Blind Reality (Blind Reality 1)

This is the first time I’m getting to see the other couples. Joshua mentioned earlier that he saw the other grooms, but the brides weren’t together. We sit in the two empty chairs, forming a triangle. All eyes are on Joshua, but for different reasons. The men are staring because they’re pissed off that he’s here, or at least that’s what I assume. The women stare because he’s hot, and he’s famous. They’re about to walk around in their bikini-clad bodies in front of him, and they’re probably thinking the same thing I am: did I bring my cellulite cream?

“Now that we’re all here, let’s go over the rules.”

The host of this segment of the show is Patrick Jonas, a former boy band musician who turned his career into a television gig. He also hosts a few other shows on daytime TV.

“You will compete as a couple against each other weekly. The prizes and competitions will vary. At the beginning of each week, you’ll vie for the master suite.”

The crowd aahs.

Gross.

“Each week there are two, sometimes three, competitions. Remember, you’re competing for not only prizes, but for votes from nationwide viewers. Don’t worry, newlyweds, you’ll have plenty of alone time to get to know your new spouse.” Patrick laughs and so does the audience.

Gag.

I refrain from rolling my eyes because while the other couples can get their freak on, there will be a nice divider between my spouse and me. I’ll just have to continue to play out the wet dreams in my head or the shower where he’s not likely to catch me.

“Newlyweds, the time has come for you to enter your home. The first competition starts in one hour.”

I don’t move, allowing the others to rush to the front door. We have an hour to prepare; it’s not like the house is going anywhere. Joshua senses my hesitation and uses this moment to talk to me. The moment he leans down, the crowd quiets so they can hear what he says.

Rude.

“I think we should let the others win first since we won’t be consummating our nuptials,” he whispers in my ear, but is completely unaware that he’s just caused a major eruption of goose bumps. Not to mention he’s effectively ruined what little self-esteem I had left. I mean, why would someone like him want to be with someone like me? Why would anyone want to be with someone like me? I’m the woman whose mother signed her up for a show in order to marry her off.

“I’m Patrick Jonas, welcome to the third season of Married Blind. This season promises to be explosive as we watch three couples battle it out for a million dollars all while trying to muddle their way through being newlyweds as America watches. Not to mention this year’s twist–one of our grooms is none other than Joshua Wilson, star of Finding Mister Right. Will Cole and Millie Brooks or Gary and Amanda Williams be able to obtain enough fan votes to beat the Wilsons? Find out on this season of Married Blind!”

There’s a knot in my stomach. It appeared as soon as the door shut, and we were sealed in for the next three months. Joey separated from me the moment we walked in, which I know is for the best. I know we’ll have to be allies, but anything more will just complicate things for her. My emotions are shut off, the wall is up and nothing can bring it down. I have one focus: the end. I have to win this game for my foundation, to help give them a fresh start and to save face after my drunken ass landed myself here.

I press my fist into my gut, hoping to alleviate some of the pressure. I can’t be sick. It won’t be good for either my game, or Joey’s. Being sick would sideline me and delay our opportunity to woo the viewers. They need to believe that Joey and I are … well, not in love because my fans would be pissed, but that we’re fighting

for the same cause.

Joey needs to be on board with fighting for my foundation. She needs to tell the viewers that she supports me one hundred percent in donating our winnings because technically we don’t need the money. Except she probably does or she wouldn’t have signed up for the show. I already promised that she’d get her half, regardless of what she says on national television. We’ll get the sympathy vote as well, but we need to convince the viewers that we’re sincere and falling for each other. I mean that’s the idea behind the show—to actually fall in love.

Joey is nowhere to be seen when I realize our next step in my game plan. I’m standing in the middle of the room with my fingers pulling at my lip. I’m too deep in thought and that’s not good. The other houseguests will know I’m plotting. I should be by Joey’s side as she tours the house, but instead I’m showing the viewers that I don’t care about her.

My change of plan starts now. I have to show them that I’m sensitive and interested in her. The interested part shouldn’t be hard because she’s a beautiful woman and will make her next husband very happy, I’m sure. I’m just not him. The annulment will be easy, though. It’ll be as if our marriage never existed and since we’re not having sex, there will be no lasting repercussions. It hasn’t escaped my notice that I have to remind myself that Joey and I aren’t having sex. It’s slowly becoming my mantra.

Wandering through the house, I find Joey in one of the bedrooms. The walls are painted dark red with black furniture. The producers know what they’re doing with this room. Red is for passion, courage, and romance. This room screams sex. They’re trying to ignite the couple that stays in this room.

It’s working, and I don’t want it to. I need to keep my focus on the prize and not worry about a romp in the hay, especially when this one could cost me a fortune in the end. Watching Joey walk around the room, oblivious to the fact that I’m standing in the doorway taking her in, stirs something inside of me. She doesn’t fit my normal mold. She exceeds it, and that scares me. I can already tell that she has the right attitude for Hollywood. I have no doubt she’d fit in if we had met under different circumstances. Sadly, that’s not the hand we’ve been dealt.

“I like this room,” she says, catching me off guard.

I clear my throat. “It’s nice. How’d you know I was standing here?”

Joey shakes her head and continues her exploration of the room. Before I can ask her again, Gary and Amanda come running into the room. The somber mood that Joey is in quickly turns and she smiles before coming over and standing next to me.

“Oh, I love this room,” Amanda gushes as Gary chases her around with his eyes. I feel sorry for him. I think Amanda is out of his league and it’ll definitely be interesting to see how they get along. Cole and Millie, the third couple, seem close. I suppose you have to have an open mind when you’re doing something like this. I stealthily slide my hand into Joey’s. She tenses, but doesn’t pull away. Like I said, she’d be perfect for Hollywood.

“You’re so lucky.” Amanda’s smile fades when she speaks to Joey. Gary’s shoulders slump, and I instantly feel sorry for him. He probably came on the show to find a wife to love him and that might’ve been possible if I weren’t here. I have to make it clear that I’m only interested in Joey. That means no staring or acknowledging the passes the wives might make. It also means I have to talk a good talk when it comes to Joey and me with the guys.

“We’re both lucky,” I say while staring at Joey, who’s trying not to blush. She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. I lightly tug her hand and motion for her to follow me; she does so without hesitation. We walk down the hall to the next bedroom and go in. There are three bedrooms; two on the main floor separated by a communal bathroom, and the master suite, which we’ll compete to move into weekly, is upstairs. That’s where every couple wants to be as it has the most privacy and the video camera is off at night so you can get your business done if you so wish. It’s going to be hard to stay celibate for the next few months, especially when I’m pretending for the viewers, but I’ll get it done.

This room is accented in all white, which gives off the feelings of freshness, innocence, and newness. They’re trying to convey a new start. It’s a nice room, but I like the red one better.

“It’s too clean,” she says as her hand runs over the white comforter. Her fingers dance against the fabric and for a brief second I wonder what they’d feel like against my skin.