I Said Yes: My Story of Heartbreak, Redemption, and True Love (23 page)

We spent a while together, much longer than what you see on TV. And the experience was much more emotional. While Arie sat stunned, I cried, “I don’t know what to say,” sobs choking my voice. I wasn’t the only one with tears in my eyes. Many of the crew members who surrounded us were crying as well.

“Don’t say anything,” he replied and started walking away.

My heart fell as I walked after Arie, not wanting to end the moment that way.

“I don’t know what you want, Emily. Thank you for sparing me the embarrassment tomorrow. I appreciate that,” he said after he gave me a hug, and we walked to the waiting car.

It broke my heart to have to end the relationship with Arie, but I had to make a decision. I had to send someone home. It wasn’t that I didn’t like him or that I wasn’t attracted to him or that the time we spent together was a sham. I couldn’t continue getting to know two men; I had to choose one.

And then, there was just one.

I was a hopeful bundle of nerves during the final rose ceremony, waiting for Jef on a platform rising above a cobblestone street and surrounded by gorgeous white, purple, and fuchsia tropical flowers. The first thing I noticed when Jef arrived was his pants. They were tight. Before anything dirty crosses your mind, hear me out. I felt relieved because there was no way a boxed ring would fit in those tight pants.
Phew!
I thought to myself. I had dodged a bullet!

When Ashley H. was on
The Bachelorette
, I remember watching the final rose ceremony when she was about to say good-bye to Ben Flajnik. It was gut wrenching to watch him get down on one knee and propose to her before she got those words out. I didn’t want that to happen between Jef and me. So in order to avoid a potentially devastating moment on camera, I had planned to be watchful, to pay attention to his every
move so in case he started dropping down into proposal position, I could stop him immediately.

When I saw what was clearly the absence of a ring, my guard came tumbling down. And rather than be suspect of any sudden movement, I could appreciate the moment. Big mistake. Jef started sharing his feelings, telling me things that sounded very much like the spiel you hear right before a proposal. He said, “What I’m about to ask you is a forever thing,” and my mind froze.

I liked Jef. I was even pretty sure I was falling in love with him, but getting married to him wasn’t the next thing I wanted to do in my life. I wanted to pursue a deeper relationship off camera before we made any huge decisions. But before I knew it, he was down on one knee asking me to marry him. I couldn’t even begin to process what was happening, and I couldn’t for the life of me stop the inevitable.

I waited for a long time before I said yes. Well, when you’re silent for a minute or two after an important question, that’s considered a long time. I sped my way through a hundred questions as I stared at Jef in silence.
What am I going to do? How would he react if I said no? What would the producers think? What would people think? Would everyone hate me?

I felt an enormous burden of pressure as the cameramen steadied their cameras at us, waiting, as Jef continued to look deep into my eyes, waiting. And despite everything in me that screamed a hundred shades of no, despite my reservation, despite my adamant request that I didn’t want to get engaged, one that could not have been made any clearer to the producers, I gulped inwardly and said, “Yes.”

The scene after uttering that one word was exactly the
same as when I said it to Brad. Equipment was shut down, turned off, unplugged, wrapped up, and the crew started making their way off the island. Well, wait a minute. They did film Ricki running toward us after the proposal (though she was unaware of what exactly had just gone down).

I’m almost embarrassed to say this, but the second I saw my sweet daughter, her long ponytail flapping in the wind, I knew I shouldn’t have gotten engaged. I wondered how a relationship with Jef was going to work, how he would fit into Ricki’s life, if he was, in fact, ready to be a stepparent. The fears flooded through me, making me question every bit of hope I had that things between Jef and me stood, at least, a chance. Though my thoughts swirled in overwhelming circles, I smiled and at least on the outside looked happy.

The three of us didn’t spend much time together after that rendezvous. Jef left to pack up his stuff and was going to meet me later that night at a house where we’d stay for the next three or four days. Ricki and I went back to my house on the island, hugging, playing, and snuggling before she headed back to Charlotte.

Unlike after my first TV proposal, Jef and I had so much fun when the cameras were off. I loved his carefree, playful vibe; it made it easy for me to be just as silly. I wasn’t bored any minute of the time we spent together. One time Jef stole a pair of surfboards from this random dock, assuring me with a wink in his eye not to worry because, “It’s not like we’re going to keep them. We’re going to return them after we’re done using them.” The better part of my nature thought it was rude and disrespectful, but another part of me, the former Emily who had a thing for bad boys, thought it was amusing. After
our escapade of finally being alone, Jef returned to Utah and I to Charlotte.

A day or two after returning to North Carolina, a slight sense of normalcy resumed. I was home. No cameras. No producers. Though, as they had become incredible friends, I missed being around my producers. I was washing the dishes the first night back and simultaneously yelling at Ricki and her friend, engrossed in dressing up Barbies, to get moving because we had to leave soon for soccer or something or other.

“Let’s go, Ricki!” I called out again, this time a bit more forcefully, just when I heard the doorbell ring. Looking through the glass front door, I saw a young woman standing outside. I assumed she was a
Bachelorette
fan and hurriedly said through the pane, “Hi, can I help you?” feeling a little more peeved because time was ticking without mercy and this distraction was delaying the day’s events even more.

“Hi,” the woman said politely. She looked uneasy, and not in a good or cute way, which set me a bit on edge. “My name is Christina. I’m Arie’s friend.”

“Hi,” I replied, still feeling rushed and now a little paranoid. Arie’s friend? I didn’t trust that. Seemed too peculiar. I wondered if she was really a journalist or maybe even paparazzi. Though she seemed harmless and didn’t necessarily give off a bad vibe, my suspicions stayed strong.

“Arie’s here,” she blurted out.

“Okay, cool,” I said, my poker face intact. I started to get real worried she was trying to squeeze information out of me
to spoil the show. I don’t know what I was thinking, but I invited her in. Dumb, right? At this point, I was so late and all I could think about was getting out of the house as quickly as possible. So if talking to her for a minute would help do that, so be it. I figured she could do the talking while I continued to get ready to leave.

As I finished rinsing the dishes, Christina spoke. “I know you didn’t pick Arie.”

I didn’t say a word and fought to maintain an expressionless face. In my heart, I didn’t know what to believe. I just stood there, suds dripping from the yellow gloves.

“Arie’s here,” she continued. “He’s in a car right around the corner and wants to talk to you. He’s not ready to give up on you. He loves you. And he knows the two of you are meant to be.”

Well, I just about died inside, still standing in silence, while Christina whipped out her phone, dialed a number, and handed it to me. When I put the receiver up to my ear and heard the “Hey Emily” on the other line, my heart dropped. It was Arie. It really was him.

“I’m around the corner,” he said. “Sitting in a park parking lot. I need to see you.”

I won’t lie. A part of me wanted to see him. But I also wanted to respect Jef. After all, he was the one I had chosen, and I had to honor that decision. This was too big of a deal to even think about being wishy-washy. I had to put what I wanted aside because I knew how much me seeing Arie would upset Jef. Even if I justified spending a few minutes with the guy just as a friend, I knew deep down it wasn’t a good idea.

“I’ll call you later,” I told Arie. “After Ricki goes to sleep.”

I was shaken up when Christina finally left. I didn’t expect Arie to reach out so boldly, to fly into my hometown, for Pete’s sake, in what seemed like an effort to win me back. It threw me off, especially the fact that I did want to see him. When Ricki, her friend, and I eventually left the house, my phone buzzed with calls and texts from Arie and Christina. I never answered or replied to any of their messages.

I was scared. Scared because being in contact with Arie would jeopardize my contract with ABC, and there was no way I wanted to be sued by a media giant. I was scared that paparazzi would somehow snap a picture of Arie by my house, or heaven forbid, us together. I was scared because what if I saw him and all these feelings started rushing back? I wanted to try to make things work with Jef, and I didn’t want to plant any seeds of distrust, especially so early on. I never called Arie back. Later, I did tell Jef what had happened and his response was as expected—ticked off.

Around ten that night, as I was getting ready for bed, the doorbell rang. My heart raced as I splashed water on my face to wash off the remnants of the day’s makeup. I had a feeling it might be Arie. While I didn’t answer the door or even go downstairs right away, I snuck a peek outside my window. As dark as it was, sure enough, I could make out his face as he drove off into the night.

My hands shook as I headed down the stairs and opened the front door, peering to the left and right to make sure no paparazzi was anywhere near. As I looked down, I noticed a sealed FedEx envelope. I quickly scooped up the package and ran back into the house, just as I heard a text message notification blaring from my phone. It was Arie.

I left you my journal so you can read through it and see how I feel about you.

I didn’t open the envelope, but I knew what he was talking about. Weeks earlier, I had given Arie, off camera, a journal from Dollywood. I remembered that day well. As I was getting to know him, I could see he was on a soul search. And being on the show, as hard as it could be at times, was a great opportunity to learn about yourself, to dig deep and explore, maybe even figure out, some of the empty, wandering, or broken parts. I had encouraged Arie to do this, hoping a journal would be a great prompt.

I won’t lie. I wanted to tear open the package and flip through those pages. But I knew doing so would only trigger memories and emotions that I wasn’t prepared to deal with. Just because I let Arie go didn’t mean I automatically shut down my feelings for him. They were still there. Not as strong as the ones I had for Jef, but nonetheless, still there. I left the package on the kitchen table, sealed.

It was either late that same night or the next day that I called one of my producers and told her Arie had shown up at my house and had left a journal. I had to tell the producers the truth, even though I was worried it might get Arie in trouble. If anything had leaked to the press about the incident, I would have been in far worse trouble. Later, I mailed the package back to the network producers.

I remained hopeful about my relationship with Jef, but as weeks and months passed, it was obvious our love life off camera was a far cry from what I had envisioned. Turns out, we were different people who wanted different things. The
pictures we painted of our futures didn’t align and definitely didn’t mesh. And this is how I found myself crying in the New York hotel room, my producer by my side, while on a tour of media appearances (reread the prologue to refresh your memory) as the new Bachelorette who finally found love again. Except, of course, I really hadn’t. I will say what I appreciated about Jef was his support when the media firestorm blew up in the summer of 2012.

More headlines, mostly negative ones, tore me apart, calling me a “bad person,” accusing me of having had all these “dark secrets,” describing me as a diva, mean, and giving lists of reasons why the relationship between Jef and me wouldn’t work out, which seemed to always have to do with . . . me. Oh yeah, and then there were the accusations that I demanded the most expensive and designer duds for my wardrobe. For the record, I had nothing to do with choosing what I was going to wear. That was all on the network stylists. Oh, I loved what they picked out, of course, but that was totally their own doing.