Page 15 of My Pucking Enemy (The Milwaukee Frost #4)

Wren

As soon as Luca disappears into the press room, Sloane comes hurrying over to me—as fast as she can hurry, considering her belly growing bigger every day. Her face is red, her phone loose in her hand, and there’s a general air of fury around her, like a little cartoon dust storm.

“Did you know about this?” she asks, breathless and angry, raising the phone up jerkily so I can see a photo. But her hand is shaking hard enough that I can’t see it until I reach out and steady it.

When it comes into focus, I can’t stop myself from gasping dramatically.

Because the photo is one of Luca’s soon-to-be-ex-wife and world-famous pop star, Christie Elle. Christie Elle from the songs that play on the radio, and in the gym, and in every single TikTok that comes across my page.

Christie is a professional dancer who was even on Dancing with the Stars with Callum. After that, she transitioned into singing and released an album, went on tour. Got famous for her cute little dance moves, baby doll dresses, and iconic lyrics.

I’m not really into that kind of music, but even I listened to her album when it came out last summer. And the deluxe version when that came out this summer. And her Christmas special when she recorded a bunch of cheeky, poppy Christmas songs…

On the screen, Mandy—whom I’ve only seen through internet stalking—is walking hand-in-hand with the pop star. Christie wears a pair of lilac purple sweatpants rolled up around her waist, her flat stomach tanned and exposed, a belly button ring sparkling in the light.

Mandy has this nearly platinum blonde hair that’s completely natural—as far as I can tell. When I scrolled through her Instagram photos, I watched the slow transition from it being straight, silky, every day, to her allowing waves to come back, falling softly around her shoulders.

And in this photo, those waves are pushed back by the breeze, showing off her smile as she’s caught mid-turn looking over at Christie Elle like she hung the moon.

In all my time running around with Dad, we met plenty of celebrities.

Talked to diplomats and ran through important political buildings.

It’s not like I’ve never been around an important person before.

But there’s something different—something entirely surreal—about realizing Luca exists in this sphere.

One in which his ex-wife could date the world’s biggest up-and-coming pop star.

“Wren?” Sloane presses, shaking the phone a little bit and drawing me out of my thoughts. When I refocus, my eyes shifting to hers, it takes me a second to reconcile with the look on her face.

In the time that I’ve known her, there are basically three moods I’ve come to expect from Sloane McKenzie: happy, crying, or crying happy tears. And right now, she’s not falling into any of those categories.

Right now, she looks like she wants to fight someone.

“No,” I finally manage, recognizing how strange it is that she’s asking me this question. It speaks to how much time Luca and I have been spending together, that his own sister thinks I might know something she doesn’t.

Except I do know something she doesn’t know. I know that he’s getting divorced, and I know the strange details of their marriage. But I definitely didn’t know that his ex-wife was dating a pop star. And I don’t think anyone would have guessed Christie Elle to be queer.

“When I get my hands on her…” Sloane growls. And with that, she turns and starts stalking down the hall. For some reason—curiosity, worry—I turn and follow her, nearly running into the first person who steps out of the door at the end of the hall.

“Hey, hey, woah,” Callum says, his hands finding his wife’s biceps, settling her like he’s predicted this mood even before seeing her. “Let’s take a deep breath—”

“Did you know?” Sloane asks, her voice rising. “Cal, what the fuck? With Christie Elle? Have you talked to her about this? Did Christie tell you about this? Mandy has some fucking nerve to cheat on my brother—”

“She’s not cheating.”

The three of us turn to see Luca stepping into the hallway, looking like he’s barely keeping it together. Maverick and Petrov slide out behind him, both of them dispersing, clearly wanting nothing to do with this.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Sloane asks, glancing between her brother and the picture on her phone. “I’m all for strong friendships between women, but Luca, Mandy looks like she’s in love in this picture—”

“We’re getting a divorce, Sloane.”

The silence in the hallway is actually painful, my heart twisting, an internal cringe forming inside of me. Something like secondhand embarrassment, secondhand emotional turmoil. Watching Sloane digest this information.

One day, while we were waiting in a hotel lobby for a taxi to the airport, Sloane had gone on a rant to me about her sister-in-law.

“She’s just…so bland,” she’d said, “I have no idea what Luca sees in her.”

You’d think she’d be happy about the revelation that he’s getting a divorce. Maybe it’s the pregnancy hormones, or maybe it has to do with their dynamic, but Sloane doesn’t look happy. She looks royally pissed off.

“You’re getting a divorce?” she hisses, gaze skipping between her brother and husband. “And you didn’t tell me?”

I start to inch down the hallway, trying to leave as quietly as I can, but Luca’s eyes flick to mine over Callum’s shoulder, and I halt. For some reason, I get the feeling that he wants me to stay.

It’s stupid. It doesn’t make sense. Why would Luca want me here for this? It’s not like I’m his girlfriend. We’re not even friends, really.

But I stay. Because I’m pretty good at reading people, and that’s what I’m reading from him, right now.

Maybe he wants me here because I’m the only other person who knows the truth.

“I was going to wait until things were final,” Luca says, his voice completely calm, level, which I’ve come to recognize as his default state. “There was no point in telling you until it was through—”

“How long has this been going on for?” Sloane asks, shaking her head. “Luca. Mandy hasn’t come to anything. I thought that was just her being her, but was it because of this? When did you guys—I mean, when did—?”

“She told me she wanted a divorce last summer.”

It’s matter-of-fact, and when he says it to his sister, there’s none of the heartbreak that was there when he and I talked about it. I watch him carefully, note the ways he’s pretending for her, acting like everything is fine.

Sloane’s mouth drops open. “Last summer. You’ve been lying to me for a year?”

“Keeping something to myself is not lying, Sloane,” he runs a hand down his face, takes a breath. “Any chance we can talk about this later?”

“I just—I feel like I don’t even know you right now!” Sloane hiccups, and tears start to run down her face.

“Okay, come on, baby,” Callum steps forward, putting and arm around her shoulders. “Let’s go home and take a bath. I’m hungry, I bet you’re hungry. Let’s all just take a second and come back to it.”

Cal glances at Luca, then walks down the hall with his wife, who doesn’t say goodbye to her brother, and whispers to her husband all the way to the door.

When it shuts, I let out a shaky laugh, “Well, that sucked.”

He meets my eye, and I watch as he tries to use that same mask with me. Beneath it is rage, hurt, betrayal. Maybe he’s not as nonchalant about Mandy being this publicly divorced from him as he might want us to believe. “You didn’t have to stay.”

“You wanted me to,” I counter, expecting him to deny that, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he just lets out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. For a second, we stand in the hallway quietly together. When he finally breaks the silence, it’s to say, “I can already tell this is going to be a shit show.”

***

And it is.

For whatever reason—maybe the fact that it’s Christie Elle, maybe the fact that it’s gay, maybe the fact that Luca and the Frost are clearly heading to the Stanley Cup this year—the press is lined up outside the arena for the next week, acting more like paparazzi than professional reporters.

It’s all over the news. I keep waiting for it to die down, for people not to care about it after a day or two, but YouTubers are putting out think pieces on the topic, and Luca’s face is appearing on my feed much more than I want.

Even worse, it’s obviously bothering him. At the next away game, Coach Vic has to pull him off the ice because he’s so obviously rattled and even his arguments about not being rattled sound a little unhinged.

On Thursday, when Luca and I are supposed to have a strategy meeting, I manage to walk past the paparazzi without causing a scene. The moment I’m through security and inside the complex, I pull out my phone to text Luca.

Wren: The press are outside the west side entrance, waiting for you.

“Yeah, I know. They were at my house, too.”

I spin around, bringing my hand to my heart, watching Luca as he pushes off the wall beside the door, his eyes locked on me. He jerks his head toward the elevator that will take us to our normal meeting room, and I realize he was waiting for me.

When he presses the button for the elevator, what he said registers. “They were at your house?”

He lets out a cynical laugh, glancing quickly at me as we step on together. “Yup. Lined up right outside my property. That is, after I caught one of them in the bushes and threatened to sue.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t threaten something worse,” I say, pushing into the room, but it’s a lie. I’m not surprised. In fact, what I am surprised about is that Luca doesn’t have a fence or something, some way to keep people from coming to his home.

Surely he’s famous enough to warrant some kind of security, right? Has he ever had a stalker, or an overzealous fan who didn’t understand boundaries? Where does he even live?

I catch the thought as I set my things down, laughing at myself—that makes me sound like the crazed fan.