‘I think you were an angel for someone else today. You’ve a good heart, Carys. I’ll be watching for you!’
My door opens, revealing a very tall woman whose hair is scraped up into a messy bun on the top of her head.
‘Carys!’ Reb cries, pulling me up and out the car. I’ve met my chaperone Reb before as it’s her job to look after me while we film. ‘Wow, you look gorgeous. Doesn’t she look gorgeous?’ She directs the second part to Victor, who has got out the car to open the boot.
‘That she does.’ He sounds so proud that I want to cry.
Reb glances at her phone, and growls.
‘Everything alright?’ I ask.
‘Oh. Yeah. Don’t worry about the growling and scowling. It’s just work, isn’t it.’ She laughs heartily, and I try to work out where her accent is from. Midlands, I think? Reb slips her phone into the back pocket of her light denim jeans, and takes the suitcases from Victor.
‘Give ’em hell, Carys,’ Victor says, gently placing a handon my shoulder. I pull him into a hug. Maybe it’s not socially acceptable, but I want to say goodbye. I hope I get to see him again.
He drives away, and I look up at the warehouse, trying to take in every brick, every blacked-out window. When you’re about to start the rest of your life you want to remember every detail. We pass crew members who wave politely at me, and I make a note to try to learn all their names when we get going.
‘Need anything before we go in?’ Reb asks, gently dragging me from my thoughts.
I shake my head, and hold out my phone for her to take. ‘I’m ready.’
Reb pockets my phone, holds open the great glass door for me, and I slip through into the dark.
Time to go find my future husband.
Time to start my life.
Chapter TwoDolly
Dolly Doherty, 28, Liverpool
Three interesting things about me? I’m a professionally trained chef, so you’ll never go hungry with me. I have – hopefully now – over a million followers on Instagram and TikTok where I share lifestyle content, including recipes. And I might have a cutesy-sounding name, but like Ms Parton herself, I’m no pushover.
Why did I come onWedded Bliss?To find a partner, of course. I’m very career driven, and I either want to find someone who will match that energy, or be happy to support me in that, you know, a cute little house husband with his own hobbies? I’m mostly attracted to personality and drive, so no, I’m not afraid of forming connections without seeing them first.
Do I think my ambition might scare some people off? Boys, maybe? But I’m looking for a man.
Today isnotthe vibe.
Mediating in a traffic jam-causing cat fight between exes was not really how I expected to begin my first day ofWedded Bliss, but when did my life ever go to plan?
I feel sweaty. According to the mirror in my compact, my makeup is intact but I look rattled. I was going for theeffortless, in-control look celebrities wear on the red carpet. In the great words of Paris Hilton, this is not hot.
God, I wish I could call my mum, even if all we’d do is argue about the show again. Our last conversation was about me making it to London. Not unloving, just a little terse because I know she’s just worried about me.
Come the fuck on, Dolly. Get your head in the game. You already triple-checked that the bills are paid. Auntie Carol is going to look after Mum. No one is going to find out you’re a lesbian.
That little internal pep talk does nothing. My head isnotin the game. I am, quite seriously, wigged out. And I’m not the kind of person to be bothered – I pride myself on keeping calm. Usually.
Times like this, I wish I still had some proper friends to call.
I need to get it together. You’re on your own kid, and all that.
My driver’s phone loudly announces in a twangy accent the next directions, and it throws me for such a loop that I snap out of my funk.
‘Mike, what made you pick Australian?’
‘For what?’ He eyes me in the mirror with suspicion, like I’m about to jump out the car again to assist more women in distress. We didn’t get off to the best start.
