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

by Sean Lowe

  The fact of the matter was this: I hadn’t decided until the night before, when I wanted to send her home quietly. The producers had talked me into giving her one more chance. They said it’d be better for her to go through that last night as an opportunity for her to share any last things with me. They thought it might be unfair to deny her that chance.

  Had I made the wrong decision? I gave Lindsay a final hug good-bye and shuddered at the thought.

  As she drove away, the sadness clung to me like the hot, humid air.

  “How did you feel when Lindsay said she was happy for you and Catherine?” Mary Kate asked in my ITM between Lindsay’s departure and Catherine’s arrival. The camera was rolling. I opened my mouth to speak, but I stopped myself. Anytime I mentioned the name “Lindsay,” I started crying all over again.

  I had heard from previous Bachelorettes and Bachelors that they knew who “the one” was well in advance. I doubt any of them had been more invested in the final two than I had been. I’m not sure what questions Mary Kate asked me, but I kept saying the same responses over and over—between heavily flowing tears.

  “She’s so sweet.”

  “She didn’t deserve that.”

  “I’m so sorry I hurt her.”

  “It’s time to get you into position,” Mary Kate said. It had been about thirty minutes since I’d watched Lindsay get into the limo with a broken heart.

  How could I emotionally switch from gut-wrenching rejection to a marriage proposal? I had a pang of excitement, followed by a wave of agony as I thought about the two women and all the emotion this day held.

  I dutifully followed Mary Kate’s instructions and climbed onto the same platform. The sun beat down and the humidity wrapped around me like a wet blanket. Production assistants gave me water. Another held an umbrella over me. Someone gave me cold towels to cool my face and neck.

  I’m about to propose to the woman I hope will spend the rest of my life with me, I thought. It was almost unfathomable.

  I felt vaguely like I was not actually a part of the moment. Instead of me making things happen, I felt like things were happening around me and to me. Cameras shifted around me, people dabbed my face, and I couldn’t get deep breaths in the tailor-made suit that suddenly seemed too tight around my neck.

  When Chris Harrison appeared and handed me a letter, I was taken off guard.

  “Catherine gave me something she wanted you to see,” he said, handing me the letter and disappearing off the platform.

  I was expecting to see Catherine—not a letter. My hands trembled as I opened it. Had she gotten cold feet?

  Sean,

  This journey has already been the most memorable experience of my life. Coming into this, I had little expectation. I was skeptical. I knew great things about you, but since the first day you have never ceased to surprise me. I knew you were a man of God, that your family was very important to you, and that you were deeply attractive. Meeting your family gave me a great perspective of the type of life we could—and will—have.

  Your family has shown me so much how our family can be . . . full of happiness, support, and unconditional love. I’m so excited to build our own family together. There will be hard times, no doubt. Neither one of us is perfect, but I truly believe we are perfect for each other. I was always nervous about being a wife. But after getting to know you, I can’t imagine being anything but your wife. All I want to do is to move to Dallas, become a part of your family, and build our own family together. I will love you forever, if you let me. You have my heart.

  Always,

  Catherine

  Then I saw her.

  Up in the distance, Catherine was walking toward me on that winding pebble path. She wore a mesmerizing gold dress. I suddenly realized, That beautiful woman followed by cameras and producers and staffers is about to become my wife.

  She came on the platform, and I started the speech that had been swirling around in my head.

  “This has been such a crazy journey. There have been so many unexpected, wonderful moments with you. I knew from the beginning that you were someone I wanted to be around,” I said. “I had no idea my feelings were going to turn into what they have turned into. You never cease to amaze me. You never do. I miss you every time we have to say good-bye. I don’t want to say good-bye anymore.”

  That’s when I got down on one knee, opened the Neil Lane box, and showed her the ring. “Catherine, will you marry me?”

  Her reaction was priceless. She gasped and started waving her hands. I thought she was going to pass out. The producers were on their walkie-talkies saying, “Medic, stand by. Possible fainting.” She looked as though she’d lost control of her body.

  Then I heard the word I’d been waiting so long to hear.

  “Yes!”

  She trembled as I hugged her.

  “Are you serious?” she asked. “Are you serious?”

  “Did you even see the ring?” I prompted. It was just like Catherine not to even look at her finger.

  “It’s gorgeous,” she said, but I could tell she didn’t realize her hand was seventy-five thousand dollars heavier. She would’ve been just as happy with a piece of yarn wrapped around her finger.

  As I hugged her, she kept saying, “Is this for real?”

  It was an interesting question. If anyone had asked me when I first decided to be on a reality TV show if there was anything “real” about it, I would’ve laughed. It’s hard to take seriously the whole show, filled with glamorous dresses, heavy-handed rose symbolism, constantly flowing champagne, fake eyelashes, and strained dating situations. However, as I stood in Thailand, looking at the woman who would become my future wife and the mother of my children, I knew—definitively—the answer to that question.

  “This is real,” I said. “I’ll love you for the rest of your life.”

  sixteen

  TRYING TO DANCE WITH THE STARS

  “One more thing,” Mary Kate said after the dramatic proposal.

  Emotions were high, Catherine and I were exhausted, and my mind swirled with the possibilities of our new life together.

  “We’ve arranged for you to ride an elephant into the sunset,” said Mary Kate. I soon saw that everyone was excited about that, except the elephant. Maybe he wasn’t a romantic at heart, but—for whatever reason—the elephant wasn’t cooperating that day. He would get down for a second, and then he’d stand back up. As Catherine was trying to get on, she made it on top of the four-step platform. The elephant started getting up while she had one leg out. She lost her balance and jumped off the platform, which was about four feet above the ground, and landed on her feet somehow. Oh yeah, she was wearing heels.

  “That’s my future wife,” I said proudly.

  The next three days were incredible, even though we were in lockdown mode. Now more than ever, we had to be careful not to let anyone see Catherine and me together. Since the show hadn’t aired yet, most people wouldn’t have taken notice of us at all. However, there were show stalkers and paparazzi who could’ve ruined the entire season with a single photo.

  Catherine, Mary Kate, her husband, Travis, and I all hunkered down in the amazing house for a few days—though it was hardly a sacrifice. We were served delicious food while we hung out on the property. Travis and I got along as though we’d known each other forever, and we quickly devised a game that involved throwing tennis balls at big flowerpots. We spent the days hanging out, laughing, eating, and having fun. At some point during our time there, we wanted to use the home’s awesome movie theater.

  “What should we watch?” Mary Kate asked, flipping through a stack of DVDs and calling out the names of them.

  “No,” Catherine said emphatically after she read out the name of a popular romantic comedy. “I hate chick flicks.”

  It took me aback. After our rather whirlwind—and unconventional—romance, I realized I had no idea how Catherine drank her coffee, what she liked to eat, or what kinds of movies she liked.

>   “How can you hate chick flicks?” I asked. “I thought that was a prerequisite for being selected to go on The Bachelor.” We all laughed, but it hit me with a thud: I knew very little about my fiancée.

  When we left Thailand, we went our separate ways. I hated to say good-bye to Mary Kate and Travis because I’d grown so close to them. Plus, this marked the end of a very special time of our lives. Even worse, it meant I’d have to stay away from Catherine and keep our relationship secret until after the show aired.

  “I’ll see you soon,” I said to Catherine, kissing her before being taken in a different car to the airport. I landed in Dallas two days before Thanksgiving. Since the show wouldn’t air until early January, we had to keep our engagement secret for several months. Obviously, the producers had to balance their need for complete secrecy with the reality that it was important for Catherine and me to see each other. After all, we’d only spent ten weeks together before our engagement. A long separation after the proposal didn’t seem like a recipe for continued relationship success. To allow us to secretly see each other, they set up homes in Los Angeles, which they called “Happy Couple.” Every two weeks, we’d both fly to LA under aliases: she was Bonnie, and I was Clyde. The limo driver always held a sign that read “Clyde Mankoff,” borrowing from the executive producer Ronald Mankoff’s last name. With my alias, they figured I would be able to get though LAX without tipping off the paparazzi.

  Believe it or not, it worked.

  The first time we conducted this undercover operation, a driver picked me up at the airport and took me to a secret house. Brenner was already there, preparing for our arrival.

  “We’ve come a long way since Emily dumped me in Curaçao and you ate wasabi to cheer me up,” I said.

  “If you want wasabi”—he laughed—“just let me know. But hopefully, you won’t be a blubbering mess this time around.”

  “I think we’re safe on that.”

  “I’ll be getting your groceries and any movies you may want to see,” he said. “You guys have to stay in this house. You can’t venture out.”

  When I saw Catherine again, I couldn’t believe how much I’d missed her. Just a few months before, I was a happy single guy who liked my space. Now I felt a little weird when she wasn’t with me. We ate tons of food. We pigged out on those weekends, and I tried a lot of her vegan food (which I have to say wasn’t all that bad). We discovered that we were both movie buffs, so we whiled away the hours watching movies—no chick flicks allowed.

  We also had a chance to talk about our faith—without members of the production staff waiting outside the door. As she had explained the night before the proposal, her mother was Catholic, and her dad had been practicing Buddhism over the last several years. Though she went to Mass every Sunday with her mom and grandmother, she didn’t feel like she really knew God. Plus, there were many things she didn’t understand. For example, in Christianity, God is described as being the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Commonly referred to as the “Trinity,” it’s one of those foundational teachings of the Christian faith.

  “I just don’t get that,” she said. “I’ve always grown up thinking of God and Jesus as two different beings.”

  “Try to think of God as three-in-one,” I said. “Every part has different roles.”

  “Okaaay . . . ,” she said hesitantly. “Like what?”

  “Well, the Holy Spirit does a lot of things—comforts you when you’re sad, gives you strength. But the Spirit also opens your eyes to your need of God.”

  She didn’t say anything, so I went on. “Once the Spirit draws you, that’s when you encounter God the Father. He loves us so much that he sent his Son to pay the penalty for our sins.”

  I could tell this was hard for her to really comprehend since she’d spent her whole life thinking differently. I let it drop. I knew God was working on her heart, and I didn’t want to get in the way. If Catherine came to faith, it would be on her own time, in her own way. I was thankful to see her wrestling with Christianity and also thankful to have the time to sit around and talk about these issues without having to worry about cameras or deadlines.

  We had four or five “Happy Couple” visits but were forbidden to see each other anywhere other than this hypercontrolled, secure location. It got old. One day when I missed Catherine so much, I texted her: Let’s sneak you down to Dallas.

  Really? she immediately texted back.

  It was a few weeks before the show aired, so no one would be able to identify Catherine. I figured it was worth the risk.

  “What the producers don’t know won’t hurt them!” she said. That’s what I love about Catherine—she is always game for everything.

  Catherine flew down to Dallas, and I didn’t even go inside the airport to greet her. When she got her luggage, she met me outside the airport, where I whisked her away to meet my friends. Laura, Stephanie, Austin, Jeremy, and Kevin all loved her. And I got the feeling she loved them as well. The next day I took her to my parents’ house, where we got to hang out with family. My fiancée fit in very well, and I loved introducing her to the people I love.

  “I have some news,” she said during this trip. “I went to church!”

  “You did?” I asked. “All alone?”

  “No, my friend Crista went with me,” she said. “It’s a nondenominational church in Seattle.”

  “What was it like?” I asked, hoping it was a good experience.

  “It was contemporary,” she said. “Very different than the services I used to attend. The pastor even wore jeans!”

  Though Catherine still hadn’t committed her life to Christ, I was happy to see that she had made it to a church service. I so wanted to take her to my church, Fellowship Church, in downtown Dallas. I knew she’d love my pastor Ed Young, the cool vibe of the church, and—of course—the message of hope and truth. However, there was no way we could risk being seen in public together, so I’d have to wait to introduce her to that very important part of my life.

  All in all, Catherine’s trip to Dallas was a success. Mostly because the producers never found out about our secret rendezvous. (Until now, I guess. Sorry, Mary Kate!) After she went back to Seattle, we texted, FaceTimed, e-mailed, and called. Being apart was tough, but it was the price we had to pay for meeting on the most popular dating show of all time.

  One day, however, my phone rang. I answered it, wondering about the unfamiliar number. It definitely wasn’t Catherine.

  “Sean?” asked a sweet voice. “This is Lindsay.”

  “Lindsay who?” I asked. I wasn’t expecting this call, though I should’ve been.

  “Lindsay Yenter,” she said. I stood there in the health-food store, completely immobilized.

  “Oooh,” I said. “Listen, I’m getting some groceries. Let me call you back in five minutes.” I bought my groceries—and a little time to collect myself. When I got back out to the car, I took a deep breath and dialed her number.

  “Hey, what’s up?” I said, trying to sound casual.

  “I just wanted to call you, because . . .” She paused. “I’m still in love with you, and I still pray over us. I think it’s important that you know that.”

  I was so sympathetic—empathetic, really. I’ll never forget picking up my phone a thousand times considering whether to dial Emily’s number. As kindly as I could, I said, “I didn’t really give you closure, so I hope I can give you closure now. I’ve fallen in love with Catherine.”

  The call lasted fifteen minutes, and she handled it very graciously. I left that conversation convinced Lindsay really was a class act.

  “Sean, you’ll need to fly to Los Angeles to do some pickups,” Mary Kate said.

  “I don’t do pickups anymore,” I said. “I’m engaged, in case you didn’t notice.”

  Mary Kate didn’t laugh at my joke. Even though this was a downtime for Catherine and me, the producers at The Bachelor were frantically trying to make all that footage into an actual story. The story producer h
ad taken notes throughout the season, just like the producer, and was now busy formulating everything that happened during the season into a narrative.

  Now that the season was over, I had to fly to LA, where I discovered they had my entire wardrobe from the season all neatly arranged—down to the belts and socks. When I’d been a contestant on The Bachelorette, I had to bring my own clothes. But one of the perks about being The Bachelor was the wardrobe they provided.

  “How did you do all this?” I asked.

  “Remember when Brenner took photos of you before each date?” Mary Kate asked. “Well, that wasn’t for Facebook. He was documenting exactly what you were wearing on each date so we could replicate the outfit down to the detail.”

  “Why?”

  “Put on week-one clothes to find out,” she said before leaving the room. “Actually, you only have to put on the top half. Here’s the Polaroid for reference.”

  There, laid out perfectly, was the suit I wore with Des on our first one-on-one date.

  After I put on the top half, the producers came back in with a cameraman, and I’d say things like, “I’m having a blast with Des tonight, and I can’t wait to see what the future holds.” It wasn’t disingenuous, because I expressed what my true feelings were at the time. Mainly, it was boring. I did pickups for countless hours over probably four days. Even though I’m pretty good at public speaking, I was surprised at how hard it was to remember six sequential sentences of pickups.

  When I went back to Dallas, the producers contacted me again, saying they needed a bit more.

  “This time, we need audio to play over the footage of your date,” Travis e-mailed. “You can do it on your iPad.” What he didn’t know was that I lived in a loft with concrete floors and a good amount of open space. The only place I could get decent audio was in my closet.

  “I don’t think the girls like Tierra,” I said into my iPad, crouching in my closet weeks after the actual date had occurred.