Chapter 1
Derek
I filled out the application because of a dare. I was 35 years old, single, and hadn’t so much as kissed a girl.
My buddy Rocky and I were scrolling through Reddit on my couch when he saw the ad. He turned the screen and I read: Failing to find a husband or wife through your own efforts? Tired of swimming in the dating pool and ready to jump right into the deep end? Let our experts pair you with the perfect man or woman, based on a 200-point compatibility algorithm. Click here to apply.
“Dude. It’s like this was made for you.” Rocky slapped my back, his long black hair falling across his blue eyes as he laughed. “Despite all your looks, money, and charm, you’ve utterly failed in the dating department.”
I punched him in the arm, my dark eyebrows lowering to partially cover my brown eyes. “Stop rubbing it in, asshole. Just because you managed to stumble into Jessica doesn’t mean you’re better at this than I am.”
“The fact I’m gonna have sex in thirty minutes when she gets home from work, while you haven’t even gotten to first base before tells me that’s a lie.” He dramatically thrust his hips forward a couple of times, and it took everything in me not to grab one of those decorative pillows that appeared with said girlfriend and whack him in the nuts with it. “You should apply! If you get picked, I’ll give you ten bucks.”
I rolled my eyes and brushed my light brown hair back, even though it wasn’t really long enough to get in my face. “What am I gonna do with ten bucks? I’m not taking a bet for anything less than your 20th Anniversary Pokemon 3DS. Also, why would I be betting against getting picked? That seems stupid. Besides, it’s probably just a scam to gather entry fees and then tell everyone they didn’t get a match so they can keep the money.”
Rocky glanced up at his prized toy on the wall, over at me, then back at the phone screen. “You don’t even want it. You just know that’s the only thing I own that I’m likely to say no.” His thumb tapped the phone screen a couple of times, then he fell silent as he scanned the application rules. “Look, there’s not even an entry fee. Literally all you’re risking is however many minutes it takes you to answer 200 questions about what you want in a woman.”
He pulled a $10 bill out of his wallet and waved it at me. I rolled my eyes and swatted his hand away, but reached forward to grab my laptop from the coffee table. “Fine. Why not? You’re never going to shut up about it if I don’t just fill the damn thing out.”
“It’s like you’ve known me since we were five,” he teased, which I completely ignored. Instead, I spent the next two and a half hours answering every question under the sun, from my favorite celebrity to which side of the bed I prefer. By the time I finished, I almost hoped I’d be picked just so I hadn’t wasted 150 minutes of my life.
Over the next six weeks, I nearly forgot about the stupid thing. My dad’s company was going through a major corporate restructuring, and I was expected to take over the CFO position. It was just a stepping stone on my way to becoming CEO, but I would bet money that was still a decade away or more.
Work was the real reason I struggled to find a wife. When did I have time to date when I spent sixteen hours a day or more cooped up in my high-rise office, overlooking the city? And when I told a woman I needed someone low-maintenance who was happy with just seeing each other a few hours a week, it didn’t earn me any points.
So when I got an email from Match Me, I almost deleted it without opening it. At the last second, I remembered the application. I opened the email, expecting a form-rejection letter, only to stare at the words in disbelief. “Congratulations, Mr. Allan. We found you a wife. Please reply to this email to confirm your participation, and we’ll send out the contract within 24 hours.”
Well damn. My heart began to race as I read the simple message at least a hundred times, the meaning not sinking in. I had a wife? Just like that? This had to be the stupidest thing I’d ever actually believed. But I shrugged, replied in the affirmative, and when the contract arrived…I signed it.
A week later, I landed in Los Angeles. I hadn’t told my family I was coming to marry a stranger; they thought I was here to look into setting up a second office. Dad had been talking about expanding to the east coast anyway, so it was a perfect excuse. I grabbed my bag from the luggage carousel and spotted a man at the far end of the room holding a “Match Me” sign.
“Derek Allan,” I announced as I walked up and extended my hand. The man, short and thin with nerdy glasses and a wide smile, stuck his out as well. He looked to be about 40, well-dressed, and cheerful.
“Great to meet you, Mr. Allan! I’m Ken Hansen. Your flight was the final one of the bunch, so let’s go meet up with the other four guys. You five are so lucky, you know that? Out of 2500 applications, you had the strongest matches with five of our nearly 500 ladies. In fact, you and your fiance matched on 198 of the 200 questions!”
That sounded like absolute bullshit to me, but here we were. If nothing else, I had 8 weeks of testing marriage with an easy-out at the end. If it didn’t add to my life, I could divorce this stranger and cross ‘get married’ off my to-do list permanently. That was the deal: ten strangers would get married, enjoy an all-expenses-paid honeymoon, live together for 8 weeks, and then decide if they were staying married or getting divorced.
Ken led me out into the bright California sunshine and into a 10-passenger van. Inside were the other four bachelors, a driver, and an entire buffet spread. “You gentlemen feel free to get to know each other! It’s about a 30 minute drive to the venue. We’ll fit you with suits this evening, and the weddings begin tomorrow morning.” Ken smacked the door twice with an open palm before closing it with enthusiasm, and I cast my eyes over my fellows.
Their names were Benjamin, Ricardo, Sterling, and Tex. It only took me five minutes to figure out why most of them struggled to find a woman…Ricardo and Tex spoke about women like cuts of meat at the butcher shop. Sterling was so shy even getting him to tell us his name required calming him down first. And Benjamin? Well, he never stopped talking. Ever.
By the time we arrived at the Match Me building, I was beyond ready to get out of the van. I uncurled my fists and breathed deeply, reminding myself that I didn’t need to catch charges for roughing up some sexist pigs. The outside of the building was unassuming: just another grey-brick skyscraper amongst the other grey-brick skyscrapers. But as soon as we stepped through the door, we were hit by an endless loop of the wedding march and lavish decor.
“Welcome to Match Me, gentlemen! This will be your home for the next eight weeks. Upstairs are your new apartments, fully furnished, and a variety of amenities. Downstairs are the two chapels, where you and your fiances will meet tomorrow. Remember, this is a legally-binding, real marriage. Feel free to live as such!” Ken grinned at us and led us through the garishly-lit foyer into a much quieter, somewhat boring room lined with suits.
Ken stood in front of one of the suit walls and gestured to them. “Based on the sizes you provided, we have selected a variety of suit styles and colors for you to choose from. Find the dressing room with your name on the door, the matching rack, and get to selecting! Our staff will assist you. When you’ve decided which suit you like, the staff will pin it up for our tailors to make alterations.”
I stared at the rack for a long time. My conscience said there’s nothing classier than a well-tailored, standard black suit. But my heart said color. If this woman they found for me was supposed to be my perfect match, shouldn’t I be able to go with my heart?
Sounded like solid logic to me. So I started pulling the brightest options available: sky blue, gold, lavender, blood red, all with black pants. I tried them all, eventually settling on lavender because it looked good with my complexion.
The five of us ate dinner together, silent, as if the weight of what we were doing had finally come crashing down on us. By this time tomorrow, we would be married men. My chest tightened and my palms grew sweaty, but it was kind of too late now. I was here, my fiance was apparently somewhere else in the building, and tomorrow…we’d be married.
