Page 47 of Filthy Twisted Devil

He's right. We look so happy, grinning with snowflakes in our hair, the Christmas market twinkling behind us. I’m leaning into him, my cheeks pink not only from the cold.

We look like a real couple. Worse, we’re getting uncomfortably close to acting like one.

“I’m texting your brothers,” Luke says. Because that's the thing he does, text my brothers, who want him to come home with me for Christmas. When he types in Wade’s name in his messages, I can see all the messages they’ve been exchanging and—oh, god.

“Are you and Wade seriously talking about doing a tasting room pop-up in Sundre?”

“Yeah. Wade knows this guy, Dalton Marceau, who can grill up burgers with beef from local ranches. So we could do a customized tasting menu combining them.”

“You know Dalton Marceau,” I say, disbelieving. “Dalton Marceau, the line cook who sold my friends weed in high school.”

Luke shrugs. “I didn’t know about the weed thing, and I guess Dalton’s been promoted to manager. But yeah, Wade looped me in on a text with him. Why are you looking at me like I grew an extra arm?”

“I’m just trying to wrap my head around…this.” My fake boyfriend in Toronto knows about the real townies back in Sundre. It’s all too close to home—literally.

“Well, the campaign doesn’t start until January,” Luke says. “I don’t have to do it if you don’t want me to.”

“No, you can if you want. It’s just…I was thinking,” I say quietly. “A couple of people already know our relationship is fake. Maybe we should just tell the whole friend group. It would make it easier if we didn't have to keep performing in front of them.”

Luke frowns. “Make what easier?”

It hits me like a fist. Apparently, the lingering attraction between us that I've been working so hard to fight is completely one-sided. The whole game of pretending is easy for him, because he doesn’t feel anything for me. Sure, he might kiss me after a few drinks, or when it's convenient to put on a show. But he doesn't want me, not like that.

I shake my head and stare at the ground. “Never mind.”

“Hey.” He ducks, forcing me to meet his eyes. “If you want to tell them, we can. I thought it would be easier if they didn’t know, but if it’s bugging you, then it’s fine. I’ll do whatever you want to do, promise.”

My eyes sting. I won’t tear up, here in the middle of a Christmas market. I refuse to be touched about how generous his offer is. He’s promising to give me whatever I want, no questions asked.

“We can talk about it some other time,” I say, forcing a smile. “If it gets too weird, we’ll tell them.”

“Okay.” Luke stares down at me, eyes darting between mine like he’s searching for something.

“I should go find the girls. I said I’d meet up with them soon. I’ll see you at the Christmas party, right?”

“Right. I’ll see you then.”

With a wave, I practically sprint toward Santa’s sleigh.

19

LUKE

Christmas Eve

Normally, the guys and I hold our annual Christmas party in the poker room at the House of Cards. A virtual meeting with Maura a while back changed all that. In the middle of discussing the cherrywood labels with me over Zoom, she’d burst into tears.

“What’s wrong?” I asked uncertainly. It’s hard to know what to do when confronted with a crying woman, let alone an eight-months-pregnant one.

“I’m so sorry,” she sobbed. “My hormones are all over the place, and the baby’s kicking me awake all night, and I’m exhausted.”

“It’s fine,” I reassured her. “It’ll all be over in a few weeks, right?”

That only makes her cry harder. “I need to get out!”

“Of the pregnancy? Might be a little late for that⁠—”

“Of my house! I’m so tired of going nowhere except this goddamn building!” she wails. Compared to her usual composed demeanor, her crumpled, miserable face is unsettling. “Bedrest is a nightmare. I’m exhausted from looking at the same walls over and over again! And don’t tell me I can go to the poker room, because James already suggested it. I’m sick of that, too.”