Blind Reality (Blind Reality 1)

“And what do you do?” Amanda asks Joey.

Joey clears her throat and barely looks at me before focusing elsewhere. “I graduated a few months ago and haven’t found a job yet.” For the first time since I’ve met her, her voice is weak and lacking confidence.

“Convenient that you’re married to a movie star, isn’t it?”

I don’t care if I’m a guy and we’re from Mars; I know catty bitchiness when I hear it. Amanda’s jealous, and her comment has just rendered the room speechless.

We will not be instant friends in this house. I don’t know how Joshua feels, but the glares, off-handed comments, and overall feeling that they’re jealous is not sitting well with me. We have to co-exist, but being friends might be a little far-fetched for me.

I get why they’re jealous. I would be, too. Joshua Wilson is every woman’s dream. He’s gorgeous, charismatic, his body is perfection, and the way he smiles—how his lips curve just a little off to the side—makes me weak in the knees. And I’m married to him, at least for the time being. I know I have choices while I’m in this house: I can shut off my heart, put up a wall and exist, or I can enjoy the moment, be his wife and take as many stolen kisses as possible so that when I’m out of here and back in reality, I have the memories even if I don’t have him.

The six of us shared four bottles of wine and watched a movie, two of us on each couch. I sat somewhat close to Josh while the other wives had at least a cushion’s space between them. One has to think that you’re a bit of a risk-taker to come on this show. I think, except for my situation, sex is expected, but by looking at the other two wives, they seem uninterested. If Josh hadn’t already set the boundaries, I’d probably try to cop a feel every chance I could. The other men aren’t ugly by any means.

Gary is a little different. He’s blond, not well built, and his hair is a bit too styled for my liking. His eyes are a darker brown than Joshua’s, almost lifeless. He stares, and that’s a bit creepy, but he’s decent looking, same thing with Cole.

Cole looks like your average high school athlete who never gave up on his dream to go pro. As he sits next to his wife, his biceps flex as if he’s trying to prove something. His hair is dark and his eyes are blue. He has a nice smile. Of these guys, I’d probably date Cole, or at least talk to him in a bar. With Joshua here, though, they don’t stand a chance with their wives. And I don’t stand a chance with my husband.

Earlier this afternoon, I stood in front of a mirror and looked at my hair that was styled just right, the dress I wore was beautiful and may not have been the one I had picked out, but I wasn’t going to complain. Now I stand, facing yet another mirror and stare at myself. The make-up has been taken off my face, making my eyes look dull and almost lifeless. If it weren’t for the deep purple negligee against my pale skin, I’d look like a washed-out vampire.

My hair is pulled up in a lame ponytail with the ends falling down in the back. I used to have long hair, down to the middle of my back, but in an effort to change myself after my engagement ended, I cut it. I regret that decision. I pinch my cheeks to give them some life. They flash pink but quickly fade. It doesn’t matter which way I turn my head, the disdain I see in my reflection is how I feel about my mother right now.

When I opened my duffle bag to pull out my favorite pajamas, they weren’t there. As I threw clothes haphazardly over my shoulder in the bathroom, I had the sickening realization that my mother had removed the security clothes I had packed and replaced them with satin negligees and matching panties. It felt like I just swallowed one of my Aunt June’s potpies, and now it’s pressing on all my organs. I’m so angry that I want to cry, and yet I’m standing here wondering what Joshua Freaking Wilson is going to think when I walk into the bedroom we’re sharing.

Am I enough to turn his head? I wish. Is he going to think this is some covert method of seduction? Again, I wish, but yes that’s probably what he’s goi

ng to think. I don’t have a choice. My clothing options are limited, and sleeping in jeans just doesn’t appeal to me.

Taking one last look in the mirror, I sigh. “Suck it up, buttercup.” This is my personal affirmation, one that’s supposed to give me enough courage to step out of this bathroom and into the boudoir with one of the hottest bachelors in Hollywood. Well, I guess he’s no longer a bachelor, but that little tidbit does nothing to ease my anxiety right now.

The hallway is bright and empty. All the lights in the house are left on for the cameras. Only in the bedrooms can they be dimmed. It’s extremely creepy to know that viewers can pay to watch us sleep. That’s taking peeping to a whole new level of stalkerism. The only noises I hear are Amanda and Gary talking. The two rooms are spread out, likely for added privacy, so they have to be speaking loudly. First fight and it’s on their wedding night. That can’t bode well for their future.

The future. I’m not a fan of thinking about what’s going to happen tomorrow or even next week. I used to look forward to the future and planning what my living room was going to look like or what color I was going to paint the master bedroom. Those dreams, or whatever you want to call them, were shattered so easily and by someone who was about to vow to love me forever. Joshua hasn’t made any such proclamations, so I should be able to live in a fantasy world without it crumbling down around me… said every female with hopes of dating a celebrity. I’m doomed.

When I get to our room for the week, I lean up against the doorjamb and stare at Joshua. I’ve spent years studying this man, but nothing has prepared me for this sight. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he’s shooting a spread for GQ magazine or something. His bare chest is visible, each ab muscle on display for everyone on TV to see. The dark red sheet is crumpled at his waist, and I don’t need to be standing next to him to know that his hipbones are directing every gazing eye to what’s underneath. I’ve seen this before in the many magazines he’s been in. Joshua has never been shy about his body. I’m thankful for that, although unwrapping him would be a nice surprise.

No, what’s making me weak in the knees, aside from the obvious, is the fact that he’s in bed, reading, and he’s rocking the sexiest pair of glasses I have ever seen. I let out an inaudible squeak that gets his attention. He looks up, setting his book down, and stares right back at me. This is do-or-die time—me in my every night face, with no make-up hiding my blemishes or chicken pox scars from when I was little. This is the me he’d get if we were living real lives.

I step into the room and pull the sliding door shut. I don’t have the sexy catwalk his now-and-again girlfriend has. I definitely don’t have any sexy moves. I stumble, hit crap and trip over nothing on the floor on my best day. Right now needs to not be one of those days. Taking a deep breath, I remind myself that if anything, we’re friends and this is just a slumber party. No sex. No touching. But maybe some kisses.

Kisses lead to touching, and touching leads to more intimate touching, which leads to sex, and he said no sex so there should be no touching.

“Joey?”

Shit, he’s calling my name and I’m staring at the wall like it’s the most interesting thing I’ve ever seen. I turn, give him a fake smile, and step toward the bed. I scan the floor quickly to make sure there isn’t something that is going to cause me to trip, and when my knees touch the side of the bed, I imagine myself sliding one knee onto the satin sheets, and setting my hands down to crawl toward him. He throws his book aside, but leaves on his glasses, pulling me to him.

In real life, I sit down and shuffle my feet under the covers without looking at him. Before my head hits the pillow, the lights in the room are dimmed and the bed is moving. My heart is beating so loud I can hear it over the hush of the room. He must hear it, too, but not care. I mean, why would he? He can have any woman in the world, and he’s stuck with me for three months.

A small light comes on and I turn sharply to look in its direction. I’m met with his dazzling brown eyes. He’s on his side, facing me with a smile that seems so tender.

“I thought we could talk some more.”

He says all the right things to make a woman fall in love with him. He’s smooth and sexy and so dangerous for my heart.

Mimicking his posture, I tuck my arm underneath my head. There’s a space between us, which would be perfect for us to hold hands. I’m just going to have to picture that in my mind.

“You look good in purple. It makes your eyes sparkle.”

My eyes close as I absorb one of the most romantic compliments I’ve ever been given. I have to diffuse the situation. I don’t want to be attached, even though I already know I am. This is a dream come true.