For the Right Reasons (18 page)

“You sister told me you treated your past girlfriend like a buddy,” Emily said. “How so?”

The last thing I wanted to do was talk about Brooke, especially while
being filmed. But I was developing a real relationship with Emily, even though it was playing out on a television show. That meant we had to have real conversations.

“I loved her, I really did,” I said. “There came a point when I realized I wasn’t supposed to spend the rest of my life with her. Because I wasn’t in love with her, I didn’t do the sweet things a boyfriend was supposed to do,” I said. “Like, when I’m around you, I can’t stop holding your hand or kissing you. I didn’t necessarily have those feelings around her.”

“Did you ever talk about marriage?” Emily asked.

“Yes, she brought up marriage all the time, but I’d always try to deviate from the conversation,” I said. “That would cause arguments. She knew something was up.”

Of course, this was an oversimplification of our relationship. Brooke’s one of the best girls I’ve ever met. However, it’s not easy to put a three-year relationship into a nutshell. Because the cameras were on me, I left out the fact that I went back to Brooke and told her I regretted ending everything. I left out the fact that she was the one who told me that she didn’t want to be with someone who was willing to leave her for so long.

After our chat, Emily and I snorkeled and wrapped up the day portion of our date. The producers called, “Cut!” and gave us enough time to shower and get ready for the night portion.

It didn’t disappoint.

The technicians had set up a beautiful picnic area right on the beach on our resort in Curaçao. Again, the lighting department was amazing, because they could transform any place into the most stunning spot in the world. A blanket was covered in lush pillows, a fire crackled in the background, light hit the rocks just right, and the stars and the moon sparkled. (Though I’m not sure the lighting technicians were responsible for the appearance of the stars and moon.)

During the evening portion of the dates, the producers liked for us
to begin by rehashing the day.
Yeah, today was so great—I enjoy spending time with you—Snorkeling was fun—
before getting into more serious conversation.

“I so enjoy spending time with you, Sean,” Emily said before going back to her favorite topic. “You’re the perfect man.”

“I’m far from perfect.”

“What’s not perfect? I feel like things have been going so perfect . . . at least that’s how I’ve been feeling.”

My heart was beating in my chest as I prepared to express my feelings to her for the first time. “I don’t want you to worry about how you will fit into my life.”

“It’s not just me—it’s Ricki and me,” she quickly corrected.

“I want that,” I said. “I want to be a soccer dad. Actually, I wrote Ricki a letter on the way home from Prague.”

I pulled out the paper and cleared my throat.

When viewers were watching the show on Monday nights, they saw these wonderful, intimate dates. What they didn’t see was all the activity going on about ten feet away. Right outside the camera’s gaze were about twenty people standing around watching us. There were camera operators, sound technicians, producers, directors, storywriters, lighting techs, and more. Not to mention the millions of people who were watching this unfold at home.

Even though the setting was less than private, the moment I was having with Emily was as real as any I’ve ever had. Maybe more real, because I’d never even considered adding a little girl into my life. I’d never talked to anyone about being the father of her children.

“Dear Ricki,” I began, and my voice broke a bit. “I’m writing you this letter before ever meeting you . . .” By the time I reached the end, I’d regained control of my voice and emotions. “The thought of spending the rest of my life with you and your mom overwhelms my heart with joy,” I read. “The last thing I want you to remember is that I’m always here to protect you and your mom and I’m always going to be here for you.”

I’d been confident that Emily believed I was the one. But in that
moment, when I saw that look in her eyes after I read the letter, I knew. My loving letter to Ricki had sealed the deal. I folded up my letter, handed it to Emily, and thought,
That’s it. I’m about to be a husband and a dad.
With my newfound confidence, I took a deep breath and decided to go for broke.

“I can’t stop thinking about you, and I can’t picture my life without you,” I said. “Never in a million years did I think I would have these feelings or find the woman I wanted to be with forever. But I’ve fallen in love with you, and I know this beyond a shadow of a doubt.”

Normally, in an untelevised relationship not involving two other guys, a woman might respond with, “I love you too.” In this context, however, it’s forbidden. So Emily simply beamed with joy instead.

“That makes me so happy to hear.” That’s when she reached behind her back, pulled out an envelope, and asked me to read it. “Tell me what you think.”

“Emily and Sean,” I read aloud. “If you choose to forego your individual rooms, please use this key to stay as a couple in the fantasy suite.”

I put the card down and said, “Well, I’d love to stay up, talk to you, and be with you.”

“I’d love nothing more but to spend every minute with you that I can get,” Emily said.

Viewers at home hoping to see fireworks were, of course, disappointed. We walked into the suite, admired the décor, took a dip in the pool, and she promptly showed me to the door.

On the episode, Emily said, “I’d like nothing more than to spend this time with Sean. But I’m a mom, and it doesn’t line up with what I believe in or the example I want to show my daughter.”

Of course, I was only pretending to walk back to my room. When they stopped filming, I walked right back into the suite for my first opportunity to talk to Emily freely since we arrived. I had a pretty good sense of who Emily was simply through our casual conversations over the course of the first few weeks. This would give me a chance to talk to her more specifically about things that were important to me—whether she grew up going to church, how many children she wants, that sort of thing. The fantasy-suite
farce Emily concocted allowed us to talk honestly and candidly for the first time ever.

When I walked back to the suite, she was off doing her ITM interview, so I let myself back in. As I waited in the condo, I heard the door open and her sweet, Southern voice. “Where’s my boyfriend?”

That was the first time she’d ever used that term for me.

It definitely had a nice ring to it.

At least it would do until next week, when she would call me, simply, her fiancé.

eight

THE ONE WHERE I GOT MY HEART BROKEN

For the past two months, I’d been living with an ever-dwindling group—in North Carolina, Bermuda, Croatia, London, and Prague. When we began the hometown dates, the producers officially separated the final four. Now that we’d gotten down to three, perhaps the producers didn’t want us to compare notes during the overnight dates. Since the element of surprise is key to a good show, they took every effort to make sure the drama unfolded on camera in real time—not during a late-night conversation after the crew had gone. Even though we were competing for the same girl, Jef, Arie, and I had become close friends. I hated suddenly being separated from them when we made it to Curaçao.

The producers assigned us each a handler at this point. Mine was a guy about my age named Mark Brenner, whom I always referred to by his last name. To my surprise, his sole job was to make sure I showed up on time, was well fed, and had anything I needed. I mean anything. If I said, “Brenner, I need a massage,” he would call the masseuse and have him show up that day. Or if I said, “I need this specific type of protein from GNC,” he would be out the door and back in half an hour. If I said, “This is what I want my diet to look like,” he’d go to the grocery store and come back with the exact fresh produce I’d requested. Brenner, a man with a true servant’s heart, was unfailingly kind and always willing to serve.

He also became a good friend. Since I’d had the first date of the week, I sat around and waited for Jef and Arie to go on their dates. The overnight dates were scheduled with a day between each of them. Of course, there would be no actual overnight dates with Emily. I hadn’t stayed “overnight” technically, because I went home at around three o’clock in the morning. Even so, those moments felt like “stolen time,” and I was so honored that she chose to have that time with me and me alone.

While I was down at the beach, waiting for the rose ceremony, I went over our secret rendezvous in my head. It was so intoxicating to be able to talk without the cameras on us. I could tell by our conversation that Emily was serious about the details of our lives together with Ricki. She asked me about my job back home. I told her about the family insurance business, which I admitted I didn’t want to do indefinitely. Even though I wasn’t sure of my future occupation, I told her that I could take care of her and Ricki—I would work hard and do the right things to make sure I was a good provider for them. She even asked me about insurance, to make sure that we could all be on the same health care plan. We talked until three in the morning—about faith, kids, where we wanted to live, and so on. The details swirled in my head as I waited and waited to see her again. Though I was in a Curaçao resort—how torturous could it be?—I missed Emily so badly the week felt like a month.

I spent all my time with Brenner and Scott, the producer assigned to me. Without contact with family or friends, everyone I knew was
Bachelorette
-related. That meant we mostly talked about Emily, leading up to the multiple interviews I’d have every day. Being so singularly focused on a person creates perhaps an unbalanced need to spend time with him or her, but that’s where I was—on a beach waiting to be reunited with my future wife.

Not once—during the entire time I was hanging out getting sun—did it ever occur to me to think,
What if I don’t get a rose?
I was as sure of my relationship with Emily as I was sure that the resort was luxurious, the ocean water was salty, and the ground was firmly beneath my feet.

Of course, I was actually standing on sand.

When the night of the final rose ceremony finally arrived, I buttoned up my white linen shirt and took a deep breath. When you get to this point, the show is absolutely paranoid about spoilers. Security was everywhere and had set up so many checkpoints that it was like we had our own resort inside of the resort. No one was going to get within the parameters without being tied directly to the show. The producers feared that a photographer would snap a photo of us and the entire buildup of the season—
who will be Emily’s final three?
—would be ruined before the first episode even aired. With the millions of dollars they had invested in this show, I didn’t blame them. However, it was odd to be surrounded by so many sober-looking security guards trying to keep my identity secret from prying eyes. No one had ever cared who I was. Even when our college football games were televised, I was just a small cog in a big machine. I’d never experienced anything like this. When our car pulled up to the location of the ceremony, I smiled at Brenner and said, “One more to go.”

“Okay, walk down the path,” he said. “You’ll meet Chris Harrison there. He’ll lead you to where you should stand.”

I was so happy to see Harrison, Jef, and Arie that I gave them each a bear hug.

“Arie,” I said, “didn’t you get the memo? You were supposed to dress up.”

“Did you spend all week getting your hair to do that?” he asked. “Or is that not intentional?”

“Check out this guy’s,” I said, pointing to Jef. “Without his hair, he’d be half his height.”

After spending the past two months living with one another and traveling to the most exotic locales, I considered these guys dear friends. We were so happy to see one another that we were joking around, laughing, and carrying on before Emily arrived—even though we all loved the same girl.

“Guys!” one of the producers yelled from the darkness outside the lights of the makeshift set. “This is serious. Stop clowning around!”