Lights… Camera… Marriage!
After two serious relationships end short of the altar, Sophie Redmond decides to put love in fate’s hands and signs up for a Reality TV Show called Lights… Camera…Marriage!. On the show, twenty men compete for the attentions of one woman, and America at large votes off the cast members until the last man standing is contractually obligated to marry her and live with her in front of the cameras for the rest of the season.
Former Navy Petty Officer and current Best-Selling Spy Novelist, Jay Sinclair is looking for nothing more than to finish his current book and spend the next year traveling. It’s a trip he’s put off before, but not again! That is, until his brother, Patrick, a Lights… Camera… Marriage! assistant producer, begs him to take the place of a last minute cancellation with the idea that Jay should act like a jerk to get kicked off the show.
Of course the viewing audience sees through Jay’s act and leaves him the last man standing. When the lights and cameras are gone, can Jay and Sophie make their marriage work?
Excerpt
Chapter One
The loud voice of the TV announcer kicked the images of Hugh Jackman and George Clooney rubbing her feet in tandem (wearing nothing but a pair of harem pants and a turban – George in the pants, and Hugh in the turban, of course) straight out of Sophie Redmond’s dreams.
“Haven’t found that special someone yet? Isn’t it time that you showed yourself and the world that you aren’t destined for a life of lonely misery?”
Sophie supposed Hugh and George didn’t count. She peered through the slit of one bleary eye at the TV, the only thing lighting up the cluttered mess of her living room. Yet another Friday night of falling asleep in front of the TV grading papers. She’d promised herself she’d stop that.
“Isn’t it time you stopped dating loser men, with loser jobs and loser lives?”
Okay, that was hitting below the belt.
“Watch it, buster,” Sophie muttered as she pulled her body into a vertical position, having to move one hundred fifty pounds of snoring Great Dane from her lap to do so. Jupiter snuffled before snuggling back into the sofa. Sophie wiped her eyes and dimly became aware that Joey Swifton’s term paper was stuck to the side of her face. Peeling it from her skin, she focused on the tuxedo-clad announcer imploring her to run to her computer and “Log-in-now!”. Her eyes flipped to the clock on the wall. 1:30 a.m. Because most twenty-something women were at home on a Friday night just waiting to fill out an application form for—
“Lights…Camera…Marriage! Be a part of reality TV’s answer to all your problems!”
The name was sort of catchy and the concept was pure prime time. A reality TV style solution for the desperate and unmarried. The latter of which she was, the former, not so much.
Sophie’s gaze shifted down to her laptop sitting closed on the coffee table. She wouldn’t be falling for this commercial though. This wasn’t anything like that time last fall when she made the unfortunate two a.m. purchase of twenty Pilates videos —nineteen of which were still in their cellophane wrappers.
If she were that desperate, she’d just go speed dating… or join an internet dating service. Both of which, her best friend, Julie, had been trying to talk her into since last June. So there was no need to sign up for some ridiculous reality television show.
On the other hand, a show that picked her mate for her would take care of that constant and nagging problem she had with her ability to pick the single loser out of a herd of kind, articulate, attractive millionaires who were looking to settle down and desperately wanted children.
In a sleepy haze, Sophie watched her hands open the lid of her laptop as if they were completely separated from the rest of her body.
No harm just looking at the site and checking it out, right?
Sophie yawned as she clicked through the respectable looking website driving home the show’s major network affiliate. That was something—better than a lot of the cable reality shows. And filling out a marriage questionnaire was actually kind of intriguing. Maybe she’d learn a little bit about herself, like those Cosmo quizzes she took at the hair salon. She wasn’t exactly prime TV material, so she was safe there. They’d pick some leggy aspiring starlet who didn’t need any help meeting men, not a normal woman with the boobs God gave her.
Giving a final mental shrug, Sophie started typing.
Her contact information came first, followed by her age, 26, and occupation, Deaf Interpreter and Sign Language Teacher.
In the way that things only make sense at two in the morning, she found that she completely abandoned herself to her task.
Something about this whole thing intrigued Sophie way more than she would have thought possible. Maybe filling out the application was more about making the effort to meet a man than it was about hoping to be on television. One small step for Sophie, one giant leap toward the manlykind.
“Sex,” Sophie read aloud. “Rarely and not in a long time.” She giggled at herself, then checked the box next to female. She really should get out more.
Height: 5′ 7″
Weight: 125
Hair Color: Black
Eye Color: Brown
Marital Status: Single
“Well, duh. Who would sign up for this show if they were already married?” she asked the empty room. Then she thought about it. Plenty of people, sadly. Infidelity ran rampant.
Why do you think you haven’t found the right guy?:
She suspected, “My ability to choose nice men sucks the big donkey nose,” probably wouldn’t win her any points. Not that she expected to be selected for the show anyway.
I feel that my own taste in men is suspect, as poor choices in the past have led to heartache. I wish to have a mate chosen for me so that my bad judgment does not get in the way of future happiness.
How do you rate your luck with the opposite sex?: Appalling
She thought about expanding on that answer, but then decided that Appalling pretty much summed up the situation.
Have you ever been married or engaged before? If yes, Why did the relationship end?:
They certainly didn’t pull any punches, did they? She started typing a long drawn out explanation of her last two engagements, realizing halfway through that she sounded uber-pathetic. There was nothing worse than being pitiful at o’dark thirty in the morning to really wake you up to the realities of your life. She deleted her answer and started again.
I have been engaged twice. The second time, it ended when I discovered the groom and the catering director locked in a compromising clinch in the coat check closet the night of the rehearsal dinner.
How did you hear about Lights… Camera… Marriage?: Late-night infomercial.
Admitting that would probably disqualify her outright.
Sophie prepared to click the checkmark that read: “I have read the terms of this application and contract and do hereby swear that all my answers are complete and accurate to the best of my knowledge.” Then she decided she’d better actually read it before she agreed to the terms.
She clicked the provided link to review the contract. She skimmed until her eyes landed on a paragraph three quarters the way down the screen. “The female lead and the chosen male lead will be contractually obligated to marry on December 18 and live in front of the cameras until May 23.”
“Not. A. Chance,” Sophie said, leaning away from the computer.
She leaned back and kept reading. “Should they complete all their obligations to Lights… Camera… Marriage!, The male and female lead will each be paid $1,000,000 (U.S.) upon completion of the show.”
Sophie could do a lot with a cool mil. Like open her dream school. She could picture it. A park-like setting. State-of-the-art equipment. A fully-staffed facility to teach hearing people in the community about deaf culture and sign language.
Sophie gritted her teeth. Opening her center, a long-term pipe dream, was what got her through bad days and cheating fiancés. She had the skills, the business plan, even community support, but she also had one not so great thing: a teacher’s salary.
It just wasn’t fair, she thought, her finger hovering over the submit key in an act of cosmic defiance. She could do so much with a million dollars! She could really make a difference! She could—
Click.
Sophie blinked as the screen filled with “Thank you for submitting your application!”. She’d done it. With a click of her mouse, she could have just legally obligated herself to marry a stranger.
Nah. There would be plenty of blonde future Scarlett Johansons and Jennifer Anistons sending in applications. No worries.
