CHAPTER TEN

S ebastian

I am a professional.

I am not attracted to the Mr. Right on my show.

No way.

There are ten women hoping to live happily ever after with him, and I’m not going to lust after him. I am not going to make things awkward.

My eyes bounce around the tiny closet, and I despise the way they always land on Luke. I abhor the way my gaze wants to imbibe his features, as if he’s run off with my heart, and I need to give each detail to a court artist. But I don’t need to tell anyone the width of his nose, the point where his chiseled cheekbones are highest...I know them already.

A sick feeling tumbles through my insides, setting them on fire with acid.

He looks like Bryce.

He’s the same height, the same shape, and though his facial features are different, they’re not that different.

God, was this why Bryce was so mean to me? Was I looking at him in ways I shouldn’t? How did he know before he did? Back when my instinct was to say I wasn’t that way? Back when that was my only desire, and I would turn around and head in the opposite direction whenever I saw Bryce.

Not that it helped much.

Ashcove High wasn’t large. There weren’t enough corridors to hide in, enough people to hide behind, enough classes that we didn’t need to take together.

I saw Bryce all the time, and each time, he was happy to announce to the world I didn’t belong, and he did.

And so I left.

And changed myself.

Until I could look in the mirror and not see who I used to be, because I’ve changed so much. My brows are plucked, where they once were on the verge of blending together, my skin smooth and glowing, where it was once dull, my eyes no longer hampered by oil-smudged lenses and unflattering frames that drew attention to every awkward angle on my face.

My hair is no longer a dirty brown best left to hamsters, but a carefully maintained bleached blond, and the pudgy frame I had when my only comfort was what was in the bright-colored plastic packages sold at 7-11, has been hardened into muscle through an intensive gym routine and a less interesting diet.

But now my gaze keeps on going to Luke, and I hate it, because maybe Bryce was right all those years ago.

I hate when I see Luke look at me with understanding, like maybe he knows exactly who I am and he’s being nice. And I hate when he looks at me with admiration more, because it makes me feel like there could be something there, when I know all there is, is a straight Mr. Right. Like all Mr. Rights he’s at the top-end of the good-looking range, and the top-end of the successful range. I just didn’t expect him to be at the top-end of the sympathetic range too.

Not him. No way.

My fingers tremble, and my breath comes out unevenly. The crowns tilt, the top one toppling off the stack.

Luke sweeps his hand forward, catching the crown easily. He takes the others from me and puts them on a shelf near the door.

“I-I almost dropped them.” I stare down at the dusty floor where they could have fallen.

“But you didn’t,” Luke reminds me.

“They could have been crumpled. Creased. Dirty.” My mind whirls, and my breath sputters out at a too fast pace.

He presses his lips together, and his perfect blue eyes dance. “Why don’t you rest?”

I blink.

“I’ll be right back. Just...stay.” He inches toward the door, then exits.

I frown at the door. I want to follow him, but he told me to stay, and I’m not ready to face the cameras and the women vying to be on his arm forever and ever. I don’t want to see him smile at someone, and think, that’s her, she’s the one.

Luke reappears, armed with a plate of food and some water. “I wasn’t certain what fortification you prefer, but I thought in the interest of you not dehydrating, you can start with water.”

“I’m on the job.”

“I promise not to tell if you want something with more power. I’ll fetch you all the wine glasses you want.” He winks, and my stomach lurches like we’re stuck on a hot balloon together and he’s popped the champagne and told me...

Well, it doesn’t matter.

I try to push away Dream Man Luke and focus on Real Man Luke.

His smile turns smug, and he hands me the plate.

“You’re not supposed to spend your time feeding me.”

“You need to eat, Mr. Host. You make the whole show happen.”

I peer at the assortment of food he selected.

“Everything is delicious,” Luke says.

I eye the camembert-and-cranberry bites. “I chose them myself.”

Luke beams.

“We, um, should get out there...” I say.

Luke picks up the camembert bite. “Open up.”

He leans toward me, and my nostrils flare, as if desperate to inhale his citrusy and cotton scent. Well, my nostrils have good taste, just like the rest of me.

He pauses. “Unless there’s a reason you don’t want to eat. I don’t want to make you feel forced.”

I smile. “Just give it to me.”

I open my mouth, and he drops the camembert bite into my mouth.

Luke Hawthorne is feeding me.

My eyes roll back, my lashes flutter, camembert fills my mouth, detonating my taste buds.

“Good, huh?”

I nod more times than necessary, savoring the creamy camembert.

He smirks, then picks up another delicacy.

“You don’t actually need to feed me,” I protest, but my mouth is open, and he drops another canapé onto my tongue.

It’s good.

Of course, it’s good.

The tentativeness he had earlier disappears, vanishing with my nerves. I should find it annoying, but instead I laugh through my chewing.

I take the plate from him, because being fed by a hot NHL star might feature in my dreams for the rest of my life, and I’m so not prepared for that to happen. I eat the food quickly, then look up. “Thank you.”

He smiles, then glances at the crowns. “I’m ready.”

My stomach sinks, and I remember who he is here for. It’s not me.

In a moment he’ll walk out and choose which women to keep, which to send home.

Because I am not here to be fed canapés in dark closets by Luke Hawthorne.

LUKE

Sebastian’s face shutters when I mention the crowns, and I wish I’d kept silent. I preferred seeing his eyes rolling in pleasure when he was eating.

I’m pretty sure rest is something he also needs, and short of proposing he lie down on the floor, sans-pillow, sans-mattress, sans-blanket and sleep while the rest of the TV show happens outside, I want to do my part in hurrying this to an end.

Sebastian explains the next steps, then tells me to wait while he announces to the women that the floral crown ceremony is beginning.

When Ella opens the door for me, Sebastian is waiting beside the Christmas tree. I take my place beside him.

The lights shine on Sebastian’s face, bestowing him with a golden halo. The women file in front of us, their faces somber and scared, as if my next words will matter greatly to them.

I hope they don’t.

I hope I won’t hurt anyone.

I don’t think I will, because we’ve only had the most cursory of conversations, but I still hope the tears that sometimes happen after these scenes in past episodes are because of more impressive Mr. Rights, more genuine connections, or at least a flair for drama and emotion that has nothing to do with me.

I move to the front of the room. The women flash nervous, frozen smiles, and my gaze bounces from woman to woman, as the swirling sensation in my stomach grows.

I inch closer to Sebastian, only relaxing when we’re close enough that our hands could brush together, and our shoulders could graze each other, if we both turned just so.

“Why don’t you stand by the podium?” Sebastian suggests, his voice low and rumbling.

I move back toward the podium, my skin heating.

My whole team will see this. My family. Will other hockey players watch this too? I hope not. Players might be less likely to consider me intimidating when they’ve seen me in a reality TV show ceremony.

No matter.

I square my shoulders.

This is totally fine.

I’ve faced far worse things.

Then Sebastian begins to speak. “Good evening, ladies. Tonight marks a pivotal moment in your journey with Mr. Right. As we stand beside this Christmas tree, surrounded by the warmth of the season, Luke must make the challenging decision of which five of you will continue on this path to true love. While every one of you has brought something special to this experience, half of our wonderful group will be saying goodbye tonight. Remember that whether you receive a floral crown or not, you’ve each contributed to making this Christmas season truly magical.”

The cameras start to pan, and some of them move close to me. I force myself to look sufficiently dismayed, an effort the women are also making.

Sebastian nods to me. “Would you like to say some words, Luke?”

“This was a difficult decision,” I say. “I wish all of you every happiness in life.”

“And now for the true magic of the evening—our floral crown ceremony.” Sebastian’s voice is confident, and I wonder if I imagined our time together in the poinsettia room. “Each crown represents not just the possibility of love, but the promise of more cherished Christmas memories to come. Luke, who will receive your first crown?”

I lift the poinsettia crown up. “Willow.”

Willow, a new medical school graduate whom I’ve barely spoken to, smiles and slinks toward me.

I place the floral crown on her head.

“Thank you,” she murmurs.

She joins the rest of the women, and we allow some time for the cameras to pan over the other women’s faces.

“It’s okay to look disappointed and worried,” Ella says.

The women look more disappointed and worried, and the cameras pan them again.

Then it’s time to announce the next woman who is staying, and I pick up another floral crown.

“Flora.”

Flora smiles and totters toward me. I place the crown on her head.

“Your name is perfect for it,” I say, and she giggles.

Sebastian’s face goes stony, and I slide my gaze toward him, unsure if I’ve done something wrong, as Flora moves back. The other women look more jealous, more disappointed, just like they’re supposed to.

I then give crowns to Katie, Dahlia, and Greta. They all work in healthcare, an industry which feels super complex. I barely made it through high school biology and chemistry, and I was not taking the AP versions.

“To those who haven’t received a crown tonight—while your journey with Luke comes to an end, you’ve brought warmth and joy to our Christmas season,” Sebastian says, his tenor voice a pleasant rumble. “Though saying goodbye is never easy, especially during the holidays, I hope you’ll carry these memories with you. Please take a moment to say your farewells.”

The women with crowns look at the women without with great sympathy. Comforting ensues, and even though I know I only had five crowns, guilt still rages through my chest.

Ella steps forward. “Congratulations to everyone who will remain with us. Please go to the adjoining room for your interviews.”

The women file out, the cameras follow them, and Sebastian and I are alone.

“Do you need me to be interviewed?” I ask.

It’s not in the schedule, but I’m not sure why not. Sebastian shakes his head. “That’s not necessary. You have an early practice tomorrow. I’m not supposed to keep you too long.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll be traveling with you to New Hampshire for your away game. I’ll interview you after we arrive.”

“Right.” I nod multiple times.

“Ella will have a better sense tomorrow of what stories she wants to tell,” Sebastian explains. “Your time is more useful there.”

“Okay.”

My heart squeezes, and I suddenly wonder what it will be like to travel with Sebastian. An odd excitement thrums through me.