Page 180 of Going Viral for Christmas
I should’ve known Lena wouldn’t let it go after the last encounter when she cornered Ava and dripped those same venom-laced doubts into her ear.
I told Ava I loved her that night.
She didn’t say it back.
I’ve told myself it was just a matter of timing. Nerves. She wasoverwhelmed. But a part of me wonders if Lena’s doubt missiles hit their mark.
And now Lena’s back—reloading.
“I mean, your viral feud was fun while it lasted,” Lena purrs, voice dripping with rotten sugar. “The insults, the clips, the trends—you two were practically made for ShelfSpace. Was this the plan all along? Fake a rivalry, fake a romance, cash in the numbers?” Her smile cuts wider, cold and satisfied. “Because if that’s the case—bravo. Really. You’ve played the whole internet like a fiddle. But guess what?” She leans forward, like she’s about to share a secret. “I’m not buying it. And I’ll make damn sure nobody else does either.”
Tension pours off Ava. This is the type of moment where most people would fold, duck for cover. But she doesn’t move.
Lena sees it, and her smirk grinds like a jagged blade. “Let’s see what happens when this little charade burns to ash. I’m going to expose the truth to everyone. Soon, they’ll see what’sreallygoing on.”
The silence in the room thickens, weighted and ugly, until it’s begging to be broken.
So I fucking do.
I step forward, voice calm, eyes locked on Lena. “You know what’s funny?”
“Mmmm, what’s that?” Lena purrs.
“You strut in here acting like you’ve cracked some code, when really? You’ve missed the entire plot.”
Lena’s lips curl, her heavily lined eyes flashing challenge.
I don’t flinch. “If you think I need to fake-date Ava Bell to sell books or stay relevant, you clearly don’t know her. Or me.”
A ripple of nervous laughter breaks through the crowd, but I don’t take my eyes off Lena. I take another step closer, closing the space between us. She peers up at me, smirking.
“And here’s the real kicker—you call it fake, but I don’t need to pretend to want Ava Bell. Nor do I need a marketing plan to explain why I’m standing next to the most brilliant, infuriating, stunning woman I’ve ever met.”
Phones tilt up, cameras snapping.
I smile, wicked and deliberate. “So no, Lena. This isn’t somecarefully staged stunt. It’s me. Wanting her.” I point to Ava. “Choosing her. Every damn day.” I back up, arms open wide, until I’m next to Ava. “This is me falling in love with the woman I was supposed to hate. This is her seeing through every bullshit layer I’ve ever built and kissing me anyway. This,Lena, is real.”
I let that hang there. Let itland.
Lena’s painted-on smile doesn’t falter, but her eyes harden to tiny shards of glass. She moves toward us, the click of her heels like gunshots in the silence, and once she’s close, she leans in and says, “We’ll see.”
My smirk turns deadly. “That we will. And if that threatens your worldview or your follower count, that sounds like ayouproblem.”
The crowd bursts into applause. But all I’m watching is Ava. Her eyes. Her mouth. Her lips parting slightly, as if she’s forgetting how to breathe.
I hope to hell she knows?—
That wasn’t for the audience.
That was forher.
Later that evening, theBookmas Bashplunges into its nighttime phase. WithThe Great Interrogationnow safely in the rearview, thanks to an open bar, increased security, and Lena mysteriously developing laryngitis shortly after my speech.
Ava has traded the ridiculous sweater for a dress that cheats the room of oxygen—a short silk slip in a red so deep it drinks the light. Thin straps thread over her shoulders, the low back reveals the pale sweep of skin between her shoulder blades. The fabric doesn’t sit on her so much as melt into her, clinging to the curve of her hip and the soft swell of her thigh, catching the candlelight and turning it into molten lava.
Moonlight pools along the window and finds her as if it’s drawn by a compass, slipping across the silk, picking out the highlights of her hair, and slithering over the slope of her collarbone, making her every movelook like liquid. She walks like someone who knows exactly how the light will love her, a slow tide of silk and shadow.
My heart is so damn full at the sight of her, drenched in all that light—vulnerable and impossible and absolutely mine. Later, I think, I’ll show her exactly how much I love her, with a thousand kisses and even more licks.
