Page 93 of Prime Time Romance

“Heels like this should be illegal,” Luce whispers as she chassés around me. “I considered taking them off, but with the looks Poppy keeps giving me, I feel oddly comforted by having two weapons strapped to my feet.”

Poppy shoots Luce a seething glare, as if she can tell from the other side of the stage that we’re talking about her.

One of the other contestants gets confused and thinks she is the object of Poppy’s wrath. She freezes in terror mid-chaîné turn, and the contestants behind her pile up like crashing dominoes.

There are sequins flying everywhere. A few screams. Some crying.

I sit down on one of the crates covered in decorative sparkly lobsters, welcoming the temporary break as everyone gets back on their feet.

Luce plops down beside me, removing one of her shoes. “Forget what I said. These things need to come off. I forgot being a beauty queen was so painful. I’m gonna need a whole lotta wine tomorrow. The sequins of my dress cut my underarms so badly that I have to hold my arms in a permanent port de bras.” She mocks Poppy’s French accent. “I can’t believe you signed me up for this.”

My head whips toward her. “You told me you wanted to enter.”

She laughs, knocking me with her elbow. “That was a joke. And yes, I enjoy willfully submitting to torture.” She leans back on her elbows and sighs. I find myself scanning her face, looking for any signs of last night’s trauma. She catches me doing it and rolls her eyes.

“I told you, I’m absolutely fine.”

She’s caught me doing this twice already. “Are you sure?”

She nods. “I’m a little tired and very embarrassed. I made a really stupid call.”

She did. And so did Spencer. And in typical Carson’s Cove fashion, the town has woken up as if nothing major happened. Even Main Street, with its perfect flower boxes, looks as if the events of last night’s storm are a distant memory.

“Ladies!” Poppy claps her hands. “Let’s take five. A few of you need some touch-ups.” She circles her face with her hand.

“Sloan.” She holds up her arm and beckons me with her fingers. “Come. I need to discuss something with you.”

I get to my feet with a groan.

Luce nudges one of her heels with her bare toe. “Just holler if you need backup. I got you.”

I laugh until I catch sight of Poppy watching us, and her expression makes me want to ask Luce if she doesn’t mind coming with me—just in case.

As I cross the stage, Poppy disappears into the wing. I follow her, and when I get close enough to talk, she grabs me by the wrist and pulls me into a dark corner.

“Why are you all, like, buddy-buddy with her?” Poppy’s tone is clipped.

I know exactly who she’s referring to, but try to play cool. “Who? Luce?”

“Uh, yes, Luce. I keep catching the two of you whispering.”

“We’re just talking—”

“No.” Poppy shakes her head. “We’re not going there. It’s not Luce and Sloan. It’s Poppy and Sloan. It’s always been Poppy and Sloan and it will always be Poppy and Sloan. Right?”

I open my mouth to argue, but the curtain of the wing begins to move and a man steps out from behind it.

Sheldon.

He has a black headset on and is carrying a clipboard as if he’s a stagehand.

I hate this.

All of it.

But a deal is a deal.

And I’m a woman of my word.