by Teri Wilson
“No, I...” Anders looked up and realized the car was sitting in traffic, gridlocked in the familiar landscape of the West Village. As usual, a crowd was lined up at Magnolia Bakery, just to his right. Right around the corner was the Wilde School of Dance.
Allegra would be there. So would Emily. If he stopped there now, they might be willing to watch Lolly for him if he wanted to get to the office and see Chloe...in private...for a proper goodbye. She deserved that much, didn’t she?
By now, though, her family probably knew the truth. They’d probably despise him on sight.
Was he really that desperate?
A final goodbye. One last kiss.
Yes...yes, he was. “Actually, there’s been a change of plans.”
Chapter Fifteen
By the time Anders dropped off Lolly and made his way to the financial district in the Christmas Eve traffic, he was too late.
Allegra had greeted Lolly with open arms and treated him in the same easy, lovable manner she always did. Emily had been quiet and there’d been a bittersweet, knowing smile on her lips when he’d told her he needed to find Chloe so they could talk. She knew. He was certain of it. But she’d been nice enough not to mention that he hadn’t exactly been the husband her daughter deserved, and said simply, “Go find Chloe. Lolly can stay here, and we’ll see you later tonight at the recital.”
There’d been such hope in his heart on the way, but now here he was, and his office was empty, as quiet as a tomb. There was no sign Chloe had even been there. If he hadn’t gotten the call from Mrs. Summers, he would have never known.
He ran into the hallway, darting from room to room, searching for her—searching for some kind of hint as to why she’d shown up. It didn’t make sense. Nor did his frantic hunt through the office, but he didn’t know what else to do. He just knew he needed to keep moving, because if he dared stand still, the reality of her absence would be too much. Too real.
He stopped short of the door at the end of the hall—the room he’d been avoiding for weeks. His brow broke into a cold sweat and his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, as if he was preparing for a fight.
But he was tired of fighting. So very, very tired. He’d been fighting for weeks—fighting his grief, fighting his feelings for Chloe, fighting anything and everything trying to make its way into his cold, dead heart.
He stared at the closed door, letting his gaze linger on the familiar name embossed on the wood paneling.
Grant Kent.
He reached a shaky hand toward the doorknob.
Now’s not the time. Walk away.
When was the time, though? Was he going to avoid entering this room for the rest of his life? Was he just going to keep walking away every time he began to come face-to-face with what he’d lost...?
Just like he was doing now.
Just like what you did with Chloe.
His hand clamped down on the knob and turned. Then he pushed the door open as he’d done a thousand times before, only this time it wasn’t to crunch some numbers or argue over an IPO or a contract or a million other things that Anders had always thought were so important but never really mattered.
This time, he was here to say goodbye.
He walked inside, marveling at how normal everything seemed. Papers were still strewn all over Grant’s desk, and if his laptop hadn’t been closed, it would have looked as if he’d just stepped out for a minute and would be right back. It smelled the same, too, like the aftershave Grant used after his lunchtime gym sessions, with just a hint of the Cuban cigars he brought out whenever one of them pulled off a significant business deal. Light streamed in the windows through a lacy veil of frost and snow, making it seem as if the office had been frozen in time.
Anders knew better.
Time kept spinning forward. People moved on.
Only if you let them.
The words came to him, as clear and distinct as if Grant had spoken them out loud.
“What are you trying to tell me, brother?” Anders whispered.
Great. He was talking to ghosts now.
Except there were no ghosts here. Anders knew that. If Grant’s spirit lingered anywhere, it wouldn’t be in this room. He’d be somewhere else, someplace more meaningful. Someplace where he could see his daughter or the spot where he’d first kissed Olivia or even Yankee Stadium for an afternoon of beer and baseball. His brother worked to live, not the other way around. How many times had he tried to explain that to Anders?
He still hadn’t learned. Today was Christmas Eve, and look where he was standing. What was he doing?
Searching for her.
Searching for a life like the one his brother had lived. Searching for love.
He loved Chloe.
How could he have thought otherwise, even for a second?
If she wanted to go on tour, that was fine. He’d support her in whatever she chose to do, but she needed to know that when she came home, he’d be right there waiting for her. So would Lolly. And even Prancer, too.
Because they were a family.
He’d made a vow, and he intended to keep it—not because of some stupid agreement or because he needed a wife, but because he wanted one. He wanted her, and it was time he let her know. He’d gotten here too late and she wasn’t here, but he knew where to find her.
Anders took one last look around, remembering all the time he’d spent in this office. Times when he and Grant had laughed, times when they’d argued. Somehow he’d forgotten that the former far outweighed the latter. Echoes of that laughter rolled over him now, and he realized that no matter what Grant’s intentions had been when he’d signed his will, the marriage provision on Lolly’s guardianship had ended up being a gift—a fateful, final Christmas present from one brother to another, the gift Anders needed most of all.
Thank you, brother.
* * *
“Where’s Uncle Anders?” Lolly peered through the classroom window as Chloe wound a pink satin ribbon around the little girl’s high ponytail.
Baby Nutcracker was set to start in just ten minutes. Lolly was all dressed up in her Clara costume—a long ruffled nightgown with a fluffy petticoat that swished around her slender legs when she twirled. Her face had lit up like a Christmas tree when she’d first put it on, and ever since she’d taken that initial glimpse of herself in the mirrored walls of the studio, she’d been asking for Anders.
“He’ll be here. I know he will. He wouldn’t miss this for the world,” Chloe whispered and gave the little girl a kiss on the cheek. “It’s probably good that he hasn’t seen you yet. Won’t he be surprised when you chassé onto the stage?”
Lolly nodded and giggled, appeased for the time being, and Chloe guided her to the spot off to the side of the classroom where the other kids were seated and waiting for the performance to start. They had six mice, six snowflakes, three sugarplums and a few fairies and snow queens. But as Lolly pointed out with pride, only one Clara. She was the star of the show.
And her uncle was nowhere in sight.
“Mom,” Chloe whispered, pulling Emily behind the Christmas tree in the lobby—the closest thing to privacy they could get, since the school was filled with wall-to-wall parents, grandparents and siblings, all waiting to watch the adorable holiday spectacle. “Anders still isn’t here. What exactly did he say when he dropped Lolly off earlier?”
“He said you were at his office and he needed to talk to you about something.” Emily took a deep breath. “Something important.”
They’d missed one another, which wasn’t surprising, considering the streets were filled with last-minute shoppers and people on their way to Christmas Eve services at church or other holiday celebrations...like the one she was in charge of, starring his niece. Which was supposed to start in less than five minutes.
She tried her hardest not to think about wha
t he’d wanted to say to her, but possibilities kept pirouetting through her head, each one worse than the next.
He’d had goodbyes in his eyes back at city hall, and he probably wanted to get the ring back. Or the key to his penthouse. Things he couldn’t have said in front of Lolly.
Of course Mrs. Summers had called and told him Chloe was there. She didn’t know why she hadn’t anticipated it, other than she hadn’t been thinking clearly. She’d been moving on autopilot, doing her best to survive until she went on tour the following day.
There would be no tour now. No more sequined reindeer costumes, no more passing out flyers in Times Square. Not for Chloe. She’d already called and officially resigned from the Rockettes roster. She wanted to teach full-time at the Wilde School of Dance. She wanted to stay right where she was, and if Anders still wanted a clean break, she’d give him one. She’d move into the Wilde family brownstone if she had to, but she wasn’t leaving New York. She was home to stay.
“Lolly will be crushed if he doesn’t get here in time,” she said, just as the overhead lights dimmed. She waved her arms at Allegra, standing on the other side of the room, trying to signal for her to slow down. To wait just a few more minutes. But her sister-in-law was already placing the needle of the record player on the smooth, rotating surface of the Tchaikovsky album.
The opening bars of the beloved Nutcracker score filled the air, and Chloe couldn’t wait any longer. It was time for her to lead the children onto the center of the new Marley floor for the beginning party scene.
“Look, dear.” Her mother gave her arm a squeeze. “He’s here.”
Her heart gave a not-so-little pang, and beyond the fragrant boughs of the evergreen tree, she saw Anders push through the front door of the studio and rush into the classroom.
He stood in the very back, against the wall, where, as usual, his presence seemed to fill up the space and steal the breath from Chloe’s lungs.
She stared at him for a beat, frozen, until Emily cleared her throat. “Are the children going to hit their cue, or are we going to have to start the music over again from the beginning?”
Right. There was a recital happening, and she was the person in charge of it.
“I’m on it!” Chloe slipped as discreetly as possible to where the kids sat, waiting to go on.
Chloe’s mom had always believed in holding recitals for the very young children here in the school rather than in a stuffy auditorium. Her theory was that the familiar, intimate setting made it less scary for the kids, which definitely seemed to be the case. Three-year-olds, four-year-olds and five-year-olds needed encouragement, not an intimidating introduction to performing that could lead to debilitating stage fright.
She crouched down and gave them a last-minute pep talk as the prelude started to wind down. “Remember, guys, this is just like class. Only this time you’re all dressed up, and tonight is Christmas Eve.”
Miraculously, they all glided to the center of the floor, hand in hand, just as Chloe had taught them. She considered it a minor victory that none of the little ones cried, although one of the mice stood, holding the tail of her costume for a full minute or two, instead of doing the simple somersault combination they’d been practicing every day for a week. But about a third of the way into the program, she finally started moving her feet.
Chloe stood off to the side, marking the choreography with subtle movements so her students could follow along in case they got confused. Her position so close to the mirror allowed her to steal a glance every so often at Anders, still positioned at the back of the room.
His attention was trained on Lolly, who floated across the floor with a wide smile and a wave for her uncle. He waved back at her, and then, so quick that Chloe almost thought she’d imagined it, his gaze locked with hers in the mirror. He winked.
Then, in a flash, he was watching the performance again, and she was left to wonder if it had really happened. Had her temporary husband just shot her a flirty little wink just hours after they’d agreed to a clean break? If so, this might not be such a blue Christmas, after all. It could possibly be the best she’d ever had.
It took every ounce of concentration she could muster to keep miming the footwork for the kids, but the half-hour program passed quickly, punctuated by hearty applause and several bursts of laughter from the parents. In the end, even the children were surprised when the wind machine Chloe had secretly rented from a Broadway theater company blew tiny bits of fake snow all over the makeshift stage.
The audience rose to its feet as the classroom was transformed into a winter wonderland. And for some silly reason, Chloe’s eyes filled with tears.
She’d received a standing ovation more times than she could count at Radio City Music Hall, one of the oldest and most storied theaters in the country. Never had it meant as much as this one did, though. Because this time, she wasn’t made up to look exactly like the other thirty-five dancers onstage. She was simply herself, Chloe Wilde.
But that wasn’t quite true, was it? Her name was Chloe Wilde Kent, and as her students danced and twirled in the swirling bits of snow, her husband was walking straight toward her through the parted crowd with two bouquets of red roses in his arms.
She froze, unable to move, unable to breathe. If this was some kind of wonderful Christmas daydream, she didn’t want to know. She wanted to stay in this perfect, private snow globe forever, where she was surrounded by her family—and where that family included a little girl dressed in a nightgown and ballet slippers, and a man who never failed to take her breath away.
Anders bent to give one of the bouquets to Lolly. Then Chloe took her attention away from him long enough to lock eyes with Emily through the dizzying snow flurries, and her mother simply mouthed the words I love you, followed by Merry Christmas.
“I love you, too,” Chloe whispered.
Merry Christmas, indeed.
Then Anders was right there, just inches away, with snow in his hair and a look in his eyes that was so reverent, so pure that her tears spilled over and streamed down her face.
He handed her the bouquet in his arms and said, “Don’t cry, love,” so softly that she could barely hear his lovely baritone above the strains of Tchaikovsky, mixed with the happy sounds of children, parents and grandparents. Of family.
And then Anders cupped her face, brushing her tears away with the pads of his thumbs. His hands smelled of winter and roses—so good and familiar that it was like being wrapped in a blanket. Then his face grew serious as he said, “I lied, Chloe. I don’t want a clean break. Not now, not ever. I’m in love with you. There’s nothing in this world more real than the feelings I have for you.”
“I love you, too,” she breathed.
There was so much to say, so many promises to make, but before she could utter another word, he dropped down on one knee and smiled up at her from the floor, now completely covered in white, like an upturned bowl of sugar.
He took her hand and kissed the diamond ring on her finger—the one she’d never take off again. “Will you stay married to me, Chloe? I know the proposal is a little late, but I never asked you properly the first time.”
All around them, tiny ballerinas sprawled on the ground, waving their arms and legs, giggling and making snow angels. It didn’t matter to them that the snow wasn’t real or that they were in a ballet studio dressed in recital costumes instead of bundled up in frosty Central Park.
They believed.
Sometimes pretending was better than the real thing. Sometimes it was a precious, perfect gift.
“Yes.” Chloe nodded. “I will absolutely stay married to you.”
Anders rose to his feet to kiss her, and as her eyes drifted closed and his mouth came down on hers, warm and sweet, she was conscious of only one, overriding thought.
I believe, too.
She believed in love. She believed in Anders. She be
lieved in them.
And for the first Christmas in a very long time, she believed in the magic of make-believe.
* * *
Be sure to check out the other Wilde Hearts books:
The Ballerina’s Secret
How to Romance a Runaway Bride
The Bachelor’s Baby Surprise
Available now from Harlequin Special Edition!
And look out for Teri Wilson’s next book,
the second book of the brand-new Furever
Yours continuity,
Tucker to the Rescue
available in February 2019.
Keep reading for an excerpt from Fortune’s Christmas Baby by Tara Taylor Quinn.
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