Page 76 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

Worse, Harry has been giving me knowing looks for the past two days, but he refuses to tell me anything. Admittedly, I haven’t gotten a good chance to try to pry anything out of him. Yesterday, we all went to a chocolate factory, which sounds amazing, but Nana Mayberry convinced me to wear a white dress, of all things, saying I’d look like an “ethereal snow angel.” If I’d known about the chocolate, I would have refused, but she didn’t tip me off. So I only got to try a few non-messy things, although Jonah kept offering to feed me every thirty seconds. Two of the other guys, Quinn and Ray, got into a lengthy discussion about the subpar quality of the cocoa beans.

The cameras kept following me around, obviously hoping to catch some act of physical affection on tape, but I couldn’t bring myself to act my part. I kept seeing the look on Rowan’s face when he told me that if we really did this, if we really had sex, he couldn’t bear to watch me flirt with the guys.

He’s not here. He walked away from me. But even so…

“I have eyes,” Tina continues, gesturing to Marcus in a way that is sure to attract the attention of every single person in the room. I’m still getting used to her overenthusiastic physical gestures. She claims it’s because she’s Italian American and was taught to communicate in hand gestures before she learned to speak. “You definitely can’t send him home, Kennedy.”

“I like your eyes,” Zach says to Tina. “You have fine eyes.”

“Fine?” Tina quips. “As in adequate?”

“I meant it in the Regency sense.”

They’ve been on a Regency and Victorian movie kick since they run the Highland Hills branch of Tea of Fortune, and Tina has become obsessed with stories that include tea service and high tea.

“Well, my fine eyes have informed me that Marcus over there has a nice ass,” Tina says.

“It’s not him,” I blurt, without having meant to say anything.

The look of excitement on Tina’s face—and dourness on my brother’s—tells me what a big mistake I’ve made. Crap.

“Colton?” she asks, tipping her head. “He has a certainI’m a bankersomething.” Zach’s glower deepens. “Or maybe.” She snaps her fingers once. Twice. Makes a face. “Eh, I’m hazy on the others’ names.”

“Tell me it’s not Jonah,” Zach says, taking a gulp of his champagne. “For the love of Christ, tell me it’s not Jonah.”

I can practically feel the camera narrowing in on me, and my stomach feels sick. I was so looking forward to talking to Tina and Zach, to unburdening myself to them, but I can’t tell them anything real, because whatever I say will eventually end up on millions of television screens.

“Jonah has really nice hair,” I say flatly, recycling the line I used with Meathead.

“You know what, he really does,” Tina says, nodding adamantly. “I’d already decided to ask him about his conditioner.”

“You’re not going to ask him about his conditioner, Tina,” Zach says with a scowl. “It’s probably made out of the tears of virgins.”

Tina snorts. “Your sister’s almost thirty. She’s not a virgin. She’s safe from becoming part of Jonah’s conditioner.”

“Jonah claimshe’sa virgin,” I interject, unable to help myself.

Zach chokes on the champagne he was downing but still manages to empty the glass. A production assistant hustles over with a silver tray to collect it and gives him a replacement. Zach takes it so quickly he almost knocks the tray over. Something sparks in Tina’s eyes, and she gestures for the PA to come closer. The production assistant looks like a cornered fly, but he takes a couple of steps toward her.

“I need some privacy with my future sister-in-law,” Tina says in an undertone. “She has a surprise visitor.”

“Oh, did they bring in Phillip?” the guy asks with interest. “I heard he refused.”

Zach swears under his breath at the mention of our brother. Of course Phillip refused. He’s our father’s second-in-command, and my father’s made it very clear that he is displeased with me and my refusal to walk the line that’s been painted for me.

“No, not that kind of visitor,” Tina says with another overeffusive wave of her hand. “The kind that comes once a month and ruins very expensive gowns.” She gestures to my blue silk dress. “You can see our predicament. Luckily, I always walk around with tampons in my purse. Never go anywhere without at least six, so I got her covered. We just need some alone time to get her all settled and ready to come back. But you canunderstand why we wouldn’t want to get all that on camera. Men can be a little squeamish when it comes to blood.”

Zach looks like he’s on the verge of laughing. But the PA, who doesn’t know it’s a ruse, looks liable to pass out.

He glances at the cameraman, as if hoping the other guy will bail him out, then returns his gaze to us. “B-b-by all means. It’s just…we were going to do some thirty-second waltzes in a few minutes, so try to come back quickly.”

“What the fuck is a thirty-second waltz?” asks Zach, whose look of horror is back.

“It’s a thirty-second waltz,” the PA says slowly, as if my brother’s a fool.

“Isn’t a waltz, by definition, longer than—”

Tina grabs my hands and waltzes me to the door.

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