Blind Reality

by Heidi McLaughlin

  Third Base

  The Reeducation of Savannah McGuire

  The Beaumont Series

  Forever My Girl – Beaumont Series #1

  My Everything – Beaumont Series #1.5

  My Unexpected Forever – Beaumont Series #2

  Finding My Forever – Beaumont Series #3

  Finding My Way – Beaumont Series #4

  12 Days of Forever – Beaumont Series #4.5

  My Kind of Forever – Beaumont Series #5

  Lost in You Series

  Lost in You – Lost in You #1

  Lost in Us – Lost in You #1.5

  The Archer Brothers

  Here with Me

  Choose Me

  Joshua Wilson, an up-and-coming movie star, is turned off by the idea of marriage. His Oscar-winning smile and breakout role in the summer’s hottest romantic comedy bring in enough attention to satisfy Joshua’s cravings for the spotlight – not to mention the never-ending supply of willing women.

  Joey Mitchell is down in the dumps after finding out that her fiancé cheated on her with her best friend, and is living at home with her parents until she can get back on her feet. Without Joey’s knowledge, her overbearing and neurotic mother submits an application for her to appear on the reality show, Married Blind. When the producers surprise her with the news that they have cast her, Joey wants nothing to do with the show but agrees to participate because, at this point in her life, she really has nothing to lose.

  Lights, camera, action… Welcome to another season of Married Blind. Contestants are about to take the plunge, but only one couple will come out of the house winners!

  If you’re a reality fan – this is for you

  Thirteen bulbs shine brightly, adding a certain glow that I can’t define. The unlucky number is supposed to create a romantic ambience or give the person looking back in the mirror the confidence they need to push through what’s coming next. They do neither for me.

  This is not how I pictured my wedding day to be. The strapless gown I’m wearing is gorgeous and something I never saw myself in. The smooth satin gathers at my waist and is held there with a diamond-encrusted pin provided by none other than Neil Lane. My blonde hair is side swept and cascading down my shoulder, and my make-up is flawless. I look like the bride I’ve always envisioned I would be, but I would’ve never been able to achieve this vision, until now.

  As I look around the small dressing room it becomes harder to breathe and I close my eyes, wanting to cry. I want to run. I want to strangle my mother and ask her what the hell she was thinking. But I’ve come this far, and it would be foolish to back out now. There was a time in my life when I used to believe in true love. Used to.

  Imaginary lint is brushed off my shoulder and my curls are flipped forward one more time. I want to tell my mom to stop touching me, but there’s a look of pride in her eyes and I don’t want to ruin this moment for her.

  “Smile, Joey.”

  “I have nothing to smile about.”

  My mom stands tall behind me, creating a picture perfect moment. If this were any other day, any other wedding, I’d want to capture us like this with maybe my hand on top of hers as she rests it on my shoulder. Even with my fake wedding looming, she seems happy and probably thankful that her daughter is finally getting married.

  “You’ve been moping for a year. It’s time to put that behind you and take a chance on something new.”

  “I’ll get a cat.”

  She moves to my side, sitting on a sliver of the bench that I’m currently using. She doesn’t ask me to move, nor do I slide a little to the side to give her more room.

  “Joey—”

  “Don’t you get it, Mom? Every time I see a man, I’m going to wonder if he’s looking for the next me to come into his life. My new husband will be walking on eggshells, fighting a battle that he probably doesn’t deserve because I walked into my ex-future husband’s apartment to find him in a situation that should’ve never come about. Tell me, how is that fair to that man standing out there?”

  “Your father and I think this will do you some good. You can take the time away to reflect, grow, and work on your communication skills.”

  I sigh with defeat, accepting the fact that once my mom’s mind is set, there’s no changing it regardless of how much I try and convince her otherwise.

  “I know, Mom,” I sigh, taking a deep breath to fight off the tears. I’m probably not in the place my parents expected me to be, especially after we spent so much time planning my wedding earlier. I can’t imagine what my parents went through when I called everything off.

  My thoughts are interrupted by a soft knock on the door signaling that my new maid of honor is ready for me, except she won’t be standing by my side and holding my bouquet. That job will be left up to some model being paid to stand on stage and look pretty for the television audience. With one last look in the mirror, I say good-bye to any sanity I may have left. The next moments in my life are going to be shrouded in darkness.

  A production assistant greets me with a smile, though I can’t seem to match her enthusiasm. She has on a headset and has a clipboard in her hand. She hands me the blindfold and tells me to put it on. I do and think about how the hairdresser just spent an hour on my hair for it to be messed up by a stupid piece of cloth. What will my new husband think?

  Husband.

  I can’t even begin to comprehend I’m about to get married to a complete stranger, sight unseen. I should’ve run when my mother burst through my bedroom door and told me she had submitted my profile for the show Married Blind and I’d been chosen. I’m twenty-six; this isn’t how my future is supposed to be. It should be filled with family and friends. I should be devoting my life to someone I’m in love with, not someone who is trying to win his share of one million dollars. I want to marry a man who rocks my world, who makes my palms sweat and can look at me with smoldering eyes, knowing that the moment he touches me I’m his.

  I’ve read the rules in the contract I had to sign. We’ll be allowed an annulment at the end of the show if we haven’t consummated our relationship, which won’t be a problem. As husband and wife, we’ll compete for ‘household’ prizes against other couples who are also getting married today. The last couple standing at the end of three months and voted on by TV viewers will win the money.

  How can you have a dream home with someone you don’t know?

  I run my fingers over the black silk. It’s shiny, smooth. In all my fantasies where I’m blindfolded, I never thought it would be for something like this. I sigh and slip the fabric over my eyes, tying it tightly in the back. The production assistant takes my hand and pulls gently, making my feet move forward. Faintly, over the clack of my heels, I can hear the announcer talking. The audience laughs and while the laughter should ease my tension, it doesn’t.

  With each step closer, my heart races faster. I get that I’m the bride that found her fiancé cheating with her best friend and that I’ve been moping around my parents’ house for the past year, but this isn’t right. A mother should never want her daughter to experience her wedding this way. It’d be one thing if I signed up for the show; I’d be prepared mentally. Right now, the only thing I’m prepared for is to lose my bladder from nerves.

  “And here comes our bride.”

  I fumble over my own feet when I hear the announcer say those words. My hand tightens around the assistant’s as she walks me on stage. The bright lights burn my skin, making me sweat.

  Attractive.

  I’m handed off to another arm, one that’s clad in a coat of some kind. In my mind, it’s my dad, and he’s in a tuxedo walking me toward the man of my dreams.

  “You look lovely, sweetheart.”

  My throat swells, and I t
ry to fight off the tears. The last thing I want is for the groom to see me with mascara dripping down my face because my dad just spoke to me.

  “Dad, what are you doing here?”

  “I couldn’t let you get married without walking my baby girl down the aisle, or in this case on the stage.”

  I shake my head. “Daddy, this is so stupid. I don’t think I can do this.”

  He leans in and whispers, “You have a microphone pinned to your dress, and everyone can hear you. It’s only three months. Think of it as an adventure.”

  All my life, my dad has supported every harebrained idea my mom has come up with. From the time I was going to be a figure skater to pageant queen, from soccer star to head cheerleader, my dad’s support has never wavered.

  “Don’t leave my side, okay?”

  “Never,” he says before placing a kiss on my cheek.

  The Wedding March starts, and the crowd hushes. I’m curious to know if there are illuminated signs telling the audience when to laugh or to be quiet. Will they be prompted to say ooh and ahh when we say our vows? Are there hecklers out there? So many unknowns face me right now, but the biggest one on my mind, the one that I’m trying not to think about, is my groom good-looking? I know it’s vain, but damn it, if I have to spend three months with this guy I at least want some man candy. Someone who looks like Joshua Wilson would be nice.

  Joshua Wilson is an actor with the most perfect shade of brown eyes I’ve ever seen. I’ve tried to replicate that color with my coffee and cream, but I can never get it just right. His hair is brown and red, and simply the most attractive color on a man. When I first met Tony, they matched in that sense. I spent most of my relationship with Tony comparing him to Joshua. Where Joshua is tall with nicely defined muscles and arms—I can’t even begin to describe how I feel about his arms—Tony is thinner and less muscular, but still cute. I think that may have been some of my downfall with my ex. I used to prattle on and on about how hot Joshua is, how sexy and how I’d give anything to have his muscular arms wrapped around me. Tony would roll his eyes and complain, but that didn’t stop me from watching every movie, TV spot, reading every interview, and buying every magazine that he’s in. I’m slightly obsessed. It’s easy to admit when you’re never going to meet your celebrity crush.

  I hear a few gasps and can only assume that I’m approaching where I need to be. My father hasn’t let go yet, and for that I’m thankful. He’s keeping me steady on my feet and somewhat calm, even though thoughts of hanging my mother by her pedicured toenails are filtering through my mind. If she thinks I’m going to share my winnings with her, she’s off her rocker.

  Winnings? How can I even think about winning? I’m not going to be able to pretend to be okay with this for three months. And what if he likes me? What if he finds me attractive and tries to kiss me? Then what? Ninety days of purgatory that’s what. I’m so not ready to live in a house with five people I don’t know all while trying to compete for Best Betty Crocker.

  The announcer clears his throat and gets the audience cheering. Behind my blindfold, I’m rolling my eyes and glaring simultaneously at my groom. I know he’s standing in front of me; I can smell him. If anything, his cologne smells good, but it’s probably something his production assistant told him to wear.

  Is he nervous like I am? Is he sweating from standing under these heat lamps? Are his parents here, too? What made him so desperate that he had to come on national television to find a bride? That’s the answer I want to know, but will never ask for fear of what he might say.

  Neither of us should be doing this and yet here we are. I could run. I could slip off my blindfold and run without looking back. But what if he’s my soul mate and I don’t know it?

  What damage could three months do?

  Everything!

  My father places my hands into those of my groom and while I should cringe, I don’t. My fingertips, hands, wrists, arms and everywhere else tingle. I feel warm, but not from the lights. It’s a different kind of heat. My tummy flutters. My heart pounds furiously in my chest, drowning out the audience, the music blaring overhead, and the crackle of the microphone. It’s all too soon when the music stops and I’m quickly reminded that this is just a show. I shouldn’t be excited.

  “Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, to compete with in good faith, from this day forward for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, or until three months has expired?”

  Um … what? What’s his name? Don’t I get to know his name at least?

  “What do you say?” the announcer’s voice bellows through the microphone. I can hear mumbling from the crowd as they wait with bated breath on what I’m going to say. Do people actually come on this show and say no?

  “We need your answer.”

  I bite my lower lip and nod. If he can make me feel the way he did when he held my hand, maybe three months won’t be so bad. “Yes,” I squeak out, my voice barely audible.

  “She said yes,” the announcer roars, and the applause is deafening. I can’t help but smile even though I’m dying on the inside.

  My groom’s voice is almost as quiet as mine, making me feel somewhat better that he’s just as nervous. I sigh in relief when he says yes. The crowd cheers again and the announcer pronounces us man and wife.

  Here it comes. I sense my groom moving closer, and I hold my head high. His hand fumbles on my neck until he rests it gently on my cheek. The crowd is hushed and everyone is waiting for the moment that seals us. His lips brush softly against mine, and he pulls back before I feel his wet lips press against mine again, this time fully. If not for his hand, I’d be crumbling to the ground. My knees start to buckle. My palms, already damp from earlier, are sweating profusely. My heart has stopped beating, but I can hear his. This is a first kiss for the records, and the only thing missing is his face.

  The announcer clears his throat and my groom steps back, much to the delight of the viewers. “This is the moment we’ve all been waiting for,” the announcer says. I read from the rules that the groom’s blindfold comes off first. There’s a collective gasp, followed by a series of ‘oh my God’s’ and ‘that lucky bitch’. Gee thanks, audience members. I can safely assume my groom is cute. Great, perfect. I have a cute husband who can turn my insides to goo when he holds my hand. Hopefully he’s not planning on winning many competitions that require physical touching because I don’t think I’ll be able to handle it.

  Someone comes up from behind me and starts to untie my blindfold. I keep my eyes closed. I want to see him fully when I open my eyes. I open them slowly, but keep them focused on the ground. Slowly, I take in what he’s wearing—black patent leather shoes, with black tuxedo pants. His hand rests at his side, and I see the glint of a wedding band and quickly look down at my own hand. Was I so lost in my rambling thoughts that I don’t remember him slipping a ring on my finger, or me giving him one?

  I remind myself that this marriage is not real.

  “I’ll get you a bigger one,” a familiar voice says.

  My head moves up quickly, and I’m caught in the dark, smoldering eyes that I’ve studied for hours on end. I swallow hard and say, “Holy shit,” before the darkness takes over, and I crumble to the ground in a heap.

  “I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

  My best friend and roommate, Rob, follows me into my bedroom. My pile of clean laundry sits on my bed, waiting to be packed. It’s hard to pack for three months knowing that I can’t just run to the mall to pick up something new. When I’m on location, it’s no big deal, but this time tomorrow I’ll be married and confined to a house with no outside contact.

  “I don’t have a choice,” I remind him.

  “You were drunk. We both were. What we say and sign under the influence should not count.”

  Except it does and it’s binding. Most producers run to the hills, waving their newly inked contracts around when something like this happens
. As an actor, you shut up and do your job.

  “What’s done is done. Matt already tried to get me out of the show, and short of claiming that I have some disease, which will ruin my career, there’s no reason I can’t fulfill my obligation.”

  “We were set up!”

  I wave him off. Yes, we were drunk. Yes, I feel as if I were duped. After trying desperately to get out of the contract, only to be told repeatedly that it’s binding, I gave in. Once I let the idea settle in, it stuck with me. I have nothing to lose by going on Married Blind—quite the opposite really. I can use my fame and fans to deliver a public good message. If we win, it’s one million in our pockets, my wife’s and mine. We’ll split it and go our separate ways. My lawyer still thinks it’s a risk and encouraged me to file an injunction against the producer because he fears that I’m going to get stuck with some clinger who’ll want some of my fortune. That won’t happen because there will be no sex involved. It’ll be the two of us and some simple game playing. We’ll woo the TV viewers with my charm and hopefully her good looks. My female fans are going to hate that I’ve done this, but I’ll be sure to give them a lot of shirtless screen time to make up for it. They just have to remember it’s only for three months.

  “Some brilliant ideas happen when people are drunk,” I say as I watch Rob’s face morph into something indescribable. Before he moved to Los Angeles, he was a character actor and most of the time can make me laugh. This is not one of those times. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be in this position right now.

  “You know you could leave, catch a flight somewhere.”

  Ignoring Rob, I continue to pack. It’s a chore that I hate, but this time I’m taking my time to fold my shirts nicely, making sure my jeans aren’t rolled into a disastrous ball, and even separating my underwear and socks. I don’t want my new wife to think I’m a slob, even though the state of my apartment confirms that I am.