I put my hands on the sides of my still-warm face. I was upset about fictional Brooke and pretend Rafe.
What was wrong with me?
“You’re jealous,” Whit crowed.
Sometimes I wished she couldn’t read me so easily. I shrugged one shoulder, trying to act like I didn’t care. “It’s not jealousy. I just have all these old, bad feelings about Brooke.” Bad feelings and a rabid desire to keep her away from Rafe.
“Jealousy is a bad feeling.”
I could hear Nicole shifting forward in her seat behind us, trying to catch our conversation.
“It also shows that you still care,” Whitney continued. “Which you should, because you belong together. You were so ‘love at first awkward.’”
Whitney was right. It really had been love at first awkward. For me, anyway.
Well, not at very first.
My aunt Sylvia had been obsessed with Marry Me. I’d watched every season with her because it was her favorite show, and during a recent symptom relapse she’d gotten it into her head that I should audition. I think because she was sick and convinced of her own mortality, she thought the best way to make sure that I was taken care of after she was gone was for me to get married. I couldn’t figure out why that was her plan considering how disastrously her own marriage had ended. He had bankrupted us.
But she’d stuck to her totally unreasonable goal. Given my aunt’s tough, no-nonsense personality, it would probably surprise most of the town if they ever discovered what a romantic she was, and how much she lived for romantic movies, shows, and books. She was certain that I would find my true love and future husband on Marry Me. Which was silly because no one on those shows actually ended up married. But to humor her, I sent in a video of myself. I had zero expectation of getting chosen and had honestly forgotten all about it.
Nobody was more surprised than me when the show called to say that they were considering me. They flew me out to California to audition, which was my first time on a plane. I went through so many different rounds, and at each stage of the interview process I expected to be sent home.
I had met some of the other possible candidates, and I was nothing like any of them. I didn’t belong. I didn’t wear makeup, and every woman there looked like she’d just stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine.
Then they chose me. Me. Genesis Kelley from Iowa. I was sure I’d just be filler, one of those girls who would show up in the beginning and get sent home the first night.
And while I expected that outcome, it surprised me to discover that I didn’t want to be sent home. I had sought comfort in routine and familiarity, but when I went to California, my life back home suddenly felt stifling. Too predictable. I wanted something more. An exciting once-in-a-lifetime experience I would never forget.
Part of it might have been deliberate. I’d spent so much time hiding, so this was like some kind of delayed adolescent rebellion. I’d put myself out there in the most public way possible, like I was daring John-Paul to do something about it. That false bravado didn’t last long.
The show gave us hair and makeup artists for the night, and I spent more time than I’d like to admit getting beautified. The wardrobe stylist pulled a dark green dress for me that was floor length. It had princess cap sleeves and sparkles all over the skirt. I wanted to ask where they’d found a dress so long (I’d never actually been able to find a skirt or a dress that went all the way to the floor), but I didn’t get a chance before they zipped me in and stuffed me in a limo.
I waited in a long line behind other limos and watched from a distance as one girl after another climbed out, walked up the driveway of the famous Marry Me mansion, and met the suitor.
As I got closer, I realized that he was easily the most handsome man I’d ever seen. He was so exotic looking. My stomach started doing queasy flips.
It was almost my turn. I saw the girl in front of me get out of her limo. She was wearing jeans and a baseball jersey. His whole face lit up when he saw her, and even though I couldn’t really see her expression, her body language said that she was just as excited to meet him. I knew then and there that she was the girl who would win. She walked away, and he watched her go all the way up to the house.
What possible chance did I have after that? It was a little like having to go on stage after the headlining act has finished for the night. Nobody was there to see me.
But turning around and going back to the hotel was not an option.
So I took a deep breath, pasted on a smile, and got out of the car.
Chapter 4
I did not trip over my skirt or slip in the ridiculous shoes, and I was pleased to see that he was several inches taller than me, despite the heels. He was even better looking up close.