by Leddy Harper
A few months before senior prom, I’d decided it was time to give Justin, who I’d been dating for a year, my virginity. And there was no more cliché time than prom night. I’d planned the entire thing and kept it as a surprise. He’d hinted a couple of times about getting a hotel room, and each time, I told him no—not because I didn’t want one, but because I didn’t want to ruin the surprise. Then, two weeks before prom, before the most important night of my life, Justin did something I never expected. He broke up with me. I was devastated, and even more so when my friends had started to tell me it was because I wouldn’t put out. Apparently, the entire time I’d spent planning our first time together—my first time, period—he’d tried to do the same thing, and when he assumed it wouldn’t happen, he lost interest. He lost interest in sleeping with me, taking me to prom, and dating me.
I was heartbroken.
And the one person who was there for me was Holden.
Even though I had four siblings, three of which were sisters, I was closest to Matthew, with only a few years separating us in age. The girls were much older than us. So, after Justin had finished slaughtering my heart and spitting on it, I found myself at my brother’s apartment, the same apartment he shared with Holden. As it turned out, Matthew wasn’t home—he was actually on a date with Christine, the woman he just married yesterday. I ended up spending the evening on the couch, crying to Holden while watching all the Marvel Comics movies in order of production. But certain words he said to me that night came back to haunt me, words meant to comfort me…
“Janelle, you’re worth waiting for, and any man trying to rush it is a fool.”
“You almost done?” His voice came from the other side of the curtain. His gruff tone startled me out of my daydream and reminded me of where I was. It made me question what really took place last night, and why.
“Holden?” I called out, hoping he hadn’t left the room. When I saw his shadow pause, and then hover by the door, I asked, “How much did you have to drink last night?”
Static filled the air while I waited for his answer. Then, in his gravelly baritone, he said, “Quite a bit. Why?”
“Just wondering.” I turned off the water, not at all caring that I’d done nothing but sit beneath the spray instead of washing any part of me. Suddenly, a towel appeared through the opening of the curtain, which I took and wrapped around my shivering body. When I stepped out of the shower, I found Holden leaning against the sink, staring at me as if I’d been in the middle of a sentence and he waited for me to finish. With a shrug, I asked, “How much do you remember?”
“Every single fucking thing.” His response was immediate, and he didn’t break eye contact, not even to blink. “Had I been sober, I may not have made the same choices, but there isn’t a single moment of the entire night I don’t remember…in vivid detail.”
“Holden…”
“I know.” He straightened his posture and moved toward the door. With his back to me, his hand on the frame, he peered over his shoulder and locked his gaze on mine. “We talked about this last night, before anything happened. You’re leaving for college, and I just started my job. What happened between us doesn’t change any of that.” The way he said it made it sound like he expected me to give him excuses why we’d never work, but that couldn’t have been further from the truth. I’d rather make something up as a reason why we would work instead of saying we couldn’t.
I had the hardest time reading between the lines. I heard the words, listened to his dismissive tone, and witnessed his expression, but something seemed off. However, I had no idea what it was. My head was too foggy and my stomach too weak to allow me to put more thought into it. Rather than argue or question him, I nodded, suddenly desperate to finish getting ready so I could head down to check out.
When I returned to the room, I was surprised to find it all cleaned up. Not a single liquor bottle remained on the floor, and all my clothes were folded neatly inside my suitcase. Holden had even set out an outfit for me to wear on the plane back home. Holding the towel against my chest, I glanced around, almost hoping he hadn’t left. But he had. I was all alone, just as I’d asked for. Yet for some reason, it created an ache in my chest, and the more the silence grew, the more I realized he wasn’t coming back.
Later at the airport, the ache expanded when I found out he’d switched flights and wouldn’t be heading back with us.
It nearly swallowed me whole when he didn’t show at Matthew and Christine’s housewarming party a few weeks later.
And when he came up with yet another excuse as to why he couldn’t attend my going-away party, the ache had turned into a massive black hole, right in the center of my chest where my heart used to beat. I’d missed the opportunity to decipher his reaction that day in Vegas, seconds before he walked out of my life forever. And over the years, it meant less and less to me. Eventually, I became a careless, heartless, walking train wreck.
I had no one but myself to blame.
Although every chance I could, I totally blamed Holden.
1
Janelle
Five years later
“Are you sure he’s your soul mate?”
I glanced across the room and found Connor talking to one of the other guys in the house. Appearance-wise, he was the furthest thing from my type I could get, but then again, I figured that was the whole point of this. I clearly had horrible taste in men, so it would make sense that my soul mate wouldn’t be anything like the guys I typically fell for.
Tilting my head and squinting my eyes at him, I thought back on the last eight weeks since we’d met and tried to analyze it from a different point of view. I knew I needed a man who would protect me, but not be an ass. One who wouldn’t argue with me, but at the same time, someone who wouldn’t be a doormat or put up with my crap. I needed a strong man—both physically and mentally. Thinking about these things while looking at Connor, I knew without a doubt that he was, in fact, my soul mate.
“Yes. Definitely.” I turned back to Carrie, who picked at her blueberry muffin across from me at the kitchen table, and then I asked her the same question. “How confident are you that Mike is your soul mate?”
A slow-forming grin overtook her face. “Very confident.”
I rolled my eyes, unable to hide my reaction.
Carrie and Mike had spent almost the entire eight weeks locked in a bedroom, getting to know each other between the sheets. I didn’t really blame them. After all, the island did have a sexy ambiance to it, and the people who’d put this completely absurd dating show together wanted as much spice, love, and drama as they could get to boost ratings.
But I had no desire to find a man who’d extend past a free vacation. Still, half the people in the house did come here to find true love—I was not one of them.
“How many couples do you think got it wrong?” I asked while looking around the room, taking note of everyone. I’d become friends with a few of the girls, gotten along great with most of the guys, but overall, no one here meant anything to me. I’d been burned enough times that I’d eventually learned to numb myself when it came to a relationship of any kind.
“Out of the ten couples, I think at least six of us got it right. I know at least two have it wrong.”
“Which ones?”
“Donna and Eric are so not soul mates,” Carrie answered with a flip of her hand. “Eric is the same kind of guy she normally dates. We even had a whole conversation about it in like week two. So I know they have it wrong, which means there’s at least one other couple incorrectly paired, as well. But none of that means anything to me, because I have Mike. And we’re gonna get paid.”
I’d previously told her I didn’t think Mike was there for her, but she’d made it clear she wasn’t open to listening, so I knew nothing I said now would change her outcome. We were less than an hour away from the big reveal. All our questions would be answered. It was a little late to change minds at this point in the game. We’d been given eight weeks to
learn about the other people in the house and find our “soul mates,” or at least the ones deemed to be soul mates by the producers through some scientific method used to pair us up based on our likes and dislikes. Cue the eye roll. I wouldn’t be surprised if their super-scientific technique was nothing but an eeny-meeny-miny-mo, point-and-pick process. But I didn’t care, because I wasn’t here for love.
The entire process began six months ago when I received a letter in the mail, asking if I would be willing to audition for a reality dating show, of sorts. Normally, I would have tossed it straight into the trash, but the premise was entirely different—and the ten-thousand-dollar prize at the end really grabbed my attention.
The letter detailed a dating game, but unlike anything that had already been done. There would be no roses, no elimination ceremonies that dragged on and on. Instead, twenty people—ten guys and ten girls—would live in a lavish beach house on a privately owned tropical island together for eight weeks. No neighbors and no civilians around other than the production crew.
We had random dating opportunities, and we were all trapped in the house and forced to get to know one another, either by talking or hooking up. At the end of the experiment, we were to pair up with our “soul mates,” and if we chose correctly, we’d win the ten thousand dollars. If we chose wrong, we’d walk away with nothing.
I wanted that money more than anything, so I had made sure I played the game right—which meant no getting acquainted between the sheets for me. Now Connor, my “soul mate,” had his fair share of hookups, which probably should’ve bothered me, but it didn’t. I didn’t care to see him after this production anyway, so his recklessness was irrelevant to my finish line.
After Carrie and I had finished breakfast, we went to gather our suitcases. Everything had been kept super secretive up until this point. We’d been instructed to set our luggage by the front door for the crew to load them into the cars, which told us we were leaving our tropical getaway after the “exit interview,” but other than that, we were left without further directives.
We all sat together quietly on the couch while they called us away, two at a time. About every ten minutes or so, the production staff would send for another pair to find out their fate. By the time Connor and I were summoned, my heart was lodged in my throat. Only three couples remained. I quickly hugged the two girls left behind, waved to the guys, and took Connor’s hand. We followed the staff outside to the idling black SUV with heavily tinted windows, and then rode in complete silence until we stopped at a private airport.
More staff led us into a secluded meeting room off to the side of the entrance. I laced my fingers with Connor’s, the anticipation of our fate slaying my insides. Just because I didn’t have feelings for Connor had nothing to do with the contest. My competitive nature had taken over long ago, and I aspired nothing short of a win. Cameras were set up inside the room with several suits sitting behind a staged desk. Many more crew members with mic booms and headsets watched the monitors as if we were nothing but puppets on strings awaiting their instructions.
“Janelle, Connor…” Larry, the host, gestured toward two chairs, indicating we take the empty seats in front of him. “How are you two feeling today? Confident about your choice?” His line of questions seemed as phony as his smile, but I guess it came with being on camera.
“Yes, we feel very good about it,” Connor answered for me, and that was why I knew I’d picked right. It was no secret that Connor hated everything about this show, yet he sat here with his shoulder leaning into mine and gazing lovingly at me, like someone who’d just spent the last eight weeks in paradise with the love of his life. I’d thought numerous times since meeting him that he’d make an amazing actor.
“Ready to find out the results?” Larry’s eyebrow quirked, indicating he knew some big secret we didn’t. It didn’t fool me. His reactions were meant for the viewers, for those long, drawn-out moments where the music gets intense and then they cut to a commercial break, essentially taking a five-second moment and dragging it out for ten minutes. All for the drama.
Connor and I nodded before Larry opened the sealed envelope—as if it being sealed made it official or something. The entire production was a joke. But I couldn’t complain, because I was about to be handed a check for ten thousand dollars.
“The results show…” He paused dramatically and took a long breath. Impatience urged me to snatch the papers from him, but before I could make a move, he glanced up and looked back and forth between Connor and me. “You two are soul mates. Congratulations!”
I smiled and squeezed Connor’s fingers, but honestly, that was for the cameras. I knew it wasn’t a done deal until that cash was in my bank account, so I made sure to keep up the façade until the bitter end.
“Now, here’s the fun part,” Larry added with a mischievous grin that made my stomach knot. “For guessing correctly, you two will receive ten grand—which for you math wizards, is five thousand each.”
“Wait,” I interjected with enough obvious bewilderment I wouldn’t have been surprised if all the blood drained from my face. It seemed I’d been played, and that thought made me physically sick to my stomach. “I was told I would win ten thousand dollars. Not five. Ten.”
“Yes, that’s correct. The couples who guess correctly win ten…as a couple.”
“That wasn’t stated in the contract.”
“I can have someone go over that with you, Janelle, once we finish here if you’d like, but I can assure you, it’s clearly stated what the prize money would be. I apologize if you assumed that was for each of you versus each couple, but that unfortunately isn’t the case.”
I knew my reaction spoke volumes for how I truly felt, but I decided to shove down my frustration and keep it to myself. There was no point in arguing with the show’s host, especially while on camera where anything could be edited to make me look like a moron or loose cannon. Not to mention, Larry always kept his composure, so no matter how the footage would get trimmed, I’d still come across as the villain, and Larry would be viewed the victim.
“So you can take the money, or you can both use it to buy a bigger pot.”
“Excuse me?” Connor and I both leaned forward and asked for clarification at the same time.
“If you both choose the money, you each walk away with a five-thousand-dollar check. However, you also have the option to use that money to buy rings—specifically, the kind worn on your left ring fingers.”
“Hold up.” Connor lifted his hand. “Why would I give up my money to buy a ring?”
“Good question. Glad you asked.” Larry’s tone and expression sickened me. It was obvious he had something up his sleeve, and it didn’t feel right. “If you choose the option of spending your prize money on wedding rings, and actually following through with it, you will receive fifty thousand dollars.” He paused for a moment and looked both of us in the eyes before following it up with, “Each.”
My jaw dropped. This was certainly unexpected, and not in the bad way. “Fifty grand? Each?”
“That’s correct.”
There was so much I could do with that kind of money, and the first thought on my mind was being able to put my freshly printed degree to good use and start my own business. “What’s the stipulation?”
“Only stipulation is you have to get married.”
“And stay married for how long?” This was too good to be true. I could feel it.
“As long as you’d like. There’s no requirement. As soon as the marriage license is signed, you get your money.”
I turned to Connor and recognized the dollar signs flashing in his brown eyes.
“But make sure whatever you choose is what you want, because once you give me your answer, you can’t take it back,” Larry continued, his voice droning on like background static on the radio.
“I’m totally down for this if you are.” Connor’s wide eyes implored me to agree.
I’d be a fool not to…and my momma didn’
t raise a fool. “Let’s do it.”
“Are you sure?” Larry paused dramatically while waiting for confirmation, which we both ruined by giving him very eager nods. I’m sure the footage would be edited later to dramatically draw out our answers. “Marriage shouldn’t be entered into lightly; you’re both aware of this…correct?” Again, we nodded. “Okay then. Your choices have been locked in and you will be spending your money on wedding rings.” The song “Chapel of Love” blared from the surrounding speakers. I tried not to laugh as Larry theatrically announced, “You may head next door to pick them out.”
We all stood and moved toward the door while the obnoxious lyrics continued to play. The entire walk, my chest tightened and my blood pressure spiked. My hands shook with adrenaline—the thought of receiving fifty grand was like an EpiPen straight to the heart. I had zero desire to get married, at least anytime soon.
I’d just graduated from college with a degree I’d never planned to use in real life, but had received my diploma because my parents promised to pay for school and all living expenses as long as I attended and made good grades. They never once said I had to pick a practical major. So at twenty-three, I was the proud owner of a business degree. I’d gotten the looks from my dad, and they hadn’t gone unnoticed. They’d paid for five years of education for me to learn how to own my own business. Basically, the same things as spending five years taking lectures on how to ride a bike. But I didn’t care, because I went to college and earned a degree, and that was all that mattered.