Page 21 of Just for December

‘God,’ Duke says. ‘The way you say that is enough to tempt me, too. It’s erotic, the way you talk aboutKnoblauch.’

‘Don’t mock me,’ Evie warns. ‘Not when there’s food involved.’

They meander through the crowds some more, making idle chit-chat until Evie forgets once again that this is all manufactured, all just for show. In a strange way it’s actually fun, looking at the little stalls selling salt lamps and decorations, traditional treats and wooden games. In fact, she can’t remember the last time she did something like this – wore lipstick, laughed with a man. Her last date was years ago, real or fake. She’d thought she’d been fine with that, but there’s a stirring in her lower pelvis, an awakening.

‘Oh my God, look!’ she cries, pointing at a merry-go-round. ‘It’s so cheesy.’ She chuckles. ‘Shall we? I can just imagine – getting our photo taken as we giggle with glee on a merry-go-round, leaning in to whisper sweet nothings … Makes it almost worth it, getting to bethatabsurd.’

Duke cocks his head at her, like he’s trying to find where her tone lands on a scale of one to sarcastic.

‘I mean, I’m game if you are,’ he says, slowly, and Evie nods.

‘I’m not joking,’ she insists. ‘Merry-go-round! Merry-go-round!’ She claps her hands with the rhythm of the words. They pay for tickets and wait for their turn in companionable-enough silence. If it was a real date Evie would wonder if she should fill it, but as it goes she isn’t actually trying to impress Duke, so when the conversation naturally ebbs, she doesn’t force the flow. They shuffle forwards, and then suddenly she feels something land on her cheek.

‘Duke,’ she says. ‘I think I just felt snow!’

They both look up to the sky.

‘I did! Look!’ she squeals, holding out a mittened hand to reveal the tiniest snowflake. ‘This is incredible. I can’tbelieve this. Like, is the crew here trying to make this as much of a Christmas cliché as possible?’ She tips her head back then, cackling. She might be high on the saturated fat of all those snacks, or it might just be that she’s got no choice but to lean into the production of it all. She’s trying to trick literally the whole world into thinking this Adonis of a man is sleeping with her so that she can sell the film rights to some of her other books and what? Take some time off to relive it all as one psychotic dream? She hasn’t filled Magda in yet, but when she does, Evie knows she’s going to FREAK. OUT. This doesn’t happen to people like them. Even Evie, the crowned Queen of Cynicism, can admit that this is awesome.

‘We’re up,’ says Duke, pointing to where the man in charge has opened the gateway to let them through.

‘You should sit on the pink one.’ Evie giggles. ‘What did you say in that meeting? That “dating” me would make you seem down-to-earth? Well, what says mere civilian like sitting on a pink pony?’

Duke frowns and then hoists a leg over a unicorn-esque horse in shades of ruby glitter. It’s far down to the ground, having stopped on a ‘down’ instead of an ‘up’, so he has to tilt his chin to look at Evie, and it takes her aback, when he does so, how vulnerable he seems.

‘You look absurd,’ Evie tells him, happily.

‘I’m very aware of that,’ Duke grumbles back. ‘Thank you.’

The ride begins.

‘If we are being papped, they’d better be getting my good angles!’ yells Evie over the din of the fairground music.

‘What good angles?’ Duke shoots back, and it takes Evieby surprise. He’s good at keeping her at arm’s length, but Duke is seldom outright mean.

‘You’re insufferable,’ she says, shaking her head. She doesn’t need an actor reminding her of her plainness. ‘And also, you might look good on camera but in real life you’ve got a very unnerving nose, so you’re no oil painting either, buddy.’

Duke raises his eyebrows, opens his mouth, and then snaps it shut. They don’t talk after that, and Evie enjoys the ride, the wind lightly in her hair, the lights blurring as she lets her focus soften.

‘I’ve had enough now,’ Duke says, when it’s done.

‘Oh …’ replies Evie, struggling to hide her disappointment.

Duke laughs.

‘What?’ she asks.

‘Nothing.’ He shakes his head and does something with his brow – crumples it, like he’s very tired.

‘No, go on – what?’ Evie presses.

‘I was just thinking,’ Duke tells her, ‘that maybe you’ve missed your calling. You’re a good actress. You almost sounded genuinely upset to be going home just then.’

Evie is stunned. He’s being mean, again, and it’s clear that earlier wasn’t a one-off when he was cruel about her looks. He actually doesn’t like her, really does think he’s better than her.

‘Fine,’ she says. ‘Go home. I’m going to do one more turn around the fair. Have a good night,’ she snaps, sauntering off.

He’s a pig,she thinks to herself, meandering through the crowds.He’s got no idea how he makes other people feel, the self-centred dweeb.

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