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In a world where nothing is as it seems, RealityTVbrings us a whole new level of unrealistic expectations. When two strangers are married and thrown together to sink or swim within three months, you would think the show entertaining enough. But that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Weekly challenges await the participants, and some teams will draw blood to achieve victory. While “Bride at First Sight” is geared toward the idea that arranged marriages can work in today’s society, there’s an undeniable reality that watching these couples scrap it out will garner untold attention. The truth is, Liam and Trina are a joke. If you don’t believe me, ask Trina herself. Her exact words were, “Liam follows me around like a little lovesick puppy dog.” I’m not sure how much more I can take.
Icouldn’t be more winded if I’d been gut-punched. Nothing about the article itself is out of the ordinary, but the last part is vicious.
I saw Trina typing something similar yesterday. She didn’t see me watching her from the bedroom door, but I caught snippets of the article from across the room.
I don’t mind the article. It’s actually pretty good, considering what we’ve gone through. What bothers me is the line at the bottom.
“While these couples are forced to eke out victories while answering multiple choice questions about their partners, what challenges really await them?”
That line unsettles me. That episode shouldn’t have aired yet. The release schedule is a week behind actual events. It means Trina has been sending stuff about the show—about us—to the newspaper.
The phone screen flickers, and Coach’s name pops up. I answer with a grunt.
“Got a problem, Ashley.” His voice is gruff and no nonsense. Nothing unusual, but a bubble of doubt clenches in my gut.
“What’s that?” I scrub a hand over my cheek and try to rein in my temper. It doesn’t often get the best of me like it did the other night when I told Trina the truth about Lindsay, but it’s threatening to boil over now.
Papers rustle in the background. “Seems she’s been spilling her guts. About you. The team. And this whole marriage experience.”
I wince and press my thumb and forefinger into my eyes. “It’s not that bad, Coach.” Even now, I want to believe the best about Trina.
“Liam.” Coach’s chair squeaks. I can’t remember the last time he used my first name. “You need to pull your head out of the sand, son. Run a search on your name. Articles are surfacing all over the place. And none of them are flattering.”
“What? No. That can’t be true.” My pulse kicks into overdrive. I pull the phone from my ear and tap over to a search engine. A few clicks, and my name is in the search bar. The burst of anger spills over as my name appears alongside multiple ridiculous headlines.
“Ashley, the jock who knew better.”
“Liam Ashley, America’s Bitter Bachelor.”
“Ashley Wedding Hoax. Reporter gets the inside scoop on Liam’s personal life.”
They’re all by the same person. M.J. Albert. I don’t recognize the name.
I suck in a breath and click the last one.
It reads like a documentary of our time together. Things I never wanted exposed to the world are right there. But Trina’s getting roasted too. The media storm has pinned each of us with a firestorm of labels and accusations.
Many of them accuse Trina of paying me to choose her so she could get the article of her career.
I skim the details until I reach the middle and then stop to read.
“This new article marks the first time Trina Smith has reported on the illustrious Liam Ashley in a year. Her first article, under Kat Smith—showcased here—tells of a very different side to the congenial basketball player. Her article portrays him as a player, both on and off the court. And it seems her opinion hasn’t changed much during this ‘marriage.’”
“Your wife has been outed as an undercover journalist.” Coach’s voice brings me back. Barely. “She’s been using you this whole time.”
“Trina hasn’t been reporting since we were married.” I rub a hand over my forehead. I’m sick of being the media’s punching bag.
“TrinaisM.J. Albert. She’s been putting out those articles every week, giving tidbits of information.” Coach sighs. “Someone figured it out. Hacked her computer maybe, but her boss confirmed it. Trina’s planning an exclusive on the whole experience of being your wife.”
“No.” I can’t stand the thought of Trina doing this to me.
Coach blows out a breath. “I’m sorry, son. Do what you gotta do, but I need you at practice.”
“You know this for a fact? It’s not a rumor from another reporter?” I need confirmation before I’ll believe. I’ve never liked going off gut feelings or another person’s opinion. I need facts.
“I spoke to her boss myself. When this all started at three in the morning, I called him. He verified the information.”
“Okay.” It’s all I can say. Anything else takes too much effort.
