Chapter 3
The giant mahogany doors to the conference room-turned-wedding venue send my heart racing. All at once my dress is too tight, the room is too hot, my heels are pinching my toes, and all I want to do is run.
“I hope he’s handsome.” My mom hooks her arm in mine. When I told her I was getting married to a complete stranger on television, she was delighted. Like, she actually leaped out of her chair, spilled her wine, and tackle-hugged me, saying she thought I was going to be alone forever.
It didn’t inspire much confidence, really.
“I’d rather he not be a dick,” I mutter as I shift in my heels. I can put up with a lot for eight weeks if it means I’ll pocket that hundred thousand dollars at the end, but I’d at least like to be treated with some respect. In any case, I know he’s handsome.
Heidi has been scurrying around the venue, preparing for three weddings today. She hired an extra assistant and enlisted a gaggle of the show’s interns to help wrangle the details. After shoving some champagne in my face in the dressing room an hour ago, she disappeared, only to send me a text that simply said, Technically I can’t tell you, but your groom is hot AF.
“Stop slouching,” my mom scolds. “A bride never slouches.”
I roll my eyes. She would know. She’s been married five times. I can’t fault her for it. She never finished a degree or had a career of her own, but she always made sure we had a roof over our heads and food in our stomachs. I’m well aware of how much she sacrificed for that. With a sigh, I straighten my spine.
“So,” I say casually as cameras move around us, capturing several angles of the pre-wedding moments, “Jim seems nice.”
My mom smiles, her blush showing even through the professional makeup. She swipes a salt-and-pepper curl out of her eyes and says, “He is a very nice man.”
She wandered in with Jim early this morning. I knew she met someone—the ink on her most recent divorce papers had dried a month ago—but I hadn’t met him yet. Jim strolled up in jeans and a T-shirt this morning, just under six feet tall, with a wide smile and wavy hair that had gone gray. He has a soft jawline and eyes that sparkled with laughter. He carried my mom’s garment bag. I’m still not sure why, but that feels so different from the other men I barely called my stepfathers.
“Where did you say you met him?” I ask as a producer approaches.
Her reply is soft. Girlish and demure. “The dry cleaner.”
Before I get a chance to ask more about it—normally she finds them at a high-class bar or a country club—the producer is telling the cameras closest to us what to capture. The room goes silent, and one of the matchmakers approaches, a cameraman on her heels.
“All right, Andie.” The show’s host Petra grips my free hand in both of hers. It’s supposed to be a comforting gesture, but it feels more like a vise. The bodice of my dress feels infinitesimally tighter, and I struggle to take in a breath.
Petra is turned so the cameras can catch her lithe form in the best light, a broad smile on her face. Her pale pink dress shimmers in the sunlight coming in the windows of this anteroom.
The morning was a furious blur of action. I was poked and prodded while producers asked me questions from behind the camera.
How are you feeling?
Who do you think the matchmakers paired you with?
What if he’s shorter than you? Or bald?
Are you getting cold feet?
I mumbled perfunctory answers until my mom turned up with Jim.
And it all boiled down to this moment. Right now.
Petra squeezes my hands and asks the question that plugs the name of the show, “Are you ready for your first look at forever?”
Forever is for suckers. I’m here to get mine and get out. But I flash a grin I hope looks equal parts glamorous and demure. “I suppose I have to be.”
Behind me, a PA says into her earpiece, “Cue music.”
I take a deep breath and squeeze my bouquet even tighter, my pulse bounding in my ears.
The doors open, and I see my groom at the altar, his back turned. Well, if I’m going to marry someone on TV who I’ve never met, at least he’s got a great ass. He turns to greet me, a half grin hooking the corner of his pretty mouth.
My heart stops.
Oh. Fuck. No.
FIRST LOOK AT FOREVER
SEASON THREE
EPISODE ONE
PETRA ASHLING:
First Look at Forever attempts what modern dating fails to do: finding people their perfect match. We use extensive interviews and questionnaires used by organizations like the CIA to determine long-term compatibility. With such a high success rate, First Look at Forever is changing the dating landscape forever.
This season, we scoured our pool of applicants and found three couples our experts—a marriage counselor and a sociologist—believe can go the distance. The catch? The first time our couples will meet is at the altar, where they’ll be legally married.
JAMIE:
I’m ready to get married.
KENDRA:
I want to find my perfect match.
KIT:
I hope I find a partner I can grow with.
LESLIE:
It’s time to make room for the great love of my life.
PATRICK:
I want that connection I’ve been searching for.
ANDIE:
I’m as ready as I’m ever going to be.
PETRA ASHLING:
The stakes are high as our couples sign on for the commitment of a lifetime. After eight weeks, they’ll have to decide if they want to stay married to the love of their life or choose to divorce.