For Love Or Money

My name is Emily Brown. I would like to say that I am your average twenty-eight-year-old woman, but I am far from it. I, like many, have struggled with my weight. At one point, I was over three hundred pounds, and I only stand five feet five inches tall.

One day, while at the grocery store in the ice cream aisle, I blacked out. I would have hit my head, but luckily for me, a gentleman was there to save me. That day changed my life in so many ways. Not only did I discover that I was diabetic and that if I had kept living as I was, I would have died at an early age. It was also the day that I met Bobby Smith.

Bobby has short brown hair, dark eyes, and a well-trimmed beard. He also has a huge heart and a smile that could eclipse the sun. Not only did Bobby keep me from hitting my head that day, but he also held my hand through it all. He still does. Bobby owns a small bakery attached to a gym. Odd combination, right?

Not really, once you get to know him. Bobby's bakery is a very health-conscious one. He became my gay fairy godfather because he didn't just transform my body, he transformed my life. Thanks to him, I am no longer diabetic, and I can maintain a much healthier weight. I am still extremely curvy, but I am comfortable in my own skin, at least most days anyway.

But Bobby has done something that I am not sure I can forgive him for. He has signed me up for a show called Love or Money. Love or Money is a reality-based game show where contestants are given challenges to win money. But the ultimate choice has to be made on finale night by the last remaining couple. They must either choose love or money. Easy choice, right? Not really, as the price is what earnings you have accumulated, plus ten million dollars. Is love priceless or worth ten million dollars?

I guess I will find out if I get selected. "This is nerve-racking," I say as Bobby and I sit in the waiting area.

He squeezes my hand. "It will be fine, you'll see."

I sighed because if I had a nickel for every time he had said that, I would be a millionaire. I look at him. "Just remember, if they don't pick me, you will propose to Ryan how I say." Ryan Bloom is a handsome African-American man who works as a firefighter and has been Bobby's partner and lover for the last five years.

Bobby rolls his eyes. "Em, you will get picked. Plus, I won't be proposing."

I shake my head. "I don't see why you're so scared."

"I'm not scared. I just think he should, not me," he replies.

Since we are alone and sitting in a waiting area, as time passes by, I figured that I would speak my mind. "If you love each other, it shouldn't matter who asks."

He cocks his head. "So you're telling me that you would get down on one knee and propose to your man?"

I turn to him and place my hand on my hip. I stare right into his chocolate brown eyes as I say, "Yes, yes, I would. Ring or not, I would kneel and take his hand as I looked into his eyes and asked him to be mine for eternity."

I snap my head around as I hear a man clear his throat. "Miss Brown, we are ready for you now," he says.

My face must be a million shades of red, but my mouth has no limitations. I really should learn to bite my tongue at some point, but that's not going to be today. "You better say that you didn't hear any of that conversation," I state as I approach him.

He chuckles. "Or what?"

I grab a magazine off the table beside me and roll it up. I walk up to him until I am just inches from him, and I smack him across the chest with the rolled-up magazine. "Or that!"

Bobby gasps. "Shit! Forgive her. She has no clue who you are."

The guy just laughs more. "It's fine. I have trouble knowing who I am some days."

That's when I stop and look at him. "Just who are you then?"

He smiles, and it is captivating because it has a boyish charm to it. He extends his hand to me, and I take it. "Christian Rivers, and I will be your host."

There is just no way. Christian Rivers is famous and would have no reason to host a reality TV show. I grab his glasses with my left hand and pull them from his face because he is still holding my right hand. "No way!" I exclaim, but then I notice it. He has a small scar on his left eyebrow above the deepest blue eyes that I have ever seen. I quickly remove my hand from his and give him back his glasses. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

He is exactly who he said he was. He is Christian Rivers, the multi-Tony award-winning actor of stage and screen. "Come, let's introduce you to the producers," Christian says.

I blink rapidly. "But after that? You can't possibly want me, can you?"

He grins and winks. "But I do." He chuckles as his voice softens. "Now even more so than before."

"But...but..." I protest.

Bobby nudges me and whispers, "Told ya."

I smack him. "Oh, stuff it!" I would like to tell myself that this is just a dream and that I didn't just smack a well-known actor with a magazine, but I did. The oddest thing is, I think Christian liked it. Just what have I gotten myself into?