I imagine some people closed their eyes when the barrier fell, but I kept mine wide open, as though I wanted to catch every second of him.
When the barrier is finally down, Warren tilts his chin up to me, and just says, ‘There’s my girl.’
I can imagine the internet losing their mind over that. Props to him, the man knows how to lead a scene. I wonder if he’s done any acting before. He must be, at the very least, media trained if his management company sent him on here.
We show off our outfits to each other in a string of whoops and claps, none of which feels fake at all.
It’s a nice thing to actually like your future fake husband.
After I got mic’d up this morning, I had to wait in the living room because he obviously had a morning date. So I made notes of things to ask him, and when I got bored of doing that, I started coming up with recipes for our wedding day. Presumptuous maybe, but hell, shy bairns get nowt.
We must have been in here a while, as production bring us food. They asked for an order, and I picked a poke bowl, a mess-free option as long as I am careful. The thing about being fat in public is that if you are perceived to be a slob, people judge you way harsher than if you were thin.
Still, that neurosis aside, we sit eating together like we’re at the end of a really big table rather than a strangely divided figure-eight room.
Our chat is lovely, really. We talk about expression, romance, displays of affection and our love languages. All things that I maintain are as important for friendships as for romantic relationships. Given we’re doing both at once, it seems even more important that we manage to discuss it, even in a coded way.
I must admit I feel relief when he says he’s a man who thinks there’s a time and place for public displays of affection. Me too, my guy.
Posh Louise pops in to give us a stack of cards with questions to ask each other, which we have a good laugh with. Warren gets a little silly about it – he loves to saynegativein this robot voice that makes me cackle every time. About halfway through, I hear some of the doors outside close, followed by footsteps in the corridor – another sign that they’re prolonging our dates. Personally, I think we make good television, even if it is a tad premature to think the showrunners plan to follow our storyline.
We end up designing our dream dinner party for so long – we both love barbecue as high cuisine, with elegant flavouring, great tableware and good guests. I can just see the weeks ofcontent we could get out of the recipes for that, the brand deals we could work towards. He casually drops his near-million followers to me, a number I know will have soared once this show starts airing. Before the show, mine was more like 300k, with good engagement. I wonder what it is now.
By the time I get back into the dormitory, I get the feeling that it might be evening. Time moves strangely here, and I suspect that they might even be waking us up and starting filming at different times to stop us from getting too comfortable. It’s a little unsettling, especially because I’m so used to living on a routine of checking my timers to see how long it’s been since Mum had whatever dose of which medicine.
The traditional slightly hesitant cheer goes up when I walk through the door, and when I do the traditional happy jiggle, it reaches a crescendo. I wonder if anyone’s cheer got dramatically cut short today. I do hope no one had a bad date, even if they were Warren’s morning date.
We all know that tomorrow several of those mutual matches are going to be, let’s just say, less mutual. There seems to be something about the heterosexual male experience that means they can barely look past someone who isn’t delivered to them exactly as they ordered (read: blonde and petite).
I’m hit with relief that I didn’t get that vibe from Warren. No hesitation, no comment while I ate, no asking about going to the gym. None of the usual humanoid red flags I’ve seen waving in front of chubby-to-fat female contestants on other reality shows.
The atmosphere in the room feels mixed. Everyone is broken up into small groups, and I can see Hannah C. delicately tapping her fingertips under her eyes while Bridget looks on with the kind of forcedI’m here helpinglook that I’ve seen on other ‘girls’ girl’ contestants. I know Carys likes her, but she gives off something… well,offto me.
I suspect that Hannah P. might have been one of Warren’s dates that he broke off yesterday, because she gives me the stink eye from across the room. Noted, girlie. I’ll keep my respectful distance.
I also suspect, from Priya’s watchful eye, that she might have been Warren’s morning date. It’s a match that I can understand: she’s smart, has her life together, seems keen to provide, and even if she’s a bit over-serious to me, she probably would balance Warren. Sorry, Priya.
At the end of the date, I made my position clear. ‘So, Warren. I really like you. I like what we have going, and I want to make it clear that I’monlyseeing you in the experiment.’
‘Wow,’ he had gasped, hand on heart. ‘Dolly, wow.’
‘I’m not asking you to end any of your other connections, because I’m sure you have some and it’s a lot to think through. But I wanted you to know that, if you want me, I’m right here.’
It was a good line, I think. He didn’t say anything, but I’m hoping he’ll end things with Priya. That’ll be the final sign he’s in. After all, we’re not going to be fan favourites if either of us go catching feelings for someone else, so hopefully he sees that if he does like Priya. Love triangles always play trickily, and once you’re engaged, the audience explicitly frowns upon it. The fans ofWedded Blissare here for a magical love story.
We’re going to give that to them and reap the benefits in financial security. A fair trade.
I make my excuses to go freshen up, and head to our room.
Carys is already back, slumped on her bed. For once she seems unbothered that she’s creasing the hell out of her outfit.
Her eyes are faded, distant. The colour, which was already pale, seems washed out.
‘Carys? Are you alright?’ I ask.
She doesn’t respond in words, just a tiny shake of the head.Her arms are wrapped around David the capybara so tight that the poor creature looks half-strangled.
I push the bedroom door shut behind me, making sure it doesn’t slam. The last thing I need is to alert the others that something is up or one of the camera-hogs will be here comforting her provided it’s on film.
