I throw up a little in my mouth.
She leans closer to the camera and stage-whispers, “I should go, shouldn’t I, and let the happy couple enjoy some alone time?”
No! Stay!
As fake as she is, I’d rather listen to her than be left alone with Antoine. I have no idea what to do with this stranger, andI’m afraid I might admit I regret saying “I do.” But Isabelle is already tiptoeing away. The production assistant waves us to a cozy corner of the room, decorated with flowers and fairy lights. Antoine and I head over with two cameras following close behind.
When she said “alone” she meant “alone with the cameras.”I better get used to that.
Antoine motions me to the pretty love seat. “After you.”
I perch on the edge, ready to slide right off and flee. He sits next to me, making sure his knee doesn’t touch mine.
“So,” I begin, because someone has to. “Surreal, right?”
He leans back and watches me for a moment with those sharp, unreadable eyes. “That’s one word for it.”
OK. That’s helpful.
I try again. “What made you sign up forWed at First Sight? Was it a whim? Or are you a hopeless romantic?”
He shakes his head.
“Perhaps you believe in fate?” I soldier on. “Or maybe you’re lonely?”
“No and no.”
“Then what brought you here?”
“Purpose.”
I stare at him, searching for something—anything—to grab onto. He stares back, his expression neutral but intense, like he’s studying me. It’s unnerving. The cameras linger, zooming in like they expect us to confess our deepest secrets.
“And you?” he asks, breaking the silence. “What made you sign up?”
Spite.“It’s complicated. Let’s say I was suffocating and needed a change.”
“I see.”
We say nothing for a few beats, Antoine’s gaze never leaving mine.
“Are your parents always this…” He searches for the right word.
“Judgmental? You haven’t seen the half of it.”
“That’s encouraging.”
We fall silent again. I fidget with my embroidered clutch. The awkwardness between us swells and stretches. I’m hyperaware of the cameras. Thankfully, the sound guy signals the end of our “private” moment. The cameras move on to the guests and leave us alone for now.
“You can head back to the party,” the producer says. “We’ll grab some extra footage later.”
“Great!” I spring up from the love seat so fast my head spins. “Thanks.”
Antoine stands slower. “See you in a bit, then.”
I mumble something polite and bolt toward the crowd, scanning it for Denise. I spot her near the bar and beeline toward her.
She turns around. “There you are. How’s Monsieur Sunshine?”
