Page 18 of Rule 2: Never Join a Christmas Dating Show

It’s going to start. God, it’s going to start.

Even though Sebastian talked me through everything, the only thing I feel is nervousness.

Sebastian and I exit the limo in front of a Back Bay brownstone.

Large black cameras flank the entrance like modern monsters, the one-eye of the Cyclopes in my children’s books replaced by the shiny camera lens, and onlookers stare in our direction.

My chest tightens, and my breath sputters at a more rapid pace than normal.

Sebastian slides his gaze at me, as if he can hear my heart pound, even swaddled by the blood skittering through my body, and the luxurious, fashionable clothes I have no business wearing. “You’ll be fine. You’re going to comment on how nice the building is and how excited you are to meet your true love.”

I nod, and his comment is nice, but I’m not sure if it’s motivated by an actual certainty I’ll do well or simply a desire to calm me before I’m about to be watched by millions of people. Surely, there’s only so much that editing can achieve. Nobody wants their Mr. Right pale-faced and trembling.

I inhale a deep breath of air like I do at the start of any game, because I’ve totally got this, because nobody will do this for me.

I crane my head up. “Wow. This is amazing.”

My gaze flicks to Sebastian, and he gives me the warm smile I see on the show but which I haven’t seen him give me.

“Yes. We have ten women who are thrilled to meet you.”

My chest twists, but I nod. “Well, I’m very excited to meet them.”

The limo rolls away, then stops, and a woman scurries inside in the distance. Finally, the limo turns back toward me.

My eyes must widen because Sebastian bites back a smile. Then the limo rumbles toward me. The snow has been imperfectly cleaned, and the black limo rumbles over slushy dark puddles and packed snow, avoiding the worst impediments.

This looks less glamorous than any of the shows I’ve seen, but maybe the cameras will focus on the top of the limo, and less on the mucky mess beneath.

The limo stops and Sebastian glides toward it. He stretches out his hand, his fingers long and steady, and opens the door. In the next moment, he’s helping a willowy blonde in a sky-blue gown from the door.

And I suppose this might be my future wife.

Her green eyes glimmer when she sees me. “I’m Dahlia.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Dahlia. I’m Luke.”

“You’ll have to teach me about hockey. I’m good at learning.”

“Oh yeah?”

She nods. “I’m getting a doctorate in public health.”

I blink, and she giggles.

“You would have been perfect for the original Mr. Right,” I say.

Sebastian closes his eyes, but his lips twitch. “Cut.”

“Did I do that wrong?”

“We’re going to pretend you’re not a replacement.”

I nod. “Right. I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay.”

In the distance, another attractive woman, this time in a purple dress, enters the limo. The limo turns around the corner, and I hate that I’m holding things up.