by Sean Lowe
The ladies seemed to like that answer but pressed harder.
“Are you ready to be a dad?”
“Well, I don’t have kids, so that would be new to me,” I said. “But my dad has taught me how to be a man for the past twenty-eight years, so I think I’m prepared.”
The women relaxed a bit after that, telling me I was cute and asking me if I worked out.
“Only occasionally,” I said, probably causing Sagi back home to yell at the screen.
“Don’t lie,” Emily’s friend Wendy said. “What would your superhero power be if you could choose one?”
I knew they liked me because the questions seemed to be getting sillier. “I guess I’d like to fly.”
“Yeah, you’d look good in a cape,” Wendy said. “Or Spandex. Hey, will you take your shirt off?”
I was taken aback by the question and laughed. When I saw she was not laughing, I asked, “Seriously?”
“Yeah, we need to know what we’re dealing with.”
Of course, there was no way I was going to be “that guy.” I wasn’t going to be parading around without a shirt on national television. Yet the ladies insisted—and the producers encouraged me from behind the cameras. “Come on, Sean,” they said. “It’ll be fun.”
I certainly didn’t want to be a spoilsport, so I dutifully took off my shirt and did push-ups, as requested. Wendy sat on my back as I did them and said, “This is like a dream come true.”
That’s when I knew I’d officially won over Emily’s friends.
And I’d officially become “the guy with the abs.”
After playing with a couple dozen kids in the park while the ladies compared notes with Emily on us, it was time for the evening portion of the date. We went to a restaurant and club in Charlotte that had two stories. The guys were on the second floor, while Emily was down below. There were about twelve guys on the group date, and they went down one at a time to spend a few minutes with her alone.
I knew I’d killed the date portion with her friends and had a feeling Emily was digging me. I didn’t know what had happened with her and anyone else. I’d been back at the mansion reading my book and taking dips in the pool. But I felt good about my position in the pack.
It was time to make a move.
I made a paper fortune-teller, which is a piece of paper folded into a certain shape that allows you to write questions and answers underneath flaps. The way it works is simple: Someone picks a number and the person with the paper fortune-teller moves the flaps back and forth depending on the answers. Normally, the questions are pretty silly—who’s your favorite singer, what’s your favorite color, and so forth. Every junior high kid knows how to make them to pass time during math class.
Of course, I didn’t care who her favorite singer was. Instead of playing the game by the conventional rules, I wrote, “Can I have a kiss?”—or some variation—under every flap. I was the last bachelor to have alone time with Emily. We chatted for a few minutes, and I could tell it was going really well.
“You’re perfect,” she said, reaching for my hand.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “I’m far from perfect.”
“Well, you seem like you’re just the whole package—you’ve got it all.”
That’s when I decided to give the paper fortune-teller a chance.
“Want to play a game?” When she picked a corner, I lifted the paper flap to reveal my question.
“Can you have a kiss?” she read and smiled.
That’s when I leaned in and we had our first—amazing—kiss.
Later, when watching the episode on television, I realized they didn’t show this moment. I think the producers decided to build up our second kiss (at the rose ceremony) and portray it to viewers as our first. Nevertheless, I carried that moment in my heart from that point on, and it gave me such confidence. I really wanted the rose to show the other guys where I stood, and that’s exactly what happened.
“I’d like to give the rose tonight to . . . Sean,” she said. “You backed up everything you’ve been saying since day one. And I’m very thankful for that.”
I sat outside by myself the next morning with my coffee, my Jesus Calling book, and a million thoughts running through my head. As I settled down to read my devotional, Alejandro and Charlie came up and sat on the furniture around me.
“What’s Jesus saying today?” Alejandro asked. Charlie laughed.
I realized my Bible study probably was strange to most of the guys there. Few, if any, of them were Christians, so I didn’t advertise that I was having a morning devotional. I never said, “Hey, guys, listen to this.” But I’d definitely oblige if asked.
“ ‘Come to Me with a teachable spirit, eager to be changed,’ ” I read. “ ‘A close walk with Me is a life of continual newness. . . . Seek My face with an open mind, knowing that your journey with Me involves being transformed.’ ”5
Soon, word spread that I had daily devotionals, and guys started showing up. I really liked the guys, and being in such a strange situation bonded us together. Even though most of our time was spent lounging around waiting for dates—or recovering from them—the mornings were dedicated to our little devotionals. Without even meaning to, I found myself leading this Bible study on the set of The Bachelorette.
During the next rose ceremony—with the rose firmly attached to my lapel—I had nothing to fear. I watched as the other guys ushered Emily to various locations on the property, competing for time and conversation. As with most of these cocktail parties, there was no shortage of drama. The egg guy finally decided to break his egg, which he had named Shelly. Then, when Emily was talking to one of the guys, he called her situation—the fact that she already had a child—a “compromise.” Of course, this was the same guy who admitted to Emily’s friends that he’d cheated on an ex-girlfriend (his third cousin) and had a one-night stand. When Emily stormed through the house—wearing boots instead of her heels, because she didn’t even care to keep up appearances for the camera—I knew things wouldn’t end well for the guy. She promptly escorted him to the door without waiting for the ceremony.
She was still a little shaken by the time I caught up with her later in the evening.
“It’s only been forty-eight hours,” I said, sitting down beside her near the roaring fire. “But I kind of missed you.”
“You did? Why? Flatter me for a minute.” She smiled, taking my hand. “I need it.”
Emily’s Southern charm was evident, even when she was distressed.
“Normally, if I had such a connection with someone, I wouldn’t have waited two days to talk to you,” I said. “I would’ve texted you to tell you how much fun I had being with you.”
“You wouldn’t play the ‘two-day rule’?”
“I wouldn’t have played a game at all.”
I’d never felt closer to her. Since our kiss, I felt confident in our relationship. I knew in my heart that none of the other guys would have the connection we had. Not only did we already share a special moment after the group date, but faith was also important to her. The other guys were great—I was becoming good friends with Charlie, Alejandro, Jef, Arie, and John Wolfner. But I didn’t get the feeling they shared her Christian faith. In my heart, without losing sight of the fact that we were on a reality TV dating game, I knew we had an undeniable connection.
“I want to talk to you about something your friends brought up,” I said.
“Oh no.” Emily laughed.
“They asked if I could be a good dad to Ricki. For the past twenty-eight years, my dad has taught me how to be the greatest father,” I said. “I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but if we were to get married, Ricki would be my daughter. She can call me Sean; she can call me whatever she wants. But she’d be mine.”
“That was exactly what I needed to hear. I know you are good-looking,” she said, “but I wanted to thank you for also being so sweet.”
I could tell I’d touched Emily deeply. When I leaned in and
kissed her, the producers made it look like our first kiss for the viewers at home. But to me, this was another moment in a fabulous week solidifying our relationship.
Our time together was quickly interrupted. I never had quite enough time to hang out with her and longed for a one-on-one date to spend real time with her. When I relinquished her to whichever guy came in next, I went back out to the mansion’s main room with a full heart. Though it seemed improbable, I felt like I could really be interested in Emily.
When I got back to where the guys were sitting, I could tell they were agitated.
“I saw Emily kissing Arie,” one of the guys said. “Right there, in the hall.”
I couldn’t believe my ears.
“When?” Of course, I’d just kissed her two days ago—not to mention two minutes ago. How could she also be kissing Arie? Looking back, I realized this was a “How naive could you have been?” moment. But it felt like a punch in the gut. Planet Bachelorette was a new world for me—everything that I’d been taught about loyalty and dating was on temporary hiatus.
When the show broadcast, all the viewers saw between Emily and me was a sweet kiss and a declaration that I’d consider Emily’s daughter my own. But behind the scenes, I was furious.
“It’s offensive she’d kiss Arie in plain sight of the other guys,” one of the bachelors said. This is the convoluted world of the show. In normal life, a guy would be angry if a girl he was interested in kissed another guy, period. But normal rules didn’t apply, so we tried to find new boundaries. Since it wasn’t reasonable to ask Emily not to kiss the other guys—whom she was technically dating!—we drew a new moral line: it was wrong to flaunt it in front of our faces.
During the rose ceremony, I didn’t make eye contact with her and stood as rigid as a soldier. Because I had the rose, I didn’t care what names she was saying. I was safe, but did I really want to be there? After another guy was sent home in the “limo of shame,” the producers passed out the champagne to the guys as they did every week. Then they had us gather in the middle of the room, raise our glasses, and toast with a “Here’s to another great week” type of thing. By the time they got around to pouring the champagne, I was so steamed I couldn’t even raise my glass.
“Sean, aren’t you going to toast?” Emily called me out, playfully.
I gave a halfhearted shrug.
In case you’re wondering, that’s what it looks like when I’m being a baby.
Typically, when the camera crew is done with that final shot, guys linger to see if they can talk to Emily before the producer pulls her away. Face time with her when the cameras aren’t rolling is at a premium. That night when they yelled, “Cut!” I darted into the courtyard, took off my tie, and threw off my jacket.
I was done.
As I sat on the outdoor furniture, fuming, I heard someone come up behind me.
Emily put a hand on my shoulder. She was followed by her producer.
“Listen, guys,” Mary Kate said. “I’m not supposed to let her talk to you off camera, but she begged me.”
Without a word, I motioned for her to sit down.
“Sean, I’m so sorry if you heard anything or saw anything,” she said, her voice soft with emotion. “I really care about you.”
Her words couldn’t cut through my anger.
“Yeah, okay,” I said. “Whatever.”
When she and Mary Kate left, I knew I hadn’t handled the situation very well. My friend Charlie came out with a producer named Jonah to commiserate. Jonah is the kind of guy you can’t imagine living outside of Hollywood, with his wild hair he wears like an Afro. He looks like Sideshow Bob from The Simpsons, but with an unkempt beard. (His hair even has its own Twitter handle.) Normally, Jonah and I kicked back and had a great time on set.
Not that night.
“I want to go home,” I told him. “I don’t need this, and I don’t need her.”
He let me rant for a while before he finally decided to push back a bit.
“Listen, Sean. This is a show about making relationships with multiple people. Maybe she shouldn’t have done it in the house where someone else could have seen her, but of course that stuff is gonna happen.”
We spent the night in front of the fireplace in the courtyard talking about the situation. By around four o’clock in the morning, I’d finally managed to cool off.
Reluctantly, I realized Jonah was right.
I’d signed up for a show with a premise that flew in the face of the way things were normally supposed to work. Being mad at Emily for following the rules of the show wasn’t fair. Plus, she was concerned enough about it to follow me into the courtyard. It made me think, Okay, she really doesn’t want me to leave. She wants me to be in this.
I shuffled back to my room, exhausted but satisfied that Emily did care about me.
In my heart, however, something didn’t feel quite right.
six
GETTING ON MY SOAPBOX
“Love takes no prisoners,” the date card read.
Though I had no idea what that cryptic message meant, I was excited my name was on it so I could—finally—spend real time with Emily.
It had been a long time coming.
The morning after the cocktail party, Chris Harrison told us we were leaving Charlotte for good. Within two hours, we were packed and on our way to Bermuda. While there, I’d done nothing but sit around in the sun while she went out on group dates and two-on-one dates with the guys. Without a cell phone, laptop, or any ability to connect with friends back home, I was left to hang out with the guys and my thoughts. The guys were great, but almost all my thoughts were of Emily. Sadly, I wasn’t able to spend too much time with her until my first one-on-one date during our next stop: London, where—apparently—love would take no prisoners.
The show makes a big deal out of location changes, and they really played up London. Chris Harrison met us in historic Trafalgar Square around seven o’clock in the morning. There weren’t many people out and about, and the morning sun was reflecting off Big Ben down the street. It was a great moment, even before Harrison put things in perspective for us. “Only one of you will become Emily’s husband. Yeah, I said it—husband.” Just hearing that word sobered us. Well, some of us. It was evident by this time that some of the guys were into Emily and some weren’t. Though I had always maintained that it would be ridiculous to find love on a reality TV show, I was gradually being convinced. Maybe I was wrong.
When I met Emily the next day for our one-on-one date, she didn’t look as radiant as normal. Somewhere between Bermuda and London, she’d gotten pretty sick.
“We’re going to take a tour of London, in the most perfect and iconic way,” Emily said after greeting me. As she was talking, one of those red doubledecker buses came around the bend and stopped just for us.
“Are you sure you’re up for this?” I asked as we sat in the open-air bus with the wind cutting through our jackets.
“I wouldn’t have done this,” she said, holding back a sniffle, “had it not been you today.”
We drove around the city, seeing Big Ben, Westminster Abbey, and Buckingham Palace. It felt so natural to be with Emily, and I looked for any sort of reassurance that I might be winning her heart. Because of the context of the show, Emily couldn’t openly express preference for one guy over another. Even if she developed feelings of love, she wouldn’t be at liberty to express it to anyone until the proposal.
This is not a show policy. Rather, it’s just how things work out. It would be inconsiderate to tell one guy she loved him when she might not necessarily have had the time to develop feelings for the others. That meant, on our date, I began looking for clues to how she really felt. In the mean-time, I enjoyed putting my arm around her and pulling her into me to keep her warm. Plus, I thought it was cool that she didn’t complain about being under the weather.
“I’m really glad today’s date is with you,” she said. “Normally, when I meet guys who look like you, they’re
really boring. But you’re the opposite of boring.” Throughout the day, she grabbed my hand several times and said, “You’re just perfect.”
There was that word again. Every time she called me that, I felt flattered but corrected her. I knew—and she’d soon find out if we got to spend real time together—I was far from perfect. Nevertheless, I appreciated the fact that she seemed to be falling for me. Emily was beginning to seem like the ideal woman for me—not because of her outward beauty, but because of her faith.
One-on-ones were daylong affairs, followed by an evening dinner date. Though, it must be said, the dinner portion was never as romantic as it seemed. Before we went on the date, the producers sent food to our hotel rooms. We ate in our rooms and then went out for dinner, where we were given beautiful food arranged nicely on the plate. This was just for show. No one looks good eating, and microphones pick up all kinds of chomping. (Just listen during the next season when someone slurps wine during the date.)
We were told to keep things light during the day portion of the date. If we had something serious to bring up, we waited until the evening. Throughout the date, the producers pulled us aside individually for ITM chats. The at-home viewers saw us doing our various activities, but periodically the camera would cut to Emily or me talking about the date. The producers did this so the viewers at home could sense our feelings about how the date was progressing in real time.
“How do you think the date is going so far?” they might ask. “What did you think when Emily said this?” and “Are you excited about tonight’s dinner date?”
During one ITM chat in Hyde Park, the producer named Scott—who became a great friend—said, “We have an idea. We’re going to go on a walk, and we’re going to come to Speakers’ Corner.”
Speakers’ Corner, I soon learned, used to be a site for public hangings, but now it’s a spot where people bring their soapboxes—little stepladders—to say whatever they’d like: religious sermons, political diatribes, or jokes. It’s located on a famous strip of land between the green lawns of Hyde Park and the city’s bustling traffic. Only two things are off-limits: profanity and insulting the queen.