by L. P. Dover
“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 try 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 lea
st?
“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.
Hadley
“Hadley! Hadley! Hadley!” the crowd cheered.
I blew a kiss and waved. “Thank you for joining me tonight. I love the energy here in Los Angeles! I have to say, I’ve missed this place. Make sure to listen to the radio this week for the debut of my new song, Whispered Words.”
“Sing it now!” one of the fans shouted. It was a little girl with blonde braids and freckles, sitting on her dad’s shoulders. She reminded me of myself many years ago, when I stood in almost the exact same spot, watching my idol, Martina Hill perform. One of these days, I was determined to do a duet with her.
I winked at the little girl and shook her tiny hand. “I wish I could, sweetheart, but it has to be a surprise.” Then I lifted my gaze to the thousands of fans in the stands and waved again. “I hope you all like it. Goodnight, everyone.” They went wild and I laughed as I ran backstage.
Waiting for me at the edge of the stage with a huge smile on his face was the love of my life, Nick Meyers. No one could resist his tousled, chocolate brown hair and gorgeous green eyes. The ladies loved him, almost as much as they hated me for having him.
“You were on fire tonight,” he shouted.
Rushing off stage, I jumped in his arms and squealed. “What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t going to be able to make it.”
Cameras flashed and he grinned, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “I can leave if you want,” he joked, releasing me from his grasp.
I gripped his arm and pulled him back to me. “Definitely not. What would the press think?”
Chuckling, he bent down to kiss me, knowing the reporters were taking note of our every move. “Was that a good enough kiss, or do I need to make it more convincing?” he asked, whispering in my ear.
Rolling my eyes, I playfully pushed him away. “I think you need a cold shower.”
“Care to join me?” he quipped, waggling his brows.
“Right now, we have work to do. Get your head out of the gutter.” We faced the reporters and he held me close as questions were thrown at us in rapid fire. A lady with bright red hair and huge glasses, pushed through the crowd and held out a recorder. “Miss Rivers, we’ve heard rumors you and Mr. Meyers are engaged. Is that true?”
Nick smirked down at me and I held back a snicker. It was crazy how rumors got started out of nowhere. The next thing I knew, we’d be married and having a baby. “If she was engaged,” Nick began, “I would definitely be letting the world know.”
We answered several more questions before it was time to go. I knew I was going to have a gazillion autographs to sign on the way to the dressing room. Relaxation was something I needed to schedule now, or it would never happen. I had to get home and get rested up before my early flight to Texas.
Nick was always patient with me when dealing with the press, but I did the same for him too; he was just as famous. I was a rising, country starlet with one of the best hockey players in the country as my boyfriend. Unfortunately, our romance was all for show, but we played the parts beautifully.
Once we were behind closed doors, I breathed a sigh of relief. “The questions keep getting more outrageous don’t they?”
“Same shit show, different day.” He helped me pack up my things and stuffed them into my bag.
“I thought you were busy with the team tonight?”
“I was, but I made sure to get away early. I missed my buttercup.”
I rolled my eyes, nudging him with my elbow when he pulled me into his arms. “You have a life too, Nick. I don’t want you sacrificing everything to be with me. You should’ve stayed with the team.”
“Trust me, baby, I’m not sacrificing a single thing. I enjoy every minute of it.”
“Even if you don’t get anything in return?” I asked, lifting my gaze to his.
For the last four months, he was mine, but not really. It was his and his sister’s idea for him to be my fill in boyfriend. His sister, Felicity Myers, was also my agent and the one who’d introduced Nick to me. I guess they were right, it was safer for people to see me with someone, instead of single and living alone. And I enjoyed having him with me, but I didn’t want to drag him into the danger surrounding my life.
His smile faded, his gaze serious. “I get plenty in return, Hadley. I’m happy where I’m at, even if I have to steal your kisses. It’s not that bad being with me, is it?”
“Are you kidding? You’re gorgeous and could have any woman you want, but yet you choose to be stuck with me. It makes no sense.”
“It does to me,” he murmured.
“I’ve asked you this before, but I need you to be honest with me.” He sighed and nodded for me to continue. “What did Felicity promise you? Surely you didn’t just agree to be with me for nothing in return.” I had often thought about what it would be like to take things further, but I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. When I met him two years ago, we instantly clicked. I considered him more of a best friend than a lover.
Grazing his finger across my cheek, he answered, “My sister didn’t promise me anything. I offered to do this. Believe it or not, I like being with you. At least it’s gotten that fucking psycho off your back.” And there it was, the sole reason for the mess I was in.
“So we think,” I correc
ted. “What happens when we can’t keep this ruse up? What if he comes back?” What started out as innocent letters had quickly turned into stalking, then to trespassing. Presents were left on my doorstep, and the ever watchful eyes of that creeper could be felt every time I left the house. It got to the point where I was scared to be alone. I used to be able to run around my neighborhood and go shopping by myself, but I couldn’t anymore.
Nick stepped closer. “That bastard isn’t going to get near you as long as I’m around. I believe this plan will work. Eventually, this guy will give up and find someone else to fuck with. Now stop thinking about him, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about and I’m not going to do it here.”
“Oh yeah? What is it?”
“You’ll just have to find out. Come on,” he said, opening the door.
There were two security guys standing by the door, I nodded at them as we passed. Their steps could be heard on the concrete floor, following closely behind. I never thought having a security team was important, until I heard horror stories from other singers. Luckily, I hadn’t had anyone break into my house to steal my underwear like my nemesis, Lydia Turner. The attention she got after that incident, inflated her already enormous head. I would’ve been scared shitless to know some pervert was in my house. Not her; it was just another way to get free PR.
“Where’s Scott? He usually comes inside to get me,” I mentioned.
Scott Wilson worked security for my father, until he’d been sent to protect me. I didn’t mind having a bodyguard, but I had boundaries. Thankfully, Scott and I had come to a shaky agreement; he wouldn’t hover, unless I wanted him to. He loved to test my patience though.
“He’s waiting out by the car. When I came in through the back, I told him I’d bring you out.”
“Wow. Hopefully, he’s taking what I said to heart.”
Nick shrugged. “Possibly. You ripped him pretty hard the other night. The guy’s just trying to do his job.”
