Page 1 of Insta Bride
Prologue
six months ago
Elena
If only I had three hands.
One to hold the old shoebox filled with memories. One to operate the video recorder remote control. And a third to hold a well-needed glass of wine. Red or white? No, today deserved champagne.
I’d tried to set up the video recorder and tripod in six different parts of my Cronulla apartment before deciding my comfort was more important than chasing the perfect lighting.
The large shoebox rested in my lap reminding me why I’d given up dating three years ago. My ex.
Most days, I didn’t even think about our years together. Most days, I considered myself lucky that he’d shown his true colors before we’d done anything permanent—like marriage or children.
After kicking him out of my life, I’d crammed photos, concert tickets and other memories into a large shoebox before sealing it with several rounds of brown packing tape. In a thick black permanent marker, I’d signed all six sides before covering my signature with more tape.
When I’d created the seal, I didn’t intend for it to be broken. I’d held onto the shoebox for three years, intending to destroy it in a ceremonial burning. Except, days like today, it reminded me that being single in my late twenties was better than being in love with a cheater.
Being single meant lazy Sundays in bed, reading or binge-watching TV. Being single meant not compromising on holiday destinations or restaurants. Although, I never got used to waiters giving me a pitying look when I requested a table for one.
Being single meant my two-bedroom apartment represented my style and I didn’t have to select one side of the bed to sleep on.
Being single meant not putting my heart in someone else’s hands.
Three years after I thought my heart would literally stop beating, I needed to listen to my friends and adult up.
They wanted me to dive back into the dating pool. My excuses of sixty-hour work weeks in the office and more hours working from home to earn the next promotion had worn thin, even to me.
My friends had driven me to do something crazy. Each week at lunch, I’d been matching their stories of dating disasters with Netflix binge recommendations. Listened to their romantic holidays away while postponing my own holiday plans when I couldn’t bring myself to twin share with a stranger.
I needed a circuit breaker—a way to snap me out of my solitude. I closed my eyes and tried to channel my friends’ strength and support.
“Do you really want to look back and wish you’d been more open to the idea of love?” Olivia had asked me last week. “Not all men are—”
“Lying, cheating assholes?” I’d answered with my usual wry smile. “I’ve still got a couple of years before I hit the dreaded thirties.”
“I’d rather see you with babies than watch you become a crazy cat lady.”
“I’m more of a dog person.”
Something I should include in my interview, I thought, opening my eyes, and fingering the remote. No one would know if I didn’t press record. I could put the equipment away, find a new show to watch and—spend another Saturday night alone.
Or, I could go through with my crazy plan. Apply for a reality TV show, knowing I’d never be selected. As a connoisseur of reality entertainment, I knew what they’d be looking for, and it wasn’t me.
I checked my teeth for stray crumbs, smoothed my hair and read through the selection criteria one last time. I could do this.
One last deep breath. One last check of the light. I held the old shoebox in my lap, and pressed record.
Looking into the dark camera lens, I explained how I didn’t believe in love; admitted to no special skills or qualities; and even admitted to having no plans to turn any celebrity status into a new career. I was just me. And my perfect man didn’t exist.
If I was hesitant about my strengths and personality, I became forceful and even passionate about what I didn’t want or respect in a man.
By the time I leaned over, pressed stop and kicked off my shoes, I had no desire to review the footage. Except, my glass of champagne still needed drinking, and I might as well make sure the sound was clear.
I hooked up the recorder to my large screen TV, feeling awestruck when my image appeared. The camera had captured every breath, each pause between thoughts.
Watching the petite blonde bite her lip before moving onto the next question, I wanted to reach into the camera and hug her. When her pale blue-green eyes frosted over talking about her past relationship, I almost ran to break out the chocolate ice-cream. The blue pinafore over white tee was plain. As intended, it did nothing to show off my slender figure or curves.