“We want proof!” Aunt Tina adds, jumping to her feet with her phone, already livestreaming on TikTok. “Sloane, sweetheart, we adore you, but we haven’t even seen you kiss in public! You twohad a snowball fight like sworn enemies, and at New Year’s you disappeared from the party…”
“Passion! Passion!” Pedro chimes in, like the feral voice of my conscience.
“I’d also like to note that some of Mr. Becker’s glances were a bit… excessive,” Francis adds smugly.
I will not be satisfied until I stamp “idiot” across his forehead.
Before I can respond, Lina shoots to her feet in the second row. Her pastel-pink hair looks electrified.
“Listen here, bargain-bin Sherlock!” she yells, jabbing a finger at him. “It’s called chemistry! Ever heard of it?! It’s what happens when two people look at each other and the air catches fire! If you’d ever had a relationship that wasn’t with your own reflection, you’d know!”
“Objection!” Francis cries. “Chemistry is not tangible evidence!”
Lina lunges; Sebastian grabs her.
I start to lunge too; Cohen wraps his arm around me and whispers in my ear to breathe before I commit homicide.
“Mr. Mayor!” Francis squeaks, straightening his newly wrinkled vest. “It’s simple. Sloane Heart—the queen of control—and Cohen Becker, the bad boy on a reflective break. On paper? Dynamite.”
He turns to the audience.
“In reality? We’ve seen them together, sure. But sparks? None. Just contracts, strategies, and luxury shopping.”
A murmur of agreement ripples through the room.
“People don’t want business partners pretending to be lovers,” Francis continues mercilessly. “People want fire! Drama! And so far, these two are colder than the freezer at the Snowed Inn!”
“Hey!” Sebastian protests. “Our freezer is immaculate!”
Lina elbows him. “Shut up, idiot, it’s a metaphor!”
Francis ignores them and points at me again.
“Sloane, darling, you’re great at selling love to other people. But this is you. If this is just a publicity stunt to clean up Becker’s image, the show will tank. Viewers will change the channel. So what is it—should we tune in, or just rewatch the Fall Bucket List Competition? Ivy and Cam were fantastic.”
Offended.
Deeply offended.
Not because he thinks it’s fake (it is… kind of), but because he called us boring.
I stand.
“Francis, I assure you our dynamic is anything but boring. We simply chose discretion.”
“Discretion?!” Mrs. Lacey shrieks, jumping to her feet, phone in hand. “Sweetheart, this is a reality show! Discretion is dead! We want to know if that black bodysuit was put to use—and if the Avon lipstick passed the crash test!”
“Test! Test!” Pedro caws.
Nino bangs the gavel, grinning like a kid at Christmas.
“The town has spoken!” he declares. “Sloane, Cohen… if you want to be part of this show, you have to give us a preview. Convince us. Francis is right—if you look like two planks of wood, the sponsors will vanish.”
I sigh, tired and stressed. Cohen, however, moves.
His chair scrapes loudly as he stands.
Slow.
