For the Right Reasons: America's Favorite Bachelor on Faith, Love, Marriage, and Why Nice Guys Finish First

by Sean Lowe

  “I’d love nothing more but to spend every minute with you that I can get,” Emily said.

  Viewers at home hoping to see fireworks were, of course, disappointed. We walked into the suite, admired the décor, took a dip in the pool, and she promptly showed me to the door.

  On the episode, Emily said, “I’d like nothing more than to spend this time with Sean. But I’m a mom, and it doesn’t line up with what I believe in or the example I want to show my daughter.”

  Of course, I was only pretending to walk back to my room. When they stopped filming, I walked right back into the suite for my first opportunity to talk to Emily freely since we arrived. I had a pretty good sense of who Emily was simply through our casual conversations over the course of the first few weeks. This would give me a chance to talk to her more specifically about things that were important to me—whether she grew up going to church, how many children she wants, that sort of thing. The fantasy-suite farce Emily concocted allowed us to talk honestly and candidly for the first time ever.

  When I walked back to the suite, she was off doing her ITM interview, so I let myself back in. As I waited in the condo, I heard the door open and her sweet, Southern voice. “Where’s my boyfriend?”

  That was the first time she’d ever used that term for me.

  It definitely had a nice ring to it.

  At least it would do until next week, when she would call me, simply, her fiancé.

  eight

  THE ONE WHERE I GOT MY HEART BROKEN

  For the past two months, I’d been living with an ever-dwindling group—in North Carolina, Bermuda, Croatia, London, and Prague. When we began the hometown dates, the producers officially separated the final four. Now that we’d gotten down to three, perhaps the producers didn’t want us to compare notes during the overnight dates. Since the element of surprise is key to a good show, they took every effort to make sure the drama unfolded on camera in real time—not during a late-night conversation after the crew had gone. Even though we were competing for the same girl, Jef, Arie, and I had become close friends. I hated suddenly being separated from them when we made it to Curaçao.

  The producers assigned us each a handler at this point. Mine was a guy about my age named Mark Brenner, whom I always referred to by his last name. To my surprise, his sole job was to make sure I showed up on time, was well fed, and had anything I needed. I mean anything. If I said, “Brenner, I need a massage,” he would call the masseuse and have him show up that day. Or if I said, “I need this specific type of protein from GNC,” he would be out the door and back in half an hour. If I said, “This is what I want my diet to look like,” he’d go to the grocery store and come back with the exact fresh produce I’d requested. Brenner, a man with a true servant’s heart, was unfailingly kind and always willing to serve.

  He also became a good friend. Since I’d had the first date of the week, I sat around and waited for Jef and Arie to go on their dates. The overnight dates were scheduled with a day between each of them. Of course, there would be no actual overnight dates with Emily. I hadn’t stayed “overnight” technically, because I went home at around three o’clock in the morning. Even so, those moments felt like “stolen time,” and I was so honored that she chose to have that time with me and me alone.

  While I was down at the beach, waiting for the rose ceremony, I went over our secret rendezvous in my head. It was so intoxicating to be able to talk without the cameras on us. I could tell by our conversation that Emily was serious about the details of our lives together with Ricki. She asked me about my job back home. I told her about the family insurance business, which I admitted I didn’t want to do indefinitely. Even though I wasn’t sure of my future occupation, I told her that I could take care of her and Ricki—I would work hard and do the right things to make sure I was a good provider for them. She even asked me about insurance, to make sure that we could all be on the same health care plan. We talked until three in the morning—about faith, kids, where we wanted to live, and so on. The details swirled in my head as I waited and waited to see her again. Though I was in a Curaçao resort—how torturous could it be?—I missed Emily so badly the week felt like a month.

  I spent all my time with Brenner and Scott, the producer assigned to me. Without contact with family or friends, everyone I knew was Bachelorette-related. That meant we mostly talked about Emily, leading up to the multiple interviews I’d have every day. Being so singularly focused on a person creates perhaps an unbalanced need to spend time with him or her, but that’s where I was—on a beach waiting to be reunited with my future wife.

  Not once—during the entire time I was hanging out getting sun—did it ever occur to me to think, What if I don’t get a rose? I was as sure of my relationship with Emily as I was sure that the resort was luxurious, the ocean water was salty, and the ground was firmly beneath my feet.

  Of course, I was actually standing on sand.

  When the night of the final rose ceremony finally arrived, I buttoned up my white linen shirt and took a deep breath. When you get to this point, the show is absolutely paranoid about spoilers. Security was everywhere and had set up so many checkpoints that it was like we had our own resort inside of the resort. No one was going to get within the parameters without being tied directly to the show. The producers feared that a photographer would snap a photo of us and the entire buildup of the season—who will be Emily’s final three?—would be ruined before the first episode even aired. With the millions of dollars they had invested in this show, I didn’t blame them. However, it was odd to be surrounded by so many sober-looking security guards trying to keep my identity secret from prying eyes. No one had ever cared who I was. Even when our college football games were televised, I was just a small cog in a big machine. I’d never experienced anything like this. When our car pulled up to the location of the ceremony, I smiled at Brenner and said, “One more to go.”

  “Okay, walk down the path,” he said. “You’ll meet Chris Harrison there. He’ll lead you to where you should stand.”

  I was so happy to see Harrison, Jef, and Arie that I gave them each a bear hug.

  “Arie,” I said, “didn’t you get the memo? You were supposed to dress up.”

  “Did you spend all week getting your hair to do that?” he asked. “Or is that not intentional?”

  “Check out this guy’s,” I said, pointing to Jef. “Without his hair, he’d be half his height.”

  After spending the past two months living with one another and traveling to the most exotic locales, I considered these guys dear friends. We were so happy to see one another that we were joking around, laughing, and carrying on before Emily arrived—even though we all loved the same girl.

  “Guys!” one of the producers yelled from the darkness outside the lights of the makeshift set. “This is serious. Stop clowning around!”

  Like obedient schoolboys, we stood on our marks quietly. I knew that Emily was back in the deliberation room, deciding what order she should call out the names. While Emily and Chris were back there discussing who was going home, the producers interspersed footage of the three of us standing silently on our marks, waiting for her to arrive and pronounce our fate. The producers were right. This was a serious moment, and we needed to act like it. I hated to think about Arie or Jef being sent home. This fun adventure would all come to an end for one of them in a few moments. Mostly, though, I was excited to see Emily.

  Finally, a serious-looking Chris Harrison approached and set the stage for what was about to happen.

  “It’s been another great week and another great destination. But I know being on this beautiful island is the furthest thing on your mind,” he said. “This is the last rose ceremony. The next step is a proposal to Emily.”

  When he said the word proposal, I felt a surge of joy. I’d already rehearsed what I’d say to her when I got down on one knee.

  “After all of this, however, there are only two roses tonight,” he continued. “One of you i
s going home.”

  I heard a swishing noise coming from my right. The dress Emily wore that night was stunning—it looked like a tank top above the waist, but the bottom looked as though it were made of metal. It was shimmery and made a rhythmic sound when she walked. I remember hearing her before actually seeing her.

  My future wife.

  She stood before us and gave her obligatory “this is a hard choice” speech. “I can’t believe we’re at this point, and I have my three guys here,” she began. “I had to make a decision, and I want each of you to know that I care so much about each of you.” She paused. Was she about to cry? Emily had done such an amazing job navigating this complicated dating scenario. I admired the way she was letting Arie or Jef down so easily. “And I want you to know that . . . I’m sorry.”

  She picked up the first of two roses and held it. Frequently, the most obvious person is called first. If there’s a favorite, the producers get him out of the way so they don’t ruin the suspense. I’d gotten the rose first during many of the rose ceremonies—and in others, my name was never called because I’d gotten a date rose. I figured I’d probably get called first that night.

  “Jef,” she said. I exchanged a sympathetic glance with Arie as I watched Jef walk up to her and the rose.

  Oh, man, I thought. Arie’s going home.

  After a seemingly long pause, Emily picked up the final rose and said two syllables that absolutely shattered the dreams of my future life and family.

  “Arie.”

  I froze.

  Did I hear her correctly? What just happened?

  I wasn’t sad. I wasn’t mad. I was shocked. I didn’t know what was going on as I watched Arie go up and receive his rose.

  I gave Jef and Arie a hug. “I love you, man,” Jef said to me as I pulled away to talk to Emily.

  “May I walk you out?” she asked.

  We sat on a bench away from everyone. A dog barked in the distance.

  “What are you feeling?”

  “I feel stupid,” I said. There were a lot of words that I could’ve used, but stupid was the one that came out. How could I have been so utterly and completely wrong? Had I misread her cues? Her many cues?

  “Why?”

  “Because I knew with certainty that I was ready to spend forever with you. I didn’t see this coming, obviously. I think you should know it’s going to hurt me.”

  I got up to leave, but there was no vehicle for me to get into.

  “Come on, man,” said Scott. “We just need to get you guys talking a bit more.”

  Reluctantly, I sat back down on the bench.

  “I don’t feel like I deserve you,” she said. Suddenly, all the moments she said the erroneous word perfect to describe me came flooding back. Did she really believe I had my act so together that I was unobtainable?

  “Going into this final week,” she said, “I thought you were the one.”

  My mind was reeling. If she thought I was the one going into this week, what had happened to change her mind? Our date had gone so well—even with our secret overnight date that she’d told me was a privilege only I had shared. It just didn’t add up. Was she upset that I didn’t have a job I loved back home and might not be as wealthy as the other guys? That was the last thing we talked about before the rose ceremony. Did that factor in to it at all?

  Of course, I had no answers.

  “Well, so did I,” I said, barely able to get the words out. “I thought I was the one. I thought you were the one.”

  “I wanted it to be you so bad,” she said, no longer holding back her tears. “I’ve loved every minute.”

  “I care about you ultimately,” I said, wanting desperately to get out of this situation. “If this is the best for you, you have to do what’s best for you.” Though I didn’t plan on being in this situation, I didn’t want to be the guy who gets angry and leaves on bad terms. I climbed into the Suburban, which was full of sound technicians, producers, and a host of other people who’d come along with me in this journey. I wasn’t really supposed to talk to the behind-the-scenes guys, but I couldn’t help but notice it was as quiet as a morgue.

  I stared out the window into nowhere, unable to speak. I only turned around when I heard loud sniffling. The camera ops and sound techs were not supposed to be involved in the show in any way except behind the scenes, of course. One really sweet sound tech named Kittye was in the backseat with me. Even though we weren’t supposed to interact, I’d gotten to know everyone by name. We’d spent so much time together over the past few weeks. About a foot of space separated Kittye and me as the cameras rolled. Obviously, she couldn’t be in the shot, so she had pushed herself as far away from me as possible in the back of a full Suburban. When I looked over at her, I noticed her back was turned away from me. She was staring out the window too—crying.

  “Are you okay?” I instinctively asked, breaking the rules.

  “I’m just”—she sniffed—“sad that you’ve gotten your heart broken.”

  In that moment, seeing her kindness, I couldn’t help but smile. I whispered, “Thank you, Kittye.”

  I looked up and saw that the producer, Jonah, and my handler, Brenner, were both bawling. Jonah, who is prone to being a tad dramatic, had his head in his hands sobbing. You would’ve thought our Suburban was following a hearse. Honestly it did, just a little, feel like a death. In my mind, I’d mapped out my entire future with Emily and her daughter. Our daughter. Suddenly, having that ripped away was the worst thing I’d ever felt.

  Amid such despair, the fact that almost everyone in the vehicle was grieving with me was very touching. Even though I hadn’t found true love, I’d made friendships that would last a lifetime.

  When it became apparent that the producers were going to keep us driving around in circles until I said something, I mustered up the strength to speak. Even though the feelings I had were real, they still had a television show to make.

  “Can you tell me what you’re thinking?” the producer asked me one more time.

  “I had a beautiful picture of what my life was going to look like. And now it’s gone,” I said. “It feels like it was stolen from me.”

  nine

  NEWFOUND NOTORIETY

  “Hey, buddy,” Brenner said when I finally got to the hotel after my Suburban ride of shame. I had already gotten out my suitcases and started shoving my clothes into them. “We really need you to do us a favor.”

  “What?” I asked, barely able to get out the word. I’d stuffed all my socks into the side of my suitcase, and the zipper wouldn’t close.

  “We need you to stay a little bit longer,” he said.

  “All I want to do is go home,” I said with as much control over my voice as possible, but it may have sounded more like a plea.

  I looked up and Brenner was still standing there. “Just a little longer,” he said gently.

  “What does ‘just a little’ mean, specifically?” I asked. An extra day wouldn’t kill me, I thought as I took a deep breath.

  “Just stay another five or six days?” he said.

  “Five or six?” I said, unable to believe my ears. “That’s almost a week.”

  “Listen, it’s simple. If you’re seen in Dallas before Jef and Arie are home,” he said, “it would jeopardize the whole show.”

  I paused, gripping my socks so hard my knuckles were white. I loved Brenner—and the other producers—and wanted to treat them well even in this horrible circumstance. The show had invested millions of dollars into this story, and I didn’t want to accidentally give away the ending.

  A story.

  I felt a little queasy that all the heartache I felt was just a part of a story—and I wasn’t even a main character. If this had been a real fairy tale, I would’ve fought a few dragons and ended up with the girl in the end. But Prince Charming never got sent home in a Chevy Suburban.

  “Sorry, man. I need to get back to normal life,” I said.

  “Of course,” he said. “I un
derstand.” I took one look at the guy and realized he hated asking as much as I hated agreeing. Well, almost. “You can leave, but it would help us out a lot if you could just stay.”

  “If only Emily had wanted me to stick around as much as you do,” I said grimly. I didn’t want to ruin the show for them. I took my socks out of the side pocket and shoved them back into the drawer. “All right.” I decided to take one for the team. “Can I at least borrow your phone?”

  Brenner breathed a sigh of relief, reached into his pocket, and handed me his cell phone. “Thanks, buddy,” he said. “It means a lot, but who are you calling?”

  “Home.”

  “You do realize it’s three o’clock in the morning Dallas time?”

  “My parents have to know what’s going on,” I said, taking his cell and disappearing into my room. For the first time in weeks, I knew for sure that no one was listening to me. No one would be monitoring my calls to determine what might make for good television.

  “Yeah,” my dad answered the phone, his voice thick with sleep.

  “Dad?”

  “Son, what’s going on?” he asked, and I noticed a trace of concern in his sleepy voice.

  “I’m going home,” I said. “And I’ve had my heart broken.” Suddenly, it was just me, my mom, and my dad—separated by more than two thousand miles. It took them a few seconds to process what I was saying.

  “Oh, Sean . . . I know you’ve never experienced this before,” my mom said gently. “But you’re gonna get through it.”

  “We just want to get you home and love on you,” said my dad. “Come on back.”

  “I can’t even do that,” I said, explaining the situation as my dad listened attentively.

  “Okay, then just get through the day. We’re going to be waiting for you when you get home.”

  “Yeah, we’re going to have the family over when you get home, just like every Saturday,” Mom added. “Shay and Andrew will come over, and they’ll bring the kids.”