Their Christmas to Remember

by Amalie Berlin

  “You know, we still have time for loads of amazing sex before you leave New York.” He swung his coat on and fished out the keys but grinned at her.

  “What about your brother?”

  “I’m not inviting him to the amazing sex parties,” he announced, probably too loudly in the little apartment. “He’s so boring, and I’m greedy. I don’t share.”

  She just shook her head and gave him a good-natured shove toward the door.

  “Okay, then. Goodnight.”

  He snagged her by the waist for another kiss before she shoved him out and gave her a brief lecture about engaging all the locks and making certain her windows were locked up too. Then stayed outside her door until he heard four distinct clicks and the chain slide into place.

  * * *

  The next evening, Angel eased into the front seat of Wolfe’s fancy car and arranged her gown for least wrinkling, making all efforts to be as presentable as possible for her first ball. Which had included an earlier trip to the salon for hairstyling and professionally applied make-up.

  Professional make-up had been necessary after she’d lain awake half the night, trying to figure out what to do, what she could stand doing. What she could risk for him. Make-up gave an extra bit of courage in the form of under-eye concealer.

  She glanced his way, watching him steer and shift. Watching his legs move beneath the kilt. Because he’d gone and done it, worn a kilt with a black tie and jacket. Probably to torture her and every other human who got a sexy thrill from a good tartan above manly, muscled legs.

  “You’re quiet,” he said, giving her an excuse to look at him, and the legs, which made her once again regret having asked him to go last night.

  “I’m nervous,” she admitted, but didn’t explain that the ball wasn’t even the biggest chunk of her nerves right now. She’d terrified herself with her intent.

  “Afraid you’re going to lose control and attack me on the dance floor?” he teased, then looked at her and sobered. “There’ll be no breakables worth worrying about. Really.”

  The breakables weren’t the only thing to be nervous about tonight. After their fight, he’d gone out of his way to try and make things right between them. Twice, actually, and there was just no way around that for her. He’d made her feel important to him. And every time she’d shown him a glimpse of what she kept hidden, he still hadn’t turned her away. He truly seemed to want to know, and not in a way that made her heart jackrabbit against her ribs.

  But his manly muscled legs did enough of that.

  He’d said he’d miss her and had clearly not meant to say it, the best kind of confession. Spontaneous truth was better than any specially crafted sentiment. It made her want to be real with him. She’d labored over the decision half the night because she’d finally accepted she loved him, and if she went to Atlanta, it wasn’t New York or her job that she’d miss. She’d mourn the loss of him. But the only way she could stay would be to risk him knowing and rejecting. Tell him the truth.

  All of it.

  His reaction would make the decision for her, whether she should go or if she could try to stay.

  He pulled up in front of the towering hotel where Sutcliffe’s annual winter charity ball was hosted, but, before he got out, reached behind his seat to retrieve a lovely box wrapped in blue paper and silver ribbon, smile on his face.

  “While we wait for the valet, I got you something.”

  Her belly did an excited little flip. He’d bought her a gift? “What is it?”

  “The only Christmas gift I’m giving this year,” he said, and two thoughts popped into her head.

  Don’t read too much into it.

  And, I didn’t get him a gift.

  “Why?”

  “Because I wanted to.” He waited for her to open it.

  The idea of packages—man, she loved getting packages. Online shopping was pretty much the only reason she got packages these days, but they still thrilled her. So much, she felt the need to dawdle, to drag out tearing into the paper, even if that was a foot into the conversation she’d planned.

  Those nervous belly critters sprang to life again and she continued the delay, just so she had a second to breathe first. “It’s not Christmas yet.”

  “I know.” He watched her with steadiness, but fidgeted with the button on the gear shift, giving himself away. He was nervous too. Trying not to make it too big a deal, but unable to completely hide how excited he was to have her open it.

  It was that flash of little-boy excitement that evaporated her own fears. She pulled the silver ribbon and lifted the lid.

  Inside, nestled in matching silver tissue paper, sat the beaded peacock handbag. The grotesquely expensive handbag that made her heart thud like a little materialistic consumer.

  “Wolfe...”

  “That’s the one, right?”

  She nodded her answer, mouth too busy for that one word. “How did you find it? I didn’t tell you what shop it was at.”

  Gingerly, she lifted it free and opened the delicate silver clasp to peer into the deep sapphire lining within. Probably handmade. And that lining looked like silk... The most beautiful thing she’d ever seen up close, and it was hers.

  “It wasn’t that hard. Don’t be too impressed.” He took her chin and leaned over to give her the smallest kiss. “It matches your dress. Shop lady knew what she was about.”

  Her throat thickened, and she was momentarily glad for the confines of the car. The burning in her eyes said she’d probably have thrown herself into his arms and cried like an idiot if she’d been able to move.

  “Thank you.” The words were pale in comparison to what she actually felt, stand-in words for emotion she didn’t have a name for. This wasn’t a pity gift. Not a box of canned vegetables left on her stoop by the ladies’ group at the local church. Not something she’d picked up for herself. And it was better because of him, because he’d cared enough to go out and find it for her, no matter what he said.

  The valet approached, leaving her precious little time to transfer her cell and keys from the little pouch she’d stashed in his car into the bag.

  The door opened, and she climbed out to find Wolfe there, spectacular in his kilt, and had to shake her head again. “Blue and red tartan—we kind of match.”

  His brows popped up and the grin he gave her set her innards jiggling, but then his elbow came out to escort.

  The building was an art deco masterpiece, as New York as was possible to be in her mind. Fluid geometry and graceful designs in black, gold and a deep, warm ochre that tracked patterns across the lobby, past the tree-shaped conical poinsettia displays.

  There would definitely be things she could break here, and never be able to pay back.

  “Don’t panic,” he murmured, quietly enough that only she would hear as he led them in the direction the signs pointed, laying his free hand over the one she clutched at his elbow with.

  “I’m all right,” she answered, then smiled up at him so he’d see the truth. “I am. I’m not sure why, but it was just a fleeting thought.”

  But one he’d somehow heard, or just knew enough about her now to suspect. Knew enough and still came with her. Still gave her a beautiful present. Everything would be all right.

  They’d gotten there early enough for the short video they broadcast for the kids, and a few awkward snapshots she wanted to believe wouldn’t look completely hokey and sent to her feed without dwelling on how adoringly she looked at him in every image.

  Inside the ballroom, it was all twinkling lights, champagne towers and music. Checkerboard tiles on the perimeter of the floor gave way to an intricate floral design in the center, where people danced. No, where they waltzed. This was the kind of gathering where you were expected to know a particular dance, not just hold on and sway.

  “You’re quiet,” he said, leading
her to a table and urging her down there.

  “I’m a little overwhelmed.”

  “No reason for that.” He sounded so confident. Not at all worried, but then he didn’t know the words she was about to drag out of her guts.

  She opened her mouth to say something, but her voice caught. Rasped. Sounded pained. She coughed. “I thought we could talk about something.”

  He held up one finger. “Hold that thought. I’ll get drinks.”

  “I want to tell you something,” she said to the air, watching his back and his broad shoulders as he made his way to the bar, then said the words to herself, under her breath. Practice, even though she’d practiced in her mind all day, unable to say them out loud.

  “I want to tell you about my family.”

  Want wasn’t the right word. She really didn’t want to tell him these things. She’d like to continue never speaking about it all. Need was the word she was looking for.

  No one else paid her any mind; she tried again, repeating a whispered confession in a room of dazzling twinkle lights and music that rose goosebumps over her flesh.

  “I have a criminal record,” she whispered to herself again.

  Then, “I went to jail.”

  He would accept her. He had to accept her. This strange, powerful lifting in her chest was the reason people took chances with their hearts.

  It might also be the reason people threw up on their dates...

  A deep, fortifying breath, and she let herself watch the manly swagger of his return, wine glass in each hand, sucked in by the twinkle in his eyes as he handed the glass to her. “I will cut you off if you start shouting.”

  “I’m not angry.” No, she was terrified. If she got loud right now, it’d more likely be one of those horror-movie screams that made the dog’s ears bleed.

  She took a sip of the rosé, traced her fingertips over the swirls of beading on the peacock bag he’d given her, summoning her courage.

  The clutch meant he cared. There was no reason to search it out except to make her happy. Maybe he even felt this Christmas could be different, something special for them both, and make up for a lifetime of disappointment and heartbreak.

  Worry must’ve been painted on her face, because he leaned in and kissed her cheek while placing his large, strong hand over hers tracing the beadwork. “You had something on your mind, remember?”

  Gentle voice. Tender touch. Sweet eyes.

  She leaned to place the pretty, mostly full glass in the center of the table, where she couldn’t accidentally break it, then turned her hand over and clasped his. The quivering of her belly turning into a small earthquake tremor, but she said anyway, “I need to tell you something.”

  Either he felt her shaking, or she looked too serious. The playful light in his eyes dimmed, and after he looked at their joined hands, met her gaze again. No words passed his lips, he didn’t nod his head or give any indication whether he wanted her to continue, he just held her gaze—his brow firming in a way that made clear he was listening.

  “About my family.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THE MOMENT ANGEL announced a need to confess whatever her family secret was, Wolfe got a strange kind of tunnel vision. He could hear the music, tasteful and loud enough to make their conversation private, but the emotion suddenly twisting his guts into knots was impossible to mistake for anything but fear.

  Which made no sense. He wanted to know about her because he wanted to help, but the gravity of whatever she was about to share with him that hurt her every day came into sharp focus. Knowing was a responsibility. She needed him to say the right things to whatever she shared. God help him, he wanted that too, but already knew he was going to mess it up. He always messed it up.

  The wine in his stomach soured. If he didn’t get up and move around, he might get sick.

  “Let’s go find somewhere else to talk.” A foolish request, a way to claim a little more time to think, to prepare himself. “Don’t you want to go somewhere private? We could just leave. I mean, we’ve done our appearance. Let’s say good evening to Alberts, then just get out of here.”

  “You don’t want to dance? I thought that was why you wanted a date.” The bewildered look in her eyes and the fear blooming behind it stilled his flight. She wanted to be there in a way, she’d gotten dressed up and truly was just the loveliest woman under normal circumstances, but in that dress, with her silky, dark hair swept to the side and that sapphire lace, a neckline that seemed built to draw attention to her pale, freckled shoulders and delicate collarbone... She was exquisite. She should get to enjoy it.

  “Dance, then,” he agreed, because it gave him another moment. He rose and offered a hand, immediately sweeping her onto the dance floor. At least there he could get an arm around her waist and hold her closer than was generally socially acceptable, and that helped his sudden nerves.

  With the new bag in one hand, and his hand in the other, she tucked in close, her head tilted back to look up at him, determination in the tilt of her chin.

  “You sure you want to do this here?” He had to ask again, because the light in her eyes, which he loved seeing filled with warmth or sparkling with amusement, now looked determined, but afraid. He could see her own fear that he’d mess it up lurking in the bent of her brows.

  “It’s okay,” she answered, the cool surface of the beaded peacock feather of her bag, pressed against the nape of his neck, chilling him. He pulled her closer and schooled his features to something level and—he hoped—supportive.

  “I said I don’t speak with them, but it’s more like they don’t speak with me.” She blew out a slow breath. “I don’t really disagree with their decision, but it was their decision.”

  The people she sent money didn’t speak with her? “Why do you support them?”

  “Because my father has been in jail even longer than he would’ve been because of me.” She swallowed, and the little hand tucked into his tightened. She was afraid he was going to just run away as soon as she told him?

  Her father was in jail, and she got his sentence lengthened?

  “Why is he in jail?”

  “Felony larceny.”

  Theft, his mind swapped out the legal jargon for the common crime name. “He pinched something and you reported him?”

  “Sort of.”

  She looked away then, and he knew this wasn’t coming any easier to her than it came to him to listen to it.

  “I went to jail for him first.” With her head turned away, it took him a few seconds to realize what she said, and then his guts seized up, as if there were no movement in his body at all.

  “I don’t understand.” And he wasn’t sure he wanted to understand. How could she be a doctor if she’d been convicted of a felony?

  “My dad never bought presents. He never bought anything if he could steal it.” She lightly explained, glossing over details, filtering. Either still protecting herself or considering the damage her confession could do and still forcing each word. “If he had a present for me for my birthday or Christmas, he’d stolen it. I figured out when I was about twelve, and I stopped accepting his gifts.”

  The music shifted to something slower yet, and he guided her other hand to his neck. It had started to tremble and if he didn’t need to hold it, he could put both his arms around her. Not the best dancing, but something simple he could do. He could mostly control his body, even when words failed him.

  “When I was fifteen, he broke into a nice house in the area while the family was away and took a laptop. It was wonderful, and I wanted it so badly... I pretended he hadn’t stolen it, that he’d just bought it for me because he loved me—even though he’d probably used money from other things he’d stolen and sold, but he’d bought it. Only he hadn’t.”

  And she turned him in, Wolfe finished in his head. Why was she taking so long to say i
t? Just say it.

  “I was in the library when the true owner saw me with it and the custom floral case and called the sheriff.”

  “They arrested you?”

  “They took me to the sheriff’s office, confiscated the laptop, then grilled me about where I’d gotten it. My dad had been in jail recently for something else, and I knew if I told the truth, if I said my father had given it to me, he’d go back for a long time. That put everything at risk for the whole family, me included. Food. Water. Power...”

  Firewood. That story came back at him, every word conjuring images he didn’t want to see. A young Angel, scared, probably too thin. Ragged clothes. In a place that was always cold and in need of firewood. The woman who’d tried to wash off her freckles because she’d thought them dirt.

  He didn’t want to know this.

  For some reason, he still asked, “What did you do?”

  “I told them I had stolen it. I knew where the girl lived. It wasn’t hard to concoct a story.”

  He saw the horror in his eyes reflected by the flash of fear in her eyes. “Do you want me to stop?” she asked, and then began pulling away.

  “Wait.” He tightened his arms, at first to bring her back into his embrace fully, but then tighter, to feel her soft, warm body pressed against him. She was actually safe now. As long as no one found out and put her license in jeopardy. Why didn’t the authorities already know? They did background checks before licensing.

  The rest of the room receded a little when she pressed against him again, and he could look into her eyes. “Tell me, quickly. Like ripping off a bandage. Tell me fast.”

  She was still afraid, her chest rose and fell too quickly, but she nodded, eyes too wide. “I confessed so my family would be better taken care of, but while I was in the juvenile detention facility, my will began to crumble. They began visiting me, reminding me that as a first-time offender, and an honor student, I would get leniency, but he’d get a long sentence. All of them, my two uncles, my aunt, my cousin. Eventually they even brought down Meemaw.”