Kicking Reality

“There are two voices that exist.

My head . . . and my heart.”

~ Emerson Chase

“And five . . . four . . . three . . . two. . . .”

Our producer Cliff calls “action.” Within seconds, the cameras begin rolling. There’s three of them surrounding us, inches away as they zoom in close attempting to capture every second of this moment.

We’re standing in front of the Eiffel Tower at some god-awful hour in the middle of winter. I’m a summer girl myself, but something about this place is magical during this season. Perhaps it’s the beautiful snowflakes falling around us or the twinkling lights from the tower. There’s also the sound of heavenly silence from our empty surroundings.

I breathe it all in: the beauty, the silence, and the man standing in front of me wearing a black Versace suit—no overcoat. Bearing the cold yet still as dashing as the first moment I laid eyes on him three years ago.

“Em, there isn’t a day that goes past that I don’t imagine you in my life. We have been on this journey together, and the moment you walked into that restaurant, I knew you were the one. Wearing that red dress—you looked absolutely breathtaking.”

A puff of cold air escapes his mouth, followed by a nervous bite.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and only you.”

Wesley lowers himself to the ground on one knee, eyes fixed on me as he produces a small black box. He clicks it open, and inside sits a beautiful diamond ring. His eyes glaze over—a signature move he often does when he chokes up. And for a moment—if only a few seconds—I forget that the world is watching. It’s just him and me standing alone during this very intimate moment.

“Emerson Chase, will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

The camera zooms up closer; Cliff watching behind the lens with his arms crossed. I try not to pay attention to the way his face has tightened or how his lips remain flat. Never a good sign.

Somewhere, deep inside, my heart asks if this man is the love of my life. If marrying him is the best thing to happen to me. It’s all about relationship progression; we can’t stay boyfriend and girlfriend forever. Words spoken by our publicist.

I begin to blink my eyes, and within moments, the tears build up and one falls graciously down my cheek.

“Yes.” I smile through that lonesome tear.

Wes’s face lights up with joy. His messy brown hair flicks against the slight wind as he pulls the ring out of the box and slides it on my finger.

It’s beautiful.

I stare at it in complete and utter awe. The rock is huge—no doubt some designer looking for a promotional opportunity. The second this image hits social media, it’ll be sold out everywhere and the designer will be laughing their way to the bank.

In a swift and overexcited move, Wes pulls my body against his and kisses me deeply, moving his warm tongue against mine before pulling back with a grin on his face.

Wes is a very attractive guy. Sweet, yet at times, arrogant and a know-it-all. The fans love him. The ultimate pin-up boy that every girl has in her bedroom and imagination. Yet his boyish grin coupled with exuberant attitude to make me his wife, rubs off on me as the excitement slowly sinks in.

HOLY SHIT! I’M GETTING MARRIED!

I take another look at my ring, glancing sideways to read the white cardboard that Cliff is holding up. I should have practiced my lines, and Cliff’s annoyed face tells me he thinks the same.

“It’s such a beautiful ring,” I comment with a sheepish smile. “Where? How?”

Wes quickly kisses the tip of the ring, not letting go of my hand, holding them preciously as if they belong to him.

“Harry Winston, of course. Nothing less for my fiancée.”

“Fiancée.” I beam without effort. “I really like the sound of that.”

Wes runs his finger along the base of my jaw, tracing it with his eyes before raising them to meet mine. Closing my eyes briefly, I take a breath and allow myself to feel this moment. This is it. The moment you imagined your entire life. The man you love proposing marriage. This is what all little girls dream about—Mr. Prince Charming, sweeping you away and creating this perfect memory that sets the foundation for a happily ever after.

“I love you Em, nothing will stop you from becoming my wife.”

“I love you too,” I breathe slowly.

We both lean in for another kiss, lingering until Cliff yells “cut.” Wes pulls away first, but maintains his position. His body begins to shiver; the brutal cold finally settling in.

“You like it?” he strains while his teeth shatter uncontrollably, cradling my waist in his arms and using my body to warm him up.

“It’s beautiful,” I respond. Speechless and mesmerized by the exquisite piece of jewelry that sits on my finger.

“Great work guys, but we have one problem. Wesley, for fuck’s sake, you got the dress color wrong!” Cliff shouts, disgruntled, shoving his coffee cup towards the chest of his assistant, causing the brown liquid to spill all over her white coat.

“I did?” Wes replies with a half-assed laugh.

“That’s right,” I confirm, remembering only now, the moment we first met. “It was white.”

“Oh.” Wes’s face drops, his jaunty smile disappearing quickly. “That dress.”

The dress that caused our first major fight which ended up in the tabloids. It all started because his jealousy reined in when he caught an ex-cast member commenting on how I looked ‘fuckable’ in that dress.

“Sorry guys, since we have that first episode aired, we need to get the facts straight,” Jenny, our co-producer, informs us.

“You mean I have to do this again?” Wes complains, removing his hands from my body, folding his arms while kicking the snow beneath his feet.

“Wow,” I drag, “God forbid you have to propose again?”

“C’mon Em, I didn’t mean it like that. I just want this over with.”

His face softens, and perhaps I’m a bitch for pointing out that my feelings were hurt. But like everything that’s happened in my life, it all felt staged. And this so-called perfect moment suddenly felt very imperfect. The cold became unbearable. My feet are frozen in the expensive pair of boots I’m wearing. The dress I wore had

long sleeves but because we had to get this proposal right, the designer requested I didn’t wear an overcoat either. The million-dollar diamond necklace adorning my neck felt like cold steel against my already-frozen skin.

I should have taken it as a sign. Everything about this is to bring in ratings. To make the TV network rich. And somewhere amongst this scripted moment, Wes and I are supposed to make it come alive. Show everyone what true love is all about.