve screens around the place, I get a full-on view of my first kiss with Luke, at the zip line in Colorado, from every angle possible.

  My heart jumps.

  The audience reaction? A few people cheer, maybe, but what I hear is a long, loud boo from the women in the audience. One woman in the back shouts, “She isn’t good enough for you, Luke!” and someone else calls, “Take me instead!”

  I stiffen.

  Then I catch a look at Luke on one of the monitors. He’s smiling, like he’s flattered by the attention. He doesn’t seem to notice what it’s doing to me.

  Now I really feel like I’m going to throw up.

  Thankfully, the montage ends, and I’m wondering just how much worse this can get. “But let’s take an in-depth look at the leading couple of the hour. First, she’s a PhD from Atlanta—here’s Penelope Carpenter!”

  Oh god.

  They cut to a montage that is all about me. It’s all the interviews I’ve done in the past, scattered with some information about my background. There are a few extremely unflattering shots of me falling on my ass during the marines confidence course, covered in snot trying to make the igloo, and freaking out about zip-lining. Then a few contestant remarks, mostly people thinking that I’m stuck up, stiff, or don’t stand a chance in hell.

  When it’s over, people clap politely, while I cringe.

  Could they make me look any more like the Wicked Witch of the World?

  “Now, let’s take a closer look at America’s heartthrob, the man women all over the country are going crazy for . . . Luke Cross!”

  His montage almost makes me fall in love all over again. It’s shots of him riding his horse like a knight in shining armor. Diving shirtless into the water. Handing Shveta her balloon. Between those clips, there are interviews with various contestants, all putting him as a favorite to win. Then Ivy is there, smiling, fanning her face. “Oh, he’s hot, isn’t he?” she says with a grin.

  I watch as, after Ivy, about ten more female contestants say the very same thing. Hot. Smoking. Wouldn’t mind sharing a room with or getting a ring from him.

  Then there’s video of him hugging some of the other girls, women tackling him in the parking lot.

  And then there’s some grainy nighttime video. I recognize Luke’s form as he walks between two buildings, along with a blonde . . . Charity? I hear her saying something like “You know, there’s a place over there we could be alone” as she’s touching him, stroking him.

  He’s not moving away from the beautiful model.

  There’s a voiceover that I recognize as Charity’s squeaky high voice. “Oh yes,” she says, whispering conspiratorially. “Luke and I had quite the secret romance when the cameras weren’t rolling. He’s every bit the stud people think he is.”

  I stare, the nausea insi
de beginning to burn as I see Luke shifting uncomfortably next to me. The montage comes to an end, and then Will Wang goes to a commercial break.

  Luke reaches for my hand. “Hey. You okay?”

  I can’t even bring myself to look at him.

  He gets up and stands right in front of my chair, shielding me from the audience. “Hey. Penny. Look at me. You don’t believe any of that, do you?”

  I look up at him. I don’t want to believe it. I know what he told me that night. That he loves me. That he’s nothing without me. I want to believe that.

  But the more I look at myself through the eyes of the camera, the more I can’t possibly believe that I’m worth it.

  There’s absolutely no reason for him to lie, though. No reason.

  Unless he wants to collect the half a million. If we decide to get the marriage annulled, we’ll only get half of that. But if we decide to stay married . . .

  No. He wouldn’t do that.

  Would he?

  I mean, it sounds ridiculous—just about as ridiculous as the two of us getting together in the first place.

  I shake my head, but it’s not because I don’t believe what they’re saying. It’s because I need to get away. From him. From all of them. I can’t make this decision now. I need more time. I have a ring in my pocket that says I’m his. But am I?

  “Back from our commercial break!” Will Wang says, striding across the stage. “Before we ask Luke and Penny the all-important question, I’d like to give you some statistics. You’ve heard the saying that opposites attract. But in the real world, people tend to seek mates who are similar to them. This social experiment we performed proves that. After each couple was eliminated, we gave them the opportunity to remain together for a cash bonus, and all eight couples decided to have their marriage annulled. Even Ace and Marta, who appeared to find love at first sight, decided to call it quits after the taping. Which just goes to prove . . . opposites might attract, but they definitely don’t stick!”

  Opposites don’t stick. Opposites don’t stick . . .

  “Okay! And now, for the moment you’ve all been waiting for!”

  I feel the cameras on me. The temperature skyrockets. My head feels fuzzy. I can’t breathe. Can’t think.

  “Penelope Carpenter and Luke Cross . . . what is your answer? We do, or no way?”

  There is a silence so pervasive that I swear everyone must be able to hear the beating of my heart. Will Wang tilts his microphone toward us. People shift to the edges of their seats. Time seems to still, and the world freezes. I look over at Luke, the man I’ve stupidly fallen head over heels for, and he looks at me with that same steady gaze that makes my heart skip. I open my mouth, and he does too.

  I know what he’s going to say.

  So I beat him to the punch.

  I hear myself say it: “No way.”

  Then I stand up, rip the microphone off my collar, and rush off the stage.

  Luke

  It was bullshit, pure and simple. The things they showed on television isn’t the way it went down at all. They cherry-picked footage to fit the story they wanted to tell. It’s fucking bullshit, how they fucked with our lives for ratings.

  —Interview with Luke Cross for TV Buzz Daily, after the finale

  I jump from the chair, trying to run after Penny, but I forget the mic tethering me to the chair. By the time I loosen it, she’s gone. The camera catches my furious expression.

  “Oooooh,” Will Wang says. “Looks like Luke did not expect that answer at all!”

  I see red. “Fuck you,” I tell him, storming off the stage.

  The first person I see when I get behind the curtains is Eloise Barker, who’s reaching out her hands to me to calm me down.

  “You!” I growl, pointing a finger at her. “You fucking did this! What the fuck was that? What did you fucking do to her?”

  She gives me a condescending smile. “Luke, my dear. I have no idea what you’re talking about. That was reality. Whatever you think you may have had with Penny? That was the fantasy.”

  What. The. Fuck? “Why would you . . . ?”

  “Because,” she says, breezily, “the world loves you. But they want you single.”

  I rake my hands through my hair. “This is fucking ridiculous. You wanted to save the studio half a million dollars, is that it? I don’t care about the goddamn money. Keep it. I love her. I want to be married to her.”

  She shakes her head. “Apparently, she doesn’t want to be married to you. I’m sorry, Luke. She gave you her answer, and that’s final. And she already signed the paper.” She holds it up to me, with Penny’s scrawled signature on it. “Your marriage will be annulled.”

  No. This is a nightmare. I had it planned. After the live finale, when all the confetti poured down on us, I was going to take her in my arms and kiss her for the world to see. And then I was never going to let her go. I had a hotel room booked with our name on it. I’d been practically salivating for the moment I’d take my wife up there and sink into her, where I belonged.

  Instead, on stage, the audience applauds, and no confetti is thrown. Canned music plays. The rest of the contestants file off the stage, looking at me with more fear than pity, like I’m a time bomb that’s about to go off.

  They’re damn right about that.

  Charity steps off the stage, blinking like a deer in the headlights when I corner her. “What the fuck was that?”

  She gives me a disgusted look. “I didn’t say anything you weren’t thinking. You wanted me from the start. That was obvious.”

  I raise my hands up in fists, and they’re shaking, I’m so angry. “What? I never fucking touched you!”

  I push away from her. I can’t fucking breathe from this suffocating tie. I want to lash out, hit something, hit someone, but everyone’s keeping their distance. Ripping the tie off my neck, I race to the back of the stage, calling for my wife.

  But I can’t find Penny anywhere.

  She’s fucking gone.

  And she’s not my wife anymore.

  MOVING ON

  Nell

  TV Buzz Daily has attempted to contact Penelope Carpenter on numerous occasions for her take on the shocking Million Dollar Marriage finale, but she could not be reached for comment.

  It’s Christmas Eve.

  It’s been a week since the finale, and the outside world is a bigger minefield than it’s ever been.

  I sit in my darkened bedroom with my laptop. This is my fortress. I’ve been in bed most of the last week. The sheets are dirty because I haven’t showered. I don’t eat, can’t even bring myself to do the normal things that used to make me happy, like listening to classical music and reading my books. Everything I do that once brought me joy just reminds me of him.

  When I came home from the finale, Courtney tried to talk to me, but I told her I wasn’t feeling well, and I locked myself in my bedroom. I’ve seen her maybe twice since, though she’s always knocking at my door whenever reporters show up to ask questions. I ignore her or tell her I’m fine but need some time.

  I’ve gotten—and deleted unanswered—at least two hundred emails from various news sources, wanting my take.

  My take?

  I wish I’d never signed on for that damn show in the first place. I have the money, which has helped take care of a lot of my bills. But if I could do it all over again? I’d take the bills, every time.

  Because now I have this worthless broken heart that hurts so much, I think I might be dying. I keep trying to pull myself up, but I always sink back down. And because absolutely no one in the country was rooting for us as a couple or could see us together, I can’t believe that anyone would understand.

  I’m alone. Completely alone. And maybe that’s how I belong.

  My phone pings with another voice mail message from a 508 area code. I recognize the number. It’s my father. Knowing I can’t feel any worse than I already do, I press a button and listen to it:

  “Merry Christmas, Nell. I
. . . your mother and I want you to know . . . we saw the show. We’ve been trying to get in touch with you. We just want you to know . . . if you want to come home, we’re here. We’re here for you, Nell.”

  I swallow back a sob.

  Home. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with my life. Maybe instead of coming all the way down here, I should’ve just stayed home and did what my father wanted me to do. Maybe he was right all along.

  As I’m deleting emails asking me to come for interviews, I stop when I see one from the University of Massachusetts at Amherst. I’d interviewed for an English literature professorship there back in November. I open it and read with widening eyes.

  Dear Dr. Carpenter:

  We would very much like to welcome you to the faculty . . .

  I stare at it, and suddenly I know my heart isn’t all that damaged, because it starts to beat again. Maybe not the same or as fast as it did before.

  Maybe I won’t be happy. But I guess I can survive. I guess that’s what I have to do.

  Just then, someone knocks on the door. “Nell?” It’s Courtney. “Please come out. It’s Christmas. I made dinner.”

  I climb out of my covers, and she seems shocked when I open the door. She takes me in, and her eyes go sad. “Oh, Nell. You look terrible.”

  I smooth down my hair. “Thanks?”

  “Oh, honey. It’s been a week. Don’t you want to talk about it?”

  I go to my bed and collapse into it, face-first. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  She follows me and sits on my bed, her eyes skimming over the laptop. “What’s this? You got a job? In Massachusetts?”

  I nod, face still buried in my blankets.

  She looks horrified. “You’re not going to take it, are you?”

  I swallow. “I think I am.”

  Her face pales. “No!” she shouts out. “But . . . what about . . .”

  “I think I have to. I think it’s the only way I can move past this.”

  “Past what? The fact that you’re in love with Luke Cross?”

  I jump up and shake my head adamantly. “I wasn’t in love with him, I—”

  “Right. You’ve been moping in bed for a week over someone you don’t love. Sure.”