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“I do like her.” I’d sat on the edge of his bed. “But I need to be sure. This isn’t just about who I like. It’s about who fits into our life—yours and mine. If I choose someone, she becomes part of our family.”
He’d considered this with characteristic seriousness. “Statistically speaking, given your current age and life expectancy, you could have approximately forty more years withyour chosen partner. That’s a significant percentage of your remaining lifespan. Logical decision-making is appropriate.”
I’d laughed, my heart breaking a little at his adult understanding wrapped in elementary statistics. Saying goodbye to him this morning had been excruciating. We’d stood at the security checkpoint, my mother hovering nearby with their boarding passes.
“Three more weeks,” I’d promised, kneeling to look him directly in the eyes. “Then I’m done with the show, and it’s just you and me again. Movie marathons, ice cream Sundays, all of it.”
“With or without a new stepmom?” he’d asked, his voice wobbling.
“Either way, you’re still my number one priority,” I’d assured him. “No matter what happens on this show.”
He’d nodded, trying to be brave. “I calculated that if you chose Brielle, our family’s collective IQ would increase by approximately forty-three points. Plus, she already knows about my peanut allergy and she likes ice cream andStar Trek, which are key compatibility factors.”
“Noted,” I’d said, pulling him into a fierce hug. “I love you, buddy. More than anything or anyone.”
“I love you too, Dad.”
The plane touches down with a series of jolts that mirror the disruption in my chest. Spain. New country, new phase of the competition, new opportunities to explore connections with seven women who’ve uprooted their lives for a chance at love. Or fame. Or both.
As we taxi toward the terminal, I gaze out at the landscape—a golden-hued tableau of ancient and modern architecture under a cerulean sky. The city where Hemingway found inspiration for his tales of masculinity and meaning.
“Welcome to Pamplona, baby!” Skye chirps as I approach baggage claim. She’s wearing a flowing red dress that I suspect is meant to evoke the festival of San Fermín, though we’re months away from the actual running of the bulls. “How was your flight?”
“Fine,” I answer automatically. “Are the women here already?”
“Landed an hour ago. They’re being taken to the hotel now.” She links her arm through mine, guiding me toward the exit. “We’ve got a stunning villa just outside the city. Private pool, vineyard views, the works. Very romantic.”
“Sounds great,” I say, mostly meaning it.
“There’s a buzz in the air, Hayes.” She squeezes my arm. “Europe always amplifies the romance factor. Something about being away from home, surrounded by history and beauty... it changes people.”
Maybe she’s right. Maybe the change of scenery will help clarify my feelings, bring new dimensions to connections that haven’t fully formed. Maybe in this city known for dangerous pursuits and passionate traditions, I’ll discover something unexpected about myself or one of the contestants.
“Darren wants me to go over the plan for the week,” Skye continues, oblivious to my internal monologue. “We’ve got some incredible dates lined up—authentic Spanish cooking classes, flamenco lessons, and a surprise.”
“Sounds great,” I repeat, trying to inject more enthusiasm. “And the key ceremony?”
“On the roof of your villa this week. Prepare for the eliminations to get more dramatic.”
Outside, a sleek black SUV waits to whisk us to the villa. As we drive through Pamplona’s streets, I appreciate the beauty around me—the warm-hued buildings with wrought-iron balconies, the narrow cobblestone streets opening onto sunlitplazas, the blend of medieval architecture and modern life. It’s undeniably romantic, exactly the backdrop a dating show would want.
It’s theGroomsman to Groomversion of romance, artificial, yet here I am, seeking something real. To say I’m doubting the process is a massive understatement.
As we ride, Skye gives methatlook. “Remember why you’re here. All this is for you to find love. It’s that simple. But make sure you explore all possibilities—don’t close the book before you’ve read all the chapters.”
“Right. Except Chapter One keeps pulling me back in.”
Skye’s nod is sympathetic. “You have to get to the end before you know what the whole story is. And really, it’s what the book teaches us about ourselves.”
“Wise.” I mull over her words, feeling the weight of expectations lift a hair. “So, I have to finish this for me.” And I have to be sure.
“Go on these dates, kiss the girls, laugh, and live. You’re in Spain, for God’s sake.” Skye nudges me. “Who knows? You might end up a better lover.”
I chuckle, resolve building within me. “I dunno, I’m pretty exceptional already.”
Skye’s lip curls. “Okay, cowboy.”
“Thanks, Obi Wan.”