Page 37 of The Wedding Wrecker

Her cheeks brightened. “I…no.I’m not going to dignify that with an answer.”

I shrugged, glancing out the window and seeing we had reached our destination. Even though the bottom of the slopes were visible from Timber Ridge Resort, guests had to take buses to theparking lot with access to chair lifts. A couple other buses were already unloading guests in the parking lot, and I spotted the Wellington crew gathered and talking.

“This is us,” I said, tugging her up to her feet as I stood. “The Wellington’s are down there, so this touching is necessary, by the way.”

Emma reluctantly let me keep my arm around her as we scooted off the bus with a few other resort-goers dressed for a day on the snow.

“Here,” I said, stopping once we were off the shuttle.

It was colder and windier up here than it had been down at the resort, and I didn’t want her getting sick.

I reached into Emma’s front pocket where I’d stashed her gloves and hat. I pulled the hat down on her head while she watched me with murder in her eyes. Just to mess with her a bit, I also tucked the hair behind her ears and spent longer than necessary fiddling with the placement of the hat. I kept going until she finally swatted at me.

“Careful,” I said softly. “They could be watching. Wouldn’t want them to think there’s trouble in paradise. Might make them wonder if they chose the right woman to plan their wedding.”

“I hate you,” she mouthed.

“We both know that’s not true,” I said, taking her wrist and slipping one of the gloves on. “Warm enough?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “I feel like a penguin, though.”

“Good. All the extra padding will keep you safe if you fall.”

“Like you care.”

“Hey,” I said. “I enjoy messing with you, but I’m not going to let you get hurt. That’s rule number… ten. So long as I’m your fake boyfriend, I’m going to make sure no harm comes to that wonderful body of yours.”

I couldn’t see much of her face between the scarf I’d wrapped around her neck, the hat, and the goggles she’d pulled up, but I wondered if she was glaring or blushing.

I chose to imagine her blushing.

“Now come on,” I said. “Let’s go surprise the Wellingtons and let them know we’re joining them today.”

The ski area sprawled across the mountainside like a white canvas slashed through with winding, grooved trails. From the parking lot, I could see at least a dozen runs cutting through the trees, ranging from gentle slopes to what looked like near-vertical drops. A massive lodge dominated the base area, its windows reflecting the morning sun.

"Here goes," Emma said, nodding toward where the Wellingtons were gathering near the ski rental building. Beyond them, I could see what looked like the most beginner-friendly slope. It wasn’t quite a bunny slope, but it was pretty close, and the hill looked like it was covered in more children than snow. Further up, more challenging runs rose toward the peaks, where skilled skiers carved graceful paths down the mountain.

Dick spotted us first. "Well, well! If it isn't the love birds!" He elbowed his father. "Look what James dragged in."

The three guys I'd noticed earlier turned as one, like a boyband hitting their cue. Up close, they were even more obviously related—same jaw, same perfect teeth, same air of casual wealth.

"Theo Wellington," the dark-haired one said, extending his hand to Emma. "These are my brothers, Alex and Noah. Didn't expect to see you on the slopes today."

"Oh, I ski all the time," Emma said with obviously fake confidence. I felt her tense beside me. "Back in... San Francisco."

Alex's eyebrows rose. "Really? Where's your usual spot?"

"You know..." Emma waved vaguely at the mountains. "Around. Show me snow, and I’ll be there."

"Perfect," Dick cut in. "Then you won't mind joining us on Thunder Ridge after you warm up. Best run on the mountain."

I glanced where he pointed—it was obviously a much more advanced trail that looked more like a cliff than a ski run. Emma's grip on my arm tightened.

"Can't wait," she said weakly.

The rental process was an education in Emma's growing panic. She kept whispering questions like "Why are there so many buckles?" and "Are these things supposed to be so tight?" while trying to maintain her facade of expertise.

"Just follow my lead," I murmured, helping her waddle toward the safest slope. The Wellingtons were already taking the chair lifts much higher up the mountain, content to warm up on more advanced runs.

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