A Very Merry Alpha Christmas

by Chance, Logan

  But then, I remember our deal and plaster on a fake smile, because, let’s be honest...the only way to put on a fake smile is to plaster it on. Right?

  I move closer, feigning interest. “Are you looking at dresses?”

  “Yes, and this one would look so perfect on you,” Lindsey says, pointing to a form fitting gown with a low back. “Mother knows the owner of Fantasy Dresses, Pierre Von Ludwig. Yes, the Pierre Von Ludwig. And he’s coming...here...today.” Her voice rises on each word.

  Eleanor taps away on her phone. “Yes, what’s your dress size? I’m texting him now.”

  I tell her my dress size, and then sit on the red wingback chair before my legs give out. Pierre is a legend in the wedding arena. Well, in the famous socialite wedding arena. He designs all the top dresses of all the top brides. Ugh, put it this way, I’m so out of my freaking league here.

  There’s no way Graham will let this happen. I just need to pretend until he reappears to fix this.

  A few hours later, it’s not fixed, and I stand in the middle of my room, wrapped all in white, looking like a bridal nightmare. That’s basically what I’m in right now. A nightmare.

  This just doesn’t feel right anymore.

  Flutes of champagne are passed around as everyone waits to see me in the dress Pierre has brought over. Pierre has basically brought the whole store with him. He says it’s because this will be the event of the century because I’m marrying one of the country’s most eligible bachelors. And I haven’t even been able to find that most eligible bachelor anywhere, let alone talk to him.

  Hopefully he’s planning our escape.

  I close my eyes and count to ten, taking a deep breath for good measure.

  It’s like a fairy tale gone rogue. How do I say I love the dresses and not actually have them purchase one?

  Lindsey and Eleanor sit like jurors in the high back chairs waiting to judge me in the next greatest creation of Pierre’s. And somehow, Trudy has managed to weasel her way in to this fashion show. She looks disgustingly pleased with the way each dress isn’t the right one.

  “You look like a giant snowball,” my mom says in regard to the silk organza mess of madness that I can’t even figure out how to sit in.

  Lindsey laughs a little, and Eleanor gives a dismissive shake of her head. “That’s not the one,” she says.

  Pierre prances over to his portable rack. “I have another.”

  Of course, he does. This is more than a ‘few’ dresses. I’m on my fifth fiasco. Each one more extravagant than the one before. If this were my real wedding, I’d want something simple and elegant, not full and frilly. But, no one listens to me.

  I step inside the bathroom with my mom as he hands me another dress.

  After mom zips me up, I study myself in the mirror of this makeshift dressing room. I twist and turn, admiring the dress from all angles. This dress is kind of perfect. It’s classy, with art deco beadwork on the bodice. Sometimes less is more, and the drop back ends in a tasteful v.

  “It’s stunning,” my mother says to me in the mirror. I can’t believe it’s me in the reflection. I really can’t.

  “Oh my,” Lindsey says, when I step out, her eyes shining with excitement.

  Eleanor rises from her chair with a smile on her face. “I think it’s perfect.” And then she does something I’m completely not expecting. She turns to Pierre, and says, “We’ll take this one.”

  “Wait,” I squeak out, but no one is listening to me. They’re all occupied with a little mini-chaotic party that just erupted the moment Mrs. Steele spoke her approval.

  Oh my God, she just bought this dress.

  I’m sure this dress is a small fortune, and it’s not a real wedding. I want to say something. I open my mouth to actually do it, until a knock at the door stops me.

  “Zoe, are you in there?” It’s Graham. Just the man I need to see.

  Lindsey hops up from her chair. “Don’t come in here. It’s bad luck.”

  Pierre and Eleanor hurry me back into the bathroom to change, and I do, as fast as possible. I need to talk to Graham. Now. Before I can get to him, the door to the bathroom opens and Trudy steps inside.

  “Listen,” she says in a low voice, “we need to talk.”

  “I can’t right now,” I say, trying to move around her.

  She blocks the door, leaning back against it. “If you marry him, my dad takes his resort.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There are things that have been in the works long before you came around.” She eyes me, coldly. “Do you want to be the reason he loses everything? It’s me or the resort. And if you tell him any of this, my father will move hard and swift to take control of it. So you need to stay as far away from him as possible.” Her words slide in my ears and go straight to my heart. “Let’s be real, you’re not one of us anyway.”

  “I can definitely see why he doesn’t like you,” I tell her, before nudging her out of the way. This is all fake, and it’s time to get out of the fantasy. No matter how much I want it, Graham and I will never be anything. And it’s time to end the charade.

  Chapter 11

  Graham

  “You can’t go in there. It’s bad luck to see the bride in her dress before the wedding,” Lindsey chastises me as she slips out the door of Zoe’s room.

  Fuck, a dress?

  I need to put a stop to all of this, but I don’t even know where to begin. I can’t believe how on board with this wedding my mother is.

  “Ok. Ok,” I grab her arm to pull her away from the door, “Lindsey, I have to tell you something.”

  I’m pretty sure it’s shock that freezes her face as I blurt out all my lies, everything Zoe and I have been keeping secret. She looks like she’s watching a train wreck happen right before her eyes. And that’s how I feel about my life right now—it’s one giant train wreck.

  “Well, shit,” she says, after I finish telling her everything.

  “That’s your best sisterly advice? How do I tell Mom?”

  She shakes her head. “I can’t believe you’re so blind.”

  I run a hand through my thick hair. “What?”

  “She loves you.”

  “Who?” Is she talking about Mom?

  “Zoe.” She places her hands on her hips, her eyes shooting bullets at me. “And you need to stop being an idiot.”

  “No, she’s not. Trust me.” No, Zoe is doing this for a soap deal. And I don’t blame her.

  “I know love, and she’s got it. And so, do you.”

  “I do not,” I scoff.

  Her brow rises, and her hands stay firmly rooted to her hips.

  “I’m not in love.” I raise a brow back. “I’m not.” Right? I mean, Zoe is great—really fucking great—and I’d love to date her and all, but...

  I don’t long-term date. Ever. My life is simple, easy, it’s the making of my own design. And I like things the way I like them. I wouldn’t call me stubborn, but I’m definitely not one to go and fall in love.

  Yet, Zoe just fucking does something to me, like makes my heart beat this whole new rhythm. If there was anyone who could get me to hang up my bachelor suit and tie, it would be her. She’d be the one I’d settle down with, but again…

  I’m not in love.

  Lindsey nudges me. “Are you still sure you’re not in love?”

  I scowl at her. “It doesn’t matter.” Because Zoe doesn’t love me.

  “You need to just come out and be honest with mom.” She grabs my arm. “But, you need to be honest with yourself first.”

  I kiss her cheek. “Thanks.” For whatever that advice meant. Be honest with myself? Sure.

  The door opens, and Zoe stands before me looking like a vision in her ivory sweater and jeans.

  “Zoe, I’m sorry.” I step inside and Trudy brushes past, leaving the room. Good. “Everyone—“

  “Graham,” Zoe cuts me off, “we have to end this.”

  “I know,” I whisper.

&nb
sp; She looks around at the curious faces assembled. “We’re not really engaged,” she blurts out, and my mouth is drier than. And then she confesses to everything, including being the mall elf. “I’m really sorry about that,” she says to Lindsey.

  My mother stands statue still in the center of the room. “I don’t understand. So, you’re not getting married?”

  “Mom, I’m sorry,” I say, feeling a pit of sadness forming in the middle of my chest. “I can explain.” I step closer to my mother, trying my best to get control of the situation.

  “So, no dress?” the skinny man in a fedora, holding a white gown in his hands, asks.

  “Pierre, not now,” my mother snaps. “Explain, Graham.”

  Before I can say anything, Zoe rushes past me with her mother in tow.

  “Wait, Zoe,” I say, following her out the door. I touch her arm. “I want to see you again.”

  She shakes her head. “No, I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s just too complicated.”

  “What’s complicated?” I drop my hand from her arm as she steps further away. My mind can’t process what exactly is going on. I know I just want to see this girl again. A lot.

  “Just let me go, please?”

  I hate this idea. I hate every word flying out of her mouth. “Is that really what you want?”

  “Yes.”

  “But…” I slide my hands in my pockets to keep them from holding on to her. “You’re sure?”

  “Yes.” She tilts her head up, shoulders back and smiles. “I am.” She quietly removes her ring and slips it in my pocket. And then her and her mother take off.

  I want to chase after her, my feet beg me too, but I do the right thing and let her go.

  Chapter 12

  Zoe

  Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Do not shed one single tear. The stars come into view out the window as I gaze up, trying my best to stop the tears. We've been driving for what feels like hours now, and I can't wait to get home. The scenery passes by in a blur and I wish I could just erase the last few days.

  This is all my fault. Waltzing around that room, dolled up in white, pretending to be the doting fiancée of Graham Steele, I enjoyed it. I wanted it. I should have said no to his offer. I shouldn’t have let my dreams of becoming the soap queen of Colorado overcome my sense of right and wrong. More importantly, I shouldn’t have developed feelings for him.

  I mean, so what if I would have lost the Mountain Goat Resort account? It’s not like I had any accounts to measure it with.

  “They just live different lives than us,” my mother rambles on in an attempt to make me feel better. “They just use people for their own silly games.” She drives us down the mountain, away from my fake family. Away from Graham.

  It’s late, I’m tired. And I can’t stop thinking about the way he asked if I was sure. Like I had any other choice. I force the tears away as my mother continues to lecture while I watch the trees pass us by. It's like watching my life pass me by.

  The one time I decide to pave my own way—to make things happen and head my life into a new direction—something like this happens. The only person I can really blame is myself, though.

  By the time we get home, I’m too emotionally exhausted to do anything but fall into bed and hide under my covers.

  I spend the next day, Christmas Eve, at my mom’s moping and listening to “Blue Christmas.” Part of me, I realize, thought when this ended, maybe Graham and I might actually be something. It felt like we had one of those connections you read about and hope you find. Trudy effectively erased that idea, though. I would never jeopardize his resort for my own selfish happiness. That night, I send a little Christmas wish out that I won’t miss him more than I already do, because that might break me, and then I go to bed the same way I woke up—moping.

  Thankfully, there’s something magical about waking up Christmas morning. And when I wake, I try to pretend the whole mess never happened. I traipse downstairs with the spirit of Christmas propelling me forward. I’ll be jolly today, if it kills me.

  My mother is already doing our own Christmas tradition of blueberry pancakes and coffee. Lots and lots of coffee.

  “Morning,” I grumble as I pour myself a mug of Christmas bliss. Think I can say Christmas anymore times?

  I wonder if I say Christmas more, if it will make the pain of losing Graham go away? It can’t hurt to try.

  So, I grab my mug of Christmas coffee, and sit my Christmas ass on the Christmas stool at the Christmas bar.

  It’s not working.

  Is it even worse I checked my phone this morning in the hopes he may have called? I know, sad and Christmas pathetic.

  “I figured I’d make a big breakfast and then maybe we can cuddle on the couch and watch Christmas movies?”

  See. This is why I don’t need a big family. All I need is my mother. “Sounds perfect.”

  And that’s just what we do. We spend the afternoon watching movies and drinking hot coffee, until I get a call I never expected.

  * * *

  I know it’s controversial, but I love pumpkin spice. Like hook it to an IV and pop it into my veins. Yum. Today, however, sitting in Baked Beans, the corner coffee shop, listening to a Bon Iver song playing through the speakers while nervously tapping my foot to the beat, I can’t taste my pumpkin spice latte at all. My taste buds have shut down from pure nervousness, and I’m just going through the motions. I’m so nervous, I’m sweating. I tug my coat off as I wait, hoping I don't look as nervous as I feel. It's been a few days since Christmas, and I'm sorry to report, I still miss Graham. It’s like a gentle tug at my mind, he’s always there, following me around throughout my days. I can’t seem to get over it. And I don’t know if I even want to.

  “Thanks for meeting me,” Lindsey says, sliding into the booth.

  “Sure, of course. I was surprised to hear from you.” I take a sip, to busy my hands, letting the burn from my tasteless coffee calm my nerves. When she called and said she needed to meet with me, I was shocked to say the least. I’m assuming it’s about Graham.

  “I didn’t bring you here to rehash what happened with my brother.” Well, that’s what I get for assuming. Lindsey’s expression is unreadable as she remains quiet, peering at me from over her coffee cup.

  “I appreciate that,” I lie, a little disappointed it wasn’t about how he’s pining over me too.

  “I don’t know if Graham ever told you, but I’m one of the VPs over at LGC.”

  “The shopping channel?” I ask her.

  “Yes.” She leans forward, like she has a very important secret for me to hear. “Those soaps you gave me for the kids cleared them right up.” She snaps her finger. “They’re amazing, and I’d like to offer you a contract with us over at LGC.”

  My whole world gets turned upside down with just those words. I’m at a complete loss of what to say, but nod, knowing my soap dreams are coming true.

  “Yes,” I finally agree after about a minute of awkward nodding and smiling. She must think I’m crazy. Maybe I am.

  I can’t wait to tell Graham. And that thought right there knocks me straight out of my happy-fest. There will be no sharing excitement with him.

  Lindsey goes over important details while I try desperately to listen and not ask any questions about Graham. It’s nearly impossible, but somehow, I manage.

  “I’ll be calling you after the New Year to plan a meeting,” Lindsey says, once everything is squared away. “I have to run and get the girls.”

  I hug her, thanking her profusely before saying goodbye. As she leaves, I resist the urge to stop her and ask for one little something about Graham, because as great as this is, I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel a little hollow.

  Chapter 13

  Zoe

  One month later

  “Have you met Logan Chance?” Hope, the host of “Holidays with Hope,” asks me as the stylist for LGC flatirons her wavy blonde hair
into silk. Tonight, I’m her guest for thirty minutes, showcasing all of my soaps. To say I’m nervous is an understatement.

  “The owner of this channel? No, not yet. What’s he like?”

  “He’s a great guy. It’s funny, he became addicted to a shopping channel and decided one day to buy it. And that’s how LGC was created.”

  “Ah. Where does the ‘G’ come from?” I ask, adjusting the red bow tying my shirt together.

  “Graham Steele, you must know him. He’s the other owner.”

  Just the mention of his name, sets my heart racing. To say I’m not sad about the fact I haven’t seen or heard from Graham would be a lie.

  His purchaser, Mark, held up Graham’s end of our bargain, even though I never would have expected that, and I’m currently in production to have my soaps in every cabin of Mountain Goat Resort. I debated whether to accept, but in the end, Mark convinced me by saying Graham really wanted the deal. It feels flat somehow.

  “Oh, I didn’t know that,” I finally respond. “I know his sister is a VP. That’s who offered me the deal.”

  The producer of the show calls us on set, and everything is pushed out of mind except for the fact I’m about to be on television.

  “We’re going to sell the fuck out of your soap,” she assures me, rising from the makeup chair.

  “Let’s hope.” I laugh. “No pun intended.”

  She cringes, slightly. “Honey, you just leave the funny stuff to me.”

  I follow her on set, unable to believe I’m really here. Ever have your life happen in a whir of commotion? That’s how the past month has been. Busy on top of busy, getting ready for LGC to run a Valentine’s Day promotional preorder for my soaps. We have a seat on the white, comfy couch, and I smooth down my black skirt, and take a deep breath.