Onstage, Ethan Kinkaid is staring right at me now — dark eyes locked, jaw tight, expression unreadable.
I forget how to blink. Ruby leans over and whispers, voice trembling with glee and horror: “Congratulations, sweetheart. You just won the Holiday Bride Experience.”
I think I’m going to faint or scream — possibly both.
Chapter 4
Ethan
The gavel cracks like a gunshot. “SOLD! To the lovely lady in the green dress, Miss Harper Fox, for three hundred ninety-five dollars!” The crowd erupts, women cheering, someone whistling sharply, someone else shouting, “Get it, girl!”
I stand there on the stage, frozen, like a damn taxidermy exhibit of a mountain man:Homo grumpus in his natural habitat. My spine goes rigid. And then … I see her on the second row. Green dress. Dark hair. Wide blue eyes like she’s watching her entire life implode in real time. And now … she’s my holiday bride for a whole damn week.
My insides do something unfamiliar and deeply inconvenient. A tug. A tightening. A flare of heat I stomp on immediately.
Nope. Not happening. Absolutely not. Love at first sight isn’t real. Lust, sure. Attraction, yes. But that aching sudden lick of possessive interest? No. Shut it down.
The mayor steps up beside me, beaming like I’ve just agreed to serve as Santa Claus for the next ten years.
“Wonderful!” Janice chirps into the mic. “Our Holiday Bride Experience has officially found its lucky pairing!”
Lucky. Right! I drag my gaze from Harper before she catches me staring. Her friend looks like she’s about to combust with excitement and secondhand panic at the same time.
Janice gestures for me to step forward. I do, because the faster this ends, the faster I can go home and prepare myself for whatever hellish schedule she’s about to saddle me with.
“Let’s give Ethan a round of applause!” she trills.
I get applause. Actual applause. I hate every second of it. When the noise finally dies down, Janice steps away from the mic and hovers so close to me you’d think we’re sharing body heat.
“Well done,” she whispers. “She’s a sweetheart.”
I grunt and resist the urge to belt out a complete groan.
“Come with me,” she says, tugging my sleeve like a preschool teacher. “We’ll get your itinerary.”
Itinerary. I hate that word. Nothing good ever follows it. She marches me behind the stage to a folding table stacked with clipboards, flyers, and something covered in tinsel I refuse to acknowledge.
“Here we are!” she says, shuffling through papers. “Your Holiday Bride schedule.”
Schedule — even worse. I brace myself and look. My blood pressure spikes instantly.
“Church tree lighting?” I read aloud, scowling.
“Oh yes,” Janice says. “You and your bride will stand together in front of the tree for the ceremonial first light. Very romantic.”
“Romantic,” I mutter. “Great.”
She continues. “A couples’ cocoa tasting. Sleigh ride on Wednesday. Ice skating Thursday. Shared suite for the entire week …”
I choke. “Shared what?”
Janice brightens. “Shared suite! Honeymoon suite, technically. It’s all part of the immersive holiday experience.”
Immersive honeymoon suite for a whole week? I close my eyes. Breathe in. Breathe out. Try not to have an aneurysm.
“This wasn’t what we agreed,” I grit out.
“This is exactly what we agreed,” she says. “You said yes to participating in the Holiday Bride package.”
