I Didn't Come Here to Make Friends by Courtney Robertson Page B

to get married? You’re not ready to settle down. It’s not a good idea.”
    My mom had a point. I was confused.
    On August 21, I called a producer and asked her to scratch me off the list. “Listen,” she said. “You owe it to yourself to at least meet the guy.” When I was still unsure, she told me to take two more days to think about it. But I’d made up my mind. After I officially pulled out, my dad sent me an e-mail with the subject line “A Well-Made Decision.”
    “Bug,” he wrote, addressing me by my nickname, “I would like to compliment you for how you reached your decision on the Bachelor program. You thought about it from every angle and bounced it off your trusted friends. You came to a very sensible decision, one that is right for you. Time to move forward with new projects … try to nail down the Fruit of the Loom job. Why should a girl who made $32,000 for one photo shoot last August take two months out of her career and lose all control on how her image is used on national television?”
    I felt like a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders, but at the same time, over the next week I felt lonelier than ever before. Unattached for the first time in forever, I fell back into my old habits. I called Chris, even though we hadn’t spoken in two years. He’d opened his own raw food restaurant in Florida and was doing really well. He immediately booked me a ticket to visit Labor Day weekend.
    I decided to go, even though I knew if my mom found out she would disown me. I was still unsure that I’d made the right decision about The Bachelor . I wanted to see if there was anything left with Chris and if a weekend with him would settle my mind once and for all.
    But it was the same old story. Though he told me he loved me and we still had amazing physical chemistry, there was something important missing. In a last-ditch effort, I tested Chris one more time: I told him I was considering going on The Bachelor . Instead of begging me not to, he was supportive and said it would be fun for me. After, we went swimming in the ocean, and even though his perfectly lean, raw-food-sculpted body glistened in the sun, I had a sinking feeling. I knew this would be the last time I ever saw him.
    As soon as I got back to L.A., I e-mailed the producer again and said I’d made the wrong decision. I told her that I wanted to be on the show and was ready for an amazing love story, if they’d still have me. This was something I had to do for myself and I couldn’t turn it down for Chris, my mom and dad, or anyone.
    “We were so disappointed, we took your pictures off the wall,” the producer said. “We’ve already picked all the girls.”
    After a long pause, she told me to bring in my contract right away.
    The next morning, over a cup of coffee, I flew through the monster document, initialing every lower right-hand corner, without even opening the pages all the way. I dropped off the contract and gave the producer a hug. She gave me a packing list that said to be prepared for all seasons.
    It was official. I was going on The Bachelor, one of the most iconic shows in the history of television. I was going to meet Ben Flajnik. I only had a little over a week until I had to report to a hotel in Westlake Village, the holding pen until the infamous limo ride to the mansion in Malibu. Holy crap, I had a lot to do.
    First, I found a model friend who agreed to rent my spare bedroom while I was away (I’d started being smarter about my money). It would be the first time I’d had a female roommate since I moved to L.A. ten years prior. I gave my sister Rachel all my account information and my modeling contacts so she could manage my bills and my career while I was away. Ironically, one of the last shoots I did before I left was for Kay Jewelers’ Neil Lane engagement ring collection. I was a fake bride with a fake husband for the day.
    Second, I got my wardrobe ready. I counted out the possible rose ceremonies and