Joy’s fingers tighten around mine, yanking me back to the present. “Is that her?”
“Yep.” My throat goes dry. I manage a grin. “Showtime, Foxy.”
She looks up at me, searching my face. “You okay?”
“No.” The honesty surprises us both. “But I will be.”
Her expression softens. “Then let’s get you there.”
Hannah threads through the crowd, Levi half a step behind her, palm settled low on her back. It used to be mine. The possessive burn in my gut surprises me, not because I want her back, but because seeing them together still stings in ways I don’t want to examine.
If Levi were smug, I could hate him cleanly. Instead, he’s Levi—good guy, steady, the one who stayed. The kind of man Hannah wants.
“Wesley,” she says, polite as a church service. “Back in town?”
“For the holidays.” The words come out a scrape. “You look good, Han.”
“You too.” Her gaze slides to Joy, curiosity sharp in her eyes. “And you are...?”
Joy lights up, pure PR brilliance. “Joy Preston. Wesley’s fiancée.”
Hannah blinks. “Fiancée?”
“Oh, you didn’t know?” Joy tilts her head, all innocence and edge. “We keep forgetting not everyone follows the New York press. It’s been a whirlwind.” She lifts our joined gloves, gives them a little wave. “He proposed. Terrible timing, honestly. He’s impulsive that way.”
She glances at me, and the look she gives me is equal parts performance and dare. “But romantic.”
Levi whistles low. “Congrats, man. Didn’t see that coming.”
“Thanks,” I manage, but Joy’s winding up.
There’s no malice in Levi’s voice. No guilt. He’s genuinely happy for me.
Which somehow makes it worse.
Joy presses a palm to my chest, fingers splayed over my heart. “He’s impossible when he wants something,” she informs Hannah like we don’t share a past. “Dragged me off in the middle of the day, dropped to one knee on a freezing sidewalk outside Rockefeller Center. My face was numb for an hour.” Her grin turns private, intimate, signaling we have secrets. “Worth it.”
When Hannah looks away, Joy’s expression falters—just a flicker, but I see it. She’s not as steady as she wants to be.
Hannah’s smile tightens. “Sounds…memorable.”
“It was.” Joy’s fingers trail down my chest, stopping just above my belt. Her pulse hammers against my ribs.
She’s nervous. Still performing. And I love her for it.
The realization hits hard, a slapshot to the sternum, sudden and brutal.
I’m in love with her.
Not halfway. Gone. Completely, recklessly, irrevocably gone.
For a girl who thinks this is all pretend.
Fuck.
I almost miss what she says next.
“Have you seen this body?” Joy gestures at me, full showmanship now. “These shoulders? I’m marrying a Norse god who moonlights as a lumberjack. He chops wood. Shirtless. For fun. I’ll never be cold again.”
