Page 11 of Insta Bride
Former footballer with a leaked video that killed his career and marriage, Dawson, had been paired with Miranda who answered to Randi. I didn’t think there was an Australian touring band she hadn’t toured and partied with. Dawson might have just met his match.
The most unlikely pair had been fly-in-fly-out worker Clint whose claim to fame was being able to skull a yard glass of beer in under forty seconds. The person least impressed had been self-proclaimed corporate princess, Darnelia, who only drank top shelf spirits or champagne.
With each pairing and embarrassing first impression aired, I tried not to fidget out of nerves or boredom. Why hadn’t I already been matched? Had I said anything inflammatory about anyone? I was happy with being edited as the bad boy, but I realized, belatedly, that edited comments could cost me clients post-show.
After filming for four hours to pair six couples, the producers called for a break. We were dehydrated, starving and my nerves were frayed.
“Hi, Kye? I’m Kenzie. Do you think they’ll pair us up?” She needed all of her four-inch heels to reach my eye level and a nano second to pin me against the drinks table. Again, I’d poured ginger beer into a beer glass. Cameras were everywhere and we were all mic’d up.
“I don’t know. What do you think?” I kept each sentence short and hoped it couldn’t be spliced with other half statements. I’d become conscious of one of the female camera operators becoming glued to Kenzie. I assumed they were planning one hell of a storyline for her.
“I think we’re the best-looking couple here. They’d be mad not to pair us up. Imagine how much we could be worth rocking up to an opening? No nightclub would dare knock back our asking price.”
“I’m here looking for love.” A simple statement. So far, so good. I needed to stay smart. No comments about future endorsements or improving my social media profile. Of course, we were all here for the same reason. Difference between me and all the others, I wasn’t stupid enough to say it on camera. “I’ve always managed to either attract the wrong women or be the wrong sort of boyfriend. I’m here for love.”
“Well, if you ever want company with no strings attached, let me know.”
Kenzie broke away at our five-minute warning. Most of the women fled to the mirrors, to check their makeup and hair.
All except Flower. I really needed to find out her name but didn’t want to show my hand by asking.
She stood apart, again with the watchful eyes.
Ignored by the other women who’d dismissed her as insignificant and the other guys as unlikely to make the final cut, she appeared unfazed. Almost amused. A wry smile that reached her eyes, and a wine glass filled with soda water.
Yes, I’d noticed the little things.
Like how she wore flat sandals and didn’t mind walking away from the group to enjoy the ocean and beach views.
Like how she offered bottled water to the crew—not because she wanted additional attention or to give them tips on which side of her face would be better in the light, but because she seemed like a genuine person.
“The tension is building. We have nine potential couples left, but only room for six. Who will find love? And who will find a seat on the next boat home?” JP reclaimed his spotlight.
Seriously? The next four couples were as boring as batshit, but predictably insta-perfect. Kenzie clearly got over her ideas of us being the perfect couple, screaming to the world she was ready to fall in love with rich-boy philanthropist Benjamin, who seemed equally thrilled at being matched with someone so plastic he’d need to keep her away from candles.
They weren’t going to be any competition at being the last couple standing. Still, with one more couple matched up, my nerves began taking over. Perhaps, I should have sent Bree flowers or a card, or some romantic crap after our weekend together. Had she bought me this far just to cut me? Was this bit going to be edited out or used as a season teaser?
We were told to group closer together. I held my swagger, chatting aimlessly with the women and fist-pumping the other guys. If I was gonna go down, it would be fighting.
Flower seemed equally nonplussed. Unsurprising. She’d seemed the one least likely to apply for a dating show like this.
“Five-minute break, don’t go anywhere.”
Three of the women grouped together, making a point of unity against Flower. Stupid women, I thought. If only one spot remained, any producer would pick someone who would stand out.
Stand out and be my opposite!
“So, what made you sign up?” I approached Flower without an introduction. Of all the women on the island, she’d been the only one I hadn’t spoken to.
“Now he speaks? Desperate much?” Her voice was as unpretentious as her style. Well spoken, with more than a side of sass.
“How about, I was going for polite.”
“How about you go over and get the numbers of those other women and tell them how you’ll make the rejection feel less like rejection.”
“Or I could stand here and wait for you to answer my question.”
“And what question was that?”