Page 53 of Fauxmance in the City

The shoot has mainly consisted of Max skating either by himself or with Gillian and Charles. I’ve been helping an intern set up the drink cart for the craft cocktail segment they’re filming next—gotta get that Catelyn Bloom content in wherever they can.

“Jealous?”

I jump at Max’s voice, nearly dropping the martini mixer in my hand.

“No.” I snap my eyes away from Sam and the assistant.

“Your stare looked like knives. Don’t you trust your husband?” Max leans over the edge of the rink. I’m fully aware we’re both mic’d and careful about what I say.

“It’s not that.” I study his eyes to gauge if he suspects the lie, but his face is neutral.

Tilting my head back, I look up through the bare trees at the heavy clouds soaring above. We’ve been here for over an hour. The crowded rink has thinned out as the sun hangs low in the sky. The temperature teeters on freezing.

“I’m sorry to interrupt.” A woman bundled in an ankle-length green coat sidles next to me. She holds a copy of my book, Living Simply Chic. “Do you mind signing my book?”

I smile wide and open the inside cover, scribbling my name.

“You don’t carry this with you at all times, do you?” I joke.

“Someone tweeted you were filming in the park, and I live a few blocks from here. I took the chance you’d still be here. I adore your recipes.”

After thanking me, she leaves, and Max puts his hand out over the low wall. “Karen wants us on the ice.”

I glance over, and Karen twirls her finger in a circle, indicating she wants me to take a spin around the rink.

“I want to get these drinks ready.”

“The intern can finish, and they have assistants to help.” Max waves his hands toward two young whippersnappers hovering nearby, ready to jump. Karen speaks to them on the walkie-talkies, and they take over. I lace up the skates from the pile they rented for the talent and crew. A gush of wind picks up my hair, and I shiver.

“I’m gonna fall on my ass,” I protest helplessly.

“Stop complaining,” Max says, and I blink. I’m not the only one in a dark mood. “Let’s just get it over with.”

“Are you okay?” I ask, annoyed.

“Fine.” He shrugs.

My ankles wobble when I step on the ice.

“Don’t let me fall,” I say over a weak breath.

“I won’t.” He grips my hand, but he’s distracted, and I don’t trust he’ll hold me steady.

Sam took me ice-skating once—he played ice hockey in college—and my heart softens at the memory, but I bat it into submission.

“Shouldn’t Sam join us?” I ask, wishing he were beside me instead of Max.

“Karen’s talking to him about it now.” Max moves my arm around his back and into his other hand, then he slides his free hand around my waist and pulls me into him,so we’re skating side by side, me tucked neatly into his ribs.

“Now, push off with your right foot.”

I do and wobble.

“Come on,” he says, frustration wrapping his words. “It’s not that hard.”

“I’m trying,” I say, my feet unsteady.

His fingers grip my obliques painfully.

---