Page 51 of Rule 2: Never Join a Christmas Dating Show

The Back Bay townhouse glitters and sparkles, and my shoulders ease as I enter it. I nod to the camera crew, then go find Ella, weaving past the elaborate Christmas tree and poinsettia arrangements. This is where I belong.

The women are sitting in a circle wearing Christmas pajamas, their feet snuggled by reindeer and penguin slippers. It is warm and cozy and wonderful.

“Have you thought about making Christmas movies?” I ask Ella.

“Maybe that might be something for you,” she says. “You know hosts change on these shows.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I whirl around, my heart thumping faster than before.

“Just that.”

“That sounded like a threat.”

“It doesn’t come from me, sweetie. I love you. You know that, right?”

I nod, but the words aren’t exactly reassuring. Because if they don’t come from her, but she still feels the need to tell me—

“You know, Clark,” she says. “He likes things his way.”

“I protested too much when Luke was announced.”

“Yeah. And I’m pretty sure you knew you were protesting too much. It was weird.”

My lips form a straight line, like the first line of infantry who know they’re going down, who know it’s going to be brutal, but who aren’t going to run.

I can take the criticism.

I’m a professional.

And God knows, I became an expert at taking criticism back in Ashcove.

“He liked the first episode though,” I ask.

“Yeah. But you didn’t send a lot of footage from New Hampshire. You’re going to need to ask Luke harder questions in the future. And be more specific about the women. That’s why people are watching the show. I mean he was talking about wanting someone who’d undergone hardships...what was that about?” Ella shakes her head, even when my heart beats faster. “None of the women have undergone hardships. I had to go back to them and ask them about the hardest thing that ever happened to them, and believe me, it was not exciting.”

I force my lips into a smile. “Lucky them.”

“But not lucky you. Do better next time. I mean it. I can’t protect you forever. Each new season you’re the host, the harder it is for Clark to switch you—the audience starts to get attached. Clark might just want to be done now.”

“That’s a thing?”

“Of course, that’s a thing. It’s even a thing if you perform amazingly. Fred Astaire stopped dancing with Ginger Rogers to keep things fresh and make sure the audience could still imagine him with other leading ladies.”

“That’s an old reference.”

“Old but true. Hollywood, baby.”

I nod, but dread slithers through me. God, what if Clark found out I’d slept in Mr. Right’s arms last night? Or that I thought about Mr. Right in utterly unprofessional ways the next morning in the shower, with only a wall separating us?

Did I groan when I came? I think I did. I’m sure I did. I clasped my hand over my mouth after I did it, my heart moving quickly, as if seeking somewhere to hide.

But I was still hoping Luke hadn’t heard me, that the walls would have swallowed all sound, even though I could hear Luke brushing his teeth last night, and that sound is softer than a sex-crazed groan.

And then he didn’t want to join me at breakfast.

He’d wanted me to sit beside him at breakfast the day before, but today, he didn’t even want to go down the stairs with me.

He’d appeared later, wet-haired and wild-eyed, as I was heading back upstairs after eating with Oskar and his dad.