I fell in love with Mr. Darcy on a reality TV show. Cue the happily ever after. Can you believe it? Me, Emma Brady, the girl who managed to turn reality TV humiliation into a real-life fairy tale, has fallen head over heels for my own Mr. Darcy while the entire nation watched. Yep, I'm the living proof that even the most unlikely of matches can light up the screen. And guess what? Hold onto your tiaras because now my Mr. Darcy has gone and proposed, complete with a promise of happily ever after in his posh English manor. Cue the confetti cannons and unicorns, right? Not so fast. Life ...

Am I facing a second chance at love with my high school crush, or setting myself up for another round of heartbreak? Alex Walsh is my worst nightmare. He's the full package of handsome and suave, the heartthrob of my high school days. The memory of our kiss hasn't faded, despite the humiliation that followed. Now I'm stuck working with him, showcasing his photographs—and inadvertently, his charm—at my boss's gallery. But I've turned over a new leaf. No more kissing toads. My friends and I made a pact to find Mr. Right, not Mr. Right Back to High School. Even if his photographs and his ...

Imagine being trapped in a fake romance with the one person you vowed to avoid at all costs.Here I am, doing just that with none other than Nick Zachary, New Zealand’s “wild boy of rugby” himself. Player on field and off, Nick’s the last person I’d date in a million years. I may be in this thing to repair his tarnished rep, but while I’m being photographed on his arm I can raise the profile of my fledgling fashion designs. It’s a win-win—if I can stomach the public PDAs with a guy with more abs than brain matter. As if playing make-believe with Nick isn't challenging enough,...

When it comes to men, I am totally committed to not being committed. But here’s the thing. I’m pushing 30. Hard. I know it’s not exactly old, but it’s not young, either. As cliché as it is, my biological clock is ticking louder than a clap of thunder. But more than that, I’m lonely. I want what my friends have. I want love. So, one evening, my besties and I agree to a pact to marry the next guy we date. Chardonnay may have been involved. Lunacy definitely was. I mean, what’s a commitment phobe doing agreeing to a pact like that? It’s a question I’ve asked myself a bunch of ...

I’m the last woman standing in the “Last First Date” pact with my friends, and it looks like Cupid’s playing hard to get. It’s not like I haven’t been trying to find The One. I’ve been speed dating like it’s an Olympic sport, but a love match is still out of reach. You see, I've had my share of love and loss, and at 30, playing the lead in an unrequited love saga was definitely not my plan. But that’s exactly where I find myself, wanting more with Ryan Jones, a walking, talking romantic riddle. He’s a perfect blend of Prince Charming and Thor (minus the hammer, obviously...