Hopeless Vows (3 page)

“I SWEAR TO
God,” I mutter to myself. I’m about to dump everything out of my oversized purse right here in the hallway leading to my office. My phone keeps ringing, but I can’t for the life of me find it. I finally locate it just before it goes to voicemail.

“Hello,” I answer out of breath and flustered from frantically searching through my bag.

“Is this Jillian Taylor?”

“This is,” I answer curiously.

“Hi, this is Amanda, one of the producers from First Comes Marriage. How are you?”

“Good.” My heart rate accelerates and my hands become sweaty as I wait to hear what she’s going to tell me.

“I’m calling today to inform you that the experts have found a match for you.” She doesn’t sound exactly excited about this, but then again, this is just her job and changes nothing for her. This could change everything for me. My mouth hangs open in surprise. This is real. This is going to happen. “We need to meet today to go over the terms of your contract as soon as possible and then a filming crew will be sent to record the events leading up to the big day, okay?”

Holy shit! I nod, unable to speak.

“Miss Taylor?” Amanda questions when she gets no audible response from me.

Shaking myself out of my trance, I clear my throat. “Sorry, I’m just in shock right now. When do you want to meet?”

“As soon as possible. We really need to get this done now since you only have seven days before you walk down the aisle.”

My mind starts spinning. Seven days. In seven days I’ll be a married woman. I feel like I should be freaking out more than I am. Maybe it hasn’t set in yet. “I can meet you during my lunch.”

“That works. You are not to tell anyone you’ve been selected until you’ve signed your new contract. We also want to get your family’s reaction to the news.” She quickly rattles off an address to meet at before hanging up.

I take a deep breath and stare at the phone in my hand. This is it. For better or worse things will never be the same. A swarm of butterflies take flight in my stomach. So many things are going through my head all at once. Who is the guy they paired me with? What does he look like? What’s his name? God, I know absolutely nothing about him. I hope we’re truly compatible. Am I crazy for doing this?

My first instinct is to call Janey, but then I remember what the producer said and know I can’t. Looks like I’ll just have to wait a little while longer, even if it kills me.

The next four hours crawl by. No matter how hard I try to focus, it’s useless and I get next to nothing done. At twelve o’clock sharp, I make my way down the elevator and toward the coffee shop I’m going to meet Amanda in.

Right before I walk into the restaurant, I wipe my sweaty palms on my skirt and then enter. A woman in the back corner waves me over and I walk her way. “Thanks for meeting me,” she says once I have a seat.

“No problem. You’re Amanda, I assume?”

“Yep. Okay, here’s the contract,” she says, not wasting time on small talk. She slides a packet of papers in my direction. My eyes widen when I see the amount of small print on each page. Holy shit. It looks like I’m signing over my first-born child. “I’ll go over the high points with you, but you’re more than welcome to take this home and read it. You can also have an attorney look at it. Once you sign this, there is no going back. Do you understand that?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” She begins by going over the schedule and how filming works. “A crew will follow you daily from now until your eight weeks are up. They’ll be at your house at seven every morning, and will go home at 12 every night. If you want to talk to a friend or family about anything, you are to wait until the crew gets there so they can film it.”

She goes on some more about how I’m not to discuss the show while it’s filming or until after it airs. “Next, once you sign this, you are completely committed to the process. No matter how much you hate the guy, you must marry him and fulfill the eight-week requirement. Once it’s over, you’re free to do whatever you want. You’ll also be expected to appear at a reunion show following up with you guys six months after your decisions have been made.”

“So you’re basically saying cold feet aren’t allowed.”

“Exactly. We can’t make a show when you become a runaway bride or up and leave two weeks into this thing. This is a social experiment and you are to complete the terms. You can talk about how nervous you are or how you’re not sure if you can do it. We actually love that kind of stuff. It builds angst, anticipation. But ultimately, you will go through with it.” I nod. This whole conversation intensifies the nerves that were lying dormant. Now that the reality of the situation has been spelled out for me, I’m slightly queasy. “Do you have any questions about anything I’ve gone over with you?”

Looking down at the stack of papers, I shake my head.

“Would you like to take these home and look over them?” she asks.

“No, you went over each paragraph, so I think I’m good.”

“Alright. If you’ll just sign the last page, we can get the show going,” she says with a clap of her hands and a beaming smile on her face. It’s the first time I’ve seen her show any kind of emotion through the whole conversation. Maybe she was worried I’d back out before she could get me to sign.

“When will you be telling your family? We want to make sure we capture that.”

“Uh, I don’t really have any family.”

Her eyebrows dip in confusion. “No parents, grandparents, nothing?”

“No. My parents died in an accident and my grandparents have since passed away.”

“Okay . . .” she draws out, “so who do you plan to tell? Who will be attending the wedding?”

Through this whole application process, the thought never really crossed my mind as crazy as it sounds. “I’ll have my friends there, and I plan to tell my best friend tonight after work.”

“Perfect. I’ll have the crew set up at your house, so don’t tell her before then. We’ll also need signed permission from your boss to film you at work.”

Shit.

My boss.

Dread fills my body. I’m not sure how she’ll react to this whole thing, and honestly, I’m afraid she’ll judge me for it. I mean, who goes on a television show to find their husband?

“Okay, no problem.”

Glancing down at my watch, I see I’m running a few minutes late coming back from lunch.

Shit.

Hopefully, Karen isn’t in and won’t notice.

“Are lunches two hours now, Ms. Taylor?” she questions as I rush past her door. No such luck. Technically, I was gone for an hour and ten minutes, but I’m not going to correct her.

Closing my eyes, I turn around on my heel and approach her office reluctantly. “Sorry, I actually need to talk to you if you have a minute.”

She looks up at me over the rim of her glasses. “Close the door.”

Taking a seat in the chair directly in front of her sleek desk, I take a deep breath as my fingers fumble together. This may violate my contract, but the hell with it. I don’t want her to fire me on national television. “I’ve applied for this . . . social experiment. I didn’t think I’d actually be selected, but I just met with the producer and it looks like I made it. It was a—”

She takes off her glasses while holding up her hand, effectively cutting off my rambling. Leaning back in her chair, she studies me carefully. “Cut to the chase, Jillian. Just tell me how this will affect your job performance.”

“I’ll need two weeks off starting next week.” I hold my breath waiting for her to tell me no, that she’ll have to find a replacement.

She’s silent for a lot longer than I’d like, making me sweat. “How many vacation days do you have left?”

“All of them. I’ve never taken any time off.” Hell, I come to work when I feel like I’m dying. I don’t tell her that though.

“You’re not exactly giving me much notice . . .” She trails off, tapping her pursed lips with her index finger. I open my mouth to reply when she says, “I suppose you can have the time off then.”

I’m stunned speechless. No one gets time off around here. I don’t know if that’s because we’re all too scared to ask her, but I can’t remember the last time anyone had a vacation in this office. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Van der Boor.”

She waves her hand in her typical dismissive fashion. “Anything else?”

“Well, there is one more thing. You see, I’ve signed up for a reality television show of sorts.” This gets her attention as she glances up at me with an arched eyebrow. “The producers want to film me at work and they need written consent from you.”

“What kind of show is this exactly?”

I let out a sigh, readying myself for the inevitable ridicule. “The show is called First Comes Marriage.” I go on to explain the premise behind it and what I’m preparing to do.

“So you’re just going to marry a complete stranger?” Her tone isn’t mocking me, just intrigued.

“Yes.”

After a few moments, she speaks up. “I’ll allow them to mention the magazine and they can display where you work, but I don’t want film crews in the office. No one needs the distraction.”

Shortly after, I’m dismissed and sitting at my desk. Hopefully, the network will be okay with not filming me at my job, but overall, that went a lot smoother than I’d expected. All this time I’ve been putting off telling her about the show, now I don’t know why I was so nervous. Maybe this is a sign of things to come. A sign this is meant to be.

A SMALL CAMERA
crew is waiting for me outside of my apartment when I get home from work. “Hey, guys,” I greet awkwardly. I don’t really know what I’m supposed to say. They’re going to be filming my every move, watching my every reaction. It’s going to be hard not to feel self-conscious around them. After they show their credentials, I say, “You can come on up.” I wave my hand for them to follow me up to my apartment.

Once we get up there, one of the guys speaks up. “We’re ready to go and will start filming now. You just carry on like we’re not here.”
Easier said than done.
“You don’t interact or acknowledge us at all. We want everything to look as natural as possible. The only time you’ll talk to us is when the producer sits you down for a one-on-one to get your thoughts and reactions to certain events we’ve already filmed. Got it?”

“Got it.” At that moment there’s a knock on my door. “That must be Janey. I text messaged her on my way home.”

“Remember, we’re not here.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” Before I open the door, I look over my shoulder. Cameras are pointing at me as three people stare. I guess it’s show time. Taking a deep breath, I try my best to calm myself. This is what I signed up for. There’s no turning back, so I might as well get used to it.

“Hey, girlfriend!” Janey exclaims as the door swings open and gives me a big hug. When she pulls away, she sees everyone standing behind me. “What’s going on?” she whispers, still looking at them.

“Let’s sit down. I have something to tell you.” I grab us two glasses of wine before joining her on the couch. My eyes travel around the room, taking everything in. Nervous energy runs down my spine and out to my extremities. I’m not sure how I’ll ever get used to this.

“So, what is all of this?” she asks. I know she already knows, but I’m glad she’s playing along for the sake of the show.