Page 33 of Rule 2: Never Join a Christmas Dating Show

He stiffens.

I stiffen.

His eyes widen.

My eyes widen.

“I-I mean you probably read it. It’s on Wikipedia. And the application. Probably.” God, sometimes I wish I’d actually applied to the show. I’m not sure what Troy and Noah put down. From the surprise on Sebastian’s face, I’m not answering the questions in the manner he expected.

Sebastian’s gaze is tucked behind the computer lens, but his fingers tremble.

“It’s a small fishing town on the coast of Massachusetts,” I say hastily. “It was...okay.”

Sebastian rises abruptly.

“I-I didn’t answer that question with a lot of detail. Do you want me to talk more?”

“About...” I know he’s going to say Ashcove, but he doesn’t. Instead, he starts to turn everything off.

I’m no longer flooded in bright light. The room grows dim, then dimmer.

Finally, we’re in the dark, and I stare at him, though he’s now just a shadow. I’m conscious of our breath and the storm outside.

“Sorry,” he says, even though I don’t want him to apologize. He hurries away from me, but in the next moment the room is inundated in dull hotel light. “It got very dark.”

I nod uncertainly. “Yeah.”

Tension still seems to bubble between us.

“I’ll get these things in the morning,” he says. “You don’t need to stay. You can...go.”

I realize I’m standing in his room.

“Right. Okay.”

There feels like there’s more unsaid. Like maybe we should talk about Ashcove. But I don’t think he wants to, and I don’t want to make him do anything he doesn’t want to do.

So instead, I leave, my heart aching, as if part of it is still with him.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Sebastian

He knows who I am.

The thought sends powder ice tumbling through my veins. One word from Luke Hawthorne to his brother and everything I’ve built—my career, my carefully constructed new identity, all of it—comes crashing down.

Maybe I’m wrong. He left the room, and I think his eyes softened, but I’m not sure. And to be honest, he always looks kind. It’s one of the irritating things about him, because I cannot,mustnot, trust him.

I sit on the couch, staring at the equipment I need to pack. A boa constrictor slithers around my torso, tightening around me in its terrible embrace. The immaculate suite turns nightmarish.

It’s fine. Really.

I mean, it’s no big deal if he knows he knew me in Ashcove. It doesn’t matter.

But shame bubbles through me all the same. It’s not that I don’t ever think about my youth, about the years before I had my muscles, before I’d bleached my hair, before I could walk into a room with confidence.

Most of my life was spent there. A decade ago, I was miserable. A decade ago, I didn’t think anything would change. And if I hadn’t had my interest in video cameras, maybe nothing would have. If my mom’s third husband-like figure in my life hadn’t owned a pawn shop and not minded if I used the video equipment, a fact, looking back, he should have minded. Caring was never one of his top qualities. Fucking my mom was one of his interests, and he could do more of it if I was occupied.