gave up on his dream to go pro. As he sits next to his wife, his biceps flex as if he’s trying to prove something. His hair is dark and his eyes are blue. He has a nice smile. Of these guys, I’d probably date Cole, or at least talk to him in a bar. With Joshua here, though, they don’t stand a chance with their wives. And I don’t stand a chance with my husband.
Earlier this afternoon, I stood in front of a mirror and looked at my hair that was styled just right, the dress I wore was beautiful and may not have been the one I had picked out, but I wasn’t going to complain. Now I stand, facing yet another mirror and stare at myself. The make-up has been taken off my face, making my eyes look dull and almost lifeless. If it weren’t for the deep purple negligee against my pale skin, I’d look like a washed-out vampire.
My hair is pulled up in a lame ponytail with the ends falling down in the back. I used to have long hair, down to the middle of my back, but in an effort to change myself after my engagement ended, I cut it. I regret that decision. I pinch my cheeks to give them some life. They flash pink but quickly fade. It doesn’t matter which way I turn my head, the disdain I see in my reflection is how I feel about my mother right now.
When I opened my duffle bag to pull out my favorite pajamas, they weren’t there. As I threw clothes haphazardly over my shoulder in the bathroom, I had the sickening realization that my mother had removed the security clothes I had packed and replaced them with satin negligees and matching panties. It felt like I just swallowed one of my Aunt June’s potpies, and now it’s pressing on all my organs. I’m so angry that I want to cry, and yet I’m standing here wondering what Joshua Freaking Wilson is going to think when I walk into the bedroom we’re sharing.
Am I enough to turn his head? I wish. Is he going to think this is some covert method of seduction? Again, I wish, but yes that’s probably what he’s going to think. I don’t have a choice. My clothing options are limited, and sleeping in jeans just doesn’t appeal to me.
Taking one last look in the mirror, I sigh. “Suck it up, buttercup.” This is my personal affirmation, one that’s supposed to give me enough courage to step out of this bathroom and into the boudoir with one of the hottest bachelors in Hollywood. Well, I guess he’s no longer a bachelor, but that little tidbit does nothing to ease my anxiety right now.
The hallway is bright and empty. All the lights in the house are left on for the cameras. Only in the bedrooms can they be dimmed. It’s extremely creepy to know that viewers can pay to watch us sleep. That’s taking peeping to a whole new level of stalkerism. The only noises I hear are Amanda and Gary talking. The two rooms are spread out, likely for added privacy, so they have to be speaking loudly. First fight and it’s on their wedding night. That can’t bode well for their future.
The future. I’m not a fan of thinking about what’s going to happen tomorrow or even next week. I used to look forward to the future and planning what my living room was going to look like or what color I was going to paint the master bedroom. Those dreams, or whatever you want to call them, were shattered so easily and by someone who was about to vow to love me forever. Joshua hasn’t made any such proclamations, so I should be able to live in a fantasy world without it crumbling down around me… said every female with hopes of dating a celebrity. I’m doomed.
When I get to our room for the week, I lean up against the doorjamb and stare at Joshua. I’ve spent years studying this man, but nothing has prepared me for this sight. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he’s shooting a spread for GQ magazine or something. His bare chest is visible, each ab muscle on display for everyone on TV to see. The dark red sheet is crumpled at his waist, and I don’t need to be standing next to him to know
Earlier this afternoon, I stood in front of a mirror and looked at my hair that was styled just right, the dress I wore was beautiful and may not have been the one I had picked out, but I wasn’t going to complain. Now I stand, facing yet another mirror and stare at myself. The make-up has been taken off my face, making my eyes look dull and almost lifeless. If it weren’t for the deep purple negligee against my pale skin, I’d look like a washed-out vampire.
My hair is pulled up in a lame ponytail with the ends falling down in the back. I used to have long hair, down to the middle of my back, but in an effort to change myself after my engagement ended, I cut it. I regret that decision. I pinch my cheeks to give them some life. They flash pink but quickly fade. It doesn’t matter which way I turn my head, the disdain I see in my reflection is how I feel about my mother right now.
When I opened my duffle bag to pull out my favorite pajamas, they weren’t there. As I threw clothes haphazardly over my shoulder in the bathroom, I had the sickening realization that my mother had removed the security clothes I had packed and replaced them with satin negligees and matching panties. It felt like I just swallowed one of my Aunt June’s potpies, and now it’s pressing on all my organs. I’m so angry that I want to cry, and yet I’m standing here wondering what Joshua Freaking Wilson is going to think when I walk into the bedroom we’re sharing.
Am I enough to turn his head? I wish. Is he going to think this is some covert method of seduction? Again, I wish, but yes that’s probably what he’s going to think. I don’t have a choice. My clothing options are limited, and sleeping in jeans just doesn’t appeal to me.
Taking one last look in the mirror, I sigh. “Suck it up, buttercup.” This is my personal affirmation, one that’s supposed to give me enough courage to step out of this bathroom and into the boudoir with one of the hottest bachelors in Hollywood. Well, I guess he’s no longer a bachelor, but that little tidbit does nothing to ease my anxiety right now.
The hallway is bright and empty. All the lights in the house are left on for the cameras. Only in the bedrooms can they be dimmed. It’s extremely creepy to know that viewers can pay to watch us sleep. That’s taking peeping to a whole new level of stalkerism. The only noises I hear are Amanda and Gary talking. The two rooms are spread out, likely for added privacy, so they have to be speaking loudly. First fight and it’s on their wedding night. That can’t bode well for their future.
The future. I’m not a fan of thinking about what’s going to happen tomorrow or even next week. I used to look forward to the future and planning what my living room was going to look like or what color I was going to paint the master bedroom. Those dreams, or whatever you want to call them, were shattered so easily and by someone who was about to vow to love me forever. Joshua hasn’t made any such proclamations, so I should be able to live in a fantasy world without it crumbling down around me… said every female with hopes of dating a celebrity. I’m doomed.
When I get to our room for the week, I lean up against the doorjamb and stare at Joshua. I’ve spent years studying this man, but nothing has prepared me for this sight. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he’s shooting a spread for GQ magazine or something. His bare chest is visible, each ab muscle on display for everyone on TV to see. The dark red sheet is crumpled at his waist, and I don’t need to be standing next to him to know
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