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The picture Samantha showed me backstage didn’t do Chris justice. Not by a mile. Tall, handsome, and —if the snug fit of his jacket around his biceps is any indication— no stranger to the gym.
Hell, the man is striking. He could easily be one of the sexy, rich celebrity grooms whose wedding planner has my boss, Veronica, on speed dial. The kind of guy who walks down the aisle with a bombshell gorgeous enough to be a cover model.
Not the kind of guy who gives me a second glance. Except he is. He’s studying me closely, and, if the flare of heat in his eyes is a sign, he likes what he sees. It must be the professional hair and makeup, plus an outfit I could never afford on my salary.
But no matter how much I long to sink into his piercing green eyes, I can’t because Ashley turns back to the camera.
“Now, if you’ve been tuning in all week, you’re probably like me and very much looking forward to this next part of the segment… where Cassie and Chris will complete a Valentine’s themed challenge.”
My jaw drops. No one said anything about a challenge.
What is this? A reality TV show?
Actually, I guess it is.
Live.
With millions of people watching.
My head snaps toward her and Chris, at my side, shoots a questioning glance in my direction. He doesn’t seem ruffled by the news of a challenge, but of course, he was probably informed of every detail of this morning’s events for more than five seconds. Unlike me.
“So far this week, you’ll recall, our couples have crafted handmade Valentines, created a flower arrangement together— too bad you weren’t here that day, Cassie, you would’ve been perfect.”
I force a smile despite the unease turning my stomach.
“But today we’re in for a sweet treat. Cassie and Chris are going to be decorating heart-shaped sugar cookies together. Why don’t each of you grab those aprons that are coming out now for you and let’s get started.”
I reach for the pink apron a stagehand holds out for me, but it slips through my fingers and falls to the floor.
Chris bends to retrieve it at the same time I reach down. Then, before I know it, he rises and clocks me right on the forehead with the back of his head.
“Ow!” I stand, palm pressed to my forehead as if smacking myself for saying something stupid, and stumble backward a few steps.
“I’m so sorry. Are you all right?” Chris steadies me with a hand on my elbow and steps close, his expression so concerned you’d have thought I was bleeding from the head.
“I’m fine,” I insist automatically, despite the throbbing pain.
“Here, let me see.” He reaches up to gently lift my hand away and examines the spot on my forehead.
I glance down as an embarrassed flush climbs my neck.
Only me— and on live TV. I wish the earth would swallow me up.
“Look into my eyes.” His voice is quiet, but commanding. And reassuring.
I meet his gaze, and everything around us falls away to the periphery of my vision. And my mind.
“I’m fine, really,” I breathe.
His thumb gingerly brushes the spot on my head, stroking back and forth as he stares into my eyes
“If you start to feel a headache, or dizzy, let me know.”
“It was just a little bump.”
“Good thing it wasn’t lower, or you could’ve ended up with a broken nose.”
“Blood would not go with this outfit.”
