She turns in my arms, bracing on the table, and looks at me.
Her makeup is smeared. Her lips are swollen. One shoulder of her dress is torn loose.
She looks like she’s been through a war.
And it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
She runs a hand over my chest, trying to reclaim that CEO composure even as her voice shakes.
“Well,” she murmurs, “let’s just say… for a first night, it was an acceptable start.”
I laugh—tired, wrecked, stupidly happy.
“Acceptable?” I kiss her damp forehead. “Your legs were shaking, Angel.”
“Aftershocks,” she says, tightening her hold on me.
I lift her easily. She wraps her legs around my waist, resting her head against my shoulder.
“Take me to bed, Becker,” she orders, yawning into my neck. “I need eight hours of sleep if I’m going to boss you around again tomorrow.”
“Sure, boss.”
I carry her to the massive four-poster bed, lay her down on the red pillows, and pull her against my chest.
And as I hold her there, I realize I don’t give a damn about Joe, the race, or the rest of the world.
I have Sloane Heart in my arms.
Press Roundup: Racing Heartbeats, Offended Feathers & Suspicious Delays
ELM HOLLOW GAZETTE – SPECIAL “LOVE GOALS” EDITION
You can tell how the day will go from the morning… and from the contestants’ eye bags.
FRONT PAGE
THE GALA OF SCANDAL: WHEN THE QUEEN OF HEARTS STEALS THE SPOTLIGHT (AND THE CLOCK)
By Francis Grande, Reporter & Social Critic
Dear citizens, if you believed this sudden January heatwave was the result of global warming, you were mistaken.
The true cause has two names:Sloane Heart and Cohen Becker.
Last night, the opening Gala of our beloved reality show was meant to be the crowning glory of theMagical Trio.
Our local divas—Mrs. Lacey, Aunt Tina, and the ever-elegant Indya—delivered aLady Marmaladeperformance worthy of Broadway (or, at the very least, a particularly ambitious Las Vegas karaoke bar).
Ostrich feathers flew.
High notes were… attempted.
Art, in its own way, triumphed.
And then—
They arrived.
