by Liz Johnson
He was going to lose her in a few days anyway when he returned to California. Why rush the inevitable heartbreak?
He wrapped a protective arm around Eleanor and she leaned into his embrace, shoving her hands into the pockets of her coat. It was the same one she’d worn when arriving in Tinsel weeks ago, and somehow, the memory of it seemed to solidify their reality.
They were heading for two very different places.
“It’s starting!” A little girl with two blonde braids clapped her mitten-clad hands together and shrieked. A staticky blast of “Jingle Bells” immediately followed as a cheer rose from the packed crowd.
Liam craned his head to see the start of the parade—Mayor Hayden, riding in a horse-drawn carriage. According to Albert, the floats lined up on the outskirts of Tinsel to start, then paraded through the city down Main Street, circling around Candy Cane Lane, and ending at the town square, where everyone sampled the annual fruitcake contest.
Thankfully he wasn’t a judge.
The horses snorted as they pranced past, bells jingling from their harnesses. Mayor Hayden waved with enthusiasm from the white and gold carriage, his ugly-Christmas sweater drawing several good-natured chuckles from the crowd as he preened. Liam tried to relax and shake the memory of the online rumors. This was one of his last chances to be with Eleanor. He needed to focus on her.
Her face lit with delight as the next float, decorated like a giant fur-trimmed Santa boot, drove past. The float riders tossed candy canes and miniature stuffed elves into the crowd, and one of the stuffed creatures bounced off Eleanor’s shoulder. Liam caught it and pretended to hand it to her, then yanked it back last minute and pressed in for a kiss.
Her surprised giggle muffled against his lips, and for a moment, the festive music and the clamoring crowd faded. It was just Eleanor, and her soft coat under his hands and the feel of her warm, peppermint-laced breath mingling with his.
And the gentle assault of snowflakes dusting from above.
Remembering they were in public, he ended the embrace, but lingered briefly to rest his forehead against hers. “Merry Christmas.” Fresh snowflakes rested in her hair, and he soaked in the memory of her like sunshine after a storm.
“Merry Christmas,” she breathed.
A sudden commotion roared—and not one coated in holiday bliss. Liam jerked his head away and strained to see the end of Main Street. Cameras flashed and the crowd thickened and mobbed. Car door slammed and people shoved for a better view as angry and confused shouts rose above the lingering strains of “Walking In a Winter Wonderland”. Several nearby parents grabbed their toddlers in their arms, concern etched across their faces.
Liam’s grip tightened around Eleanor as the horde parted, and the abrupt addition to the parade pressed in tight against the slow-moving float heading their way.
An addition wearing trench coats, holding microphones, and toting news cameras.
His stomach sank. No. No. They were here for Eleanor.
“Liam! Liam Neal!” They strode forward, media badges flapping against their coats as they dodged the candy-cane striped float next in line, their frantic eyes straining the crowd like sharks ready to attack.
His heart skipped two beats. They were here for him. But how—
The people on each side of Liam and Eleanor stepped back, warily looking them up and down as the reporters’ cries persisted, until they might as well have had a spotlight shining directly on them. Liam froze, reaching automatically for his beanie. He winced as his fingers only grazed hair. Of all the mornings to forget.
He stepped in front of Eleanor, his arm a protective shield.
But it was too late.
“There he is!”
“Is that the princess with him?”
“The rumors were right!” The shouted cries turned gleeful as more lights flashed.
Eleanor stiffened beneath his grip as the frenzy rose to a crescendo, drowning out the holiday music coming from the floats. The reporters leaned in, shouting, several yards away.
“Princess, how long are you in Tinsel?” One in a red coat yelled the clearest.
“Is it true you’re ditching the tiara for good?”
“How long have you been dating Liam Neal?”
The barrage shifted back to him as Eleanor remained stunned and silent. “Liam, how have your father’s latest financial decisions affected you personally?”
“Liam, is it true your dad might actually go to jail?”
This wasn’t supposed to happen. There was a ban.
His heart thundering with barely restrained anger, he grabbed Eleanor’s hand and began to pull her through the crowd, but the people lining the side of the road were hesitant to move. He ducked his head and barreled through, but the questions kept coming as if they were right on their heels.
“Princess Eleanor, is Liam a good kisser?”
“Princess, why did you run away?”
“Liam, is it true you’re only dating the Princess to repair your family’s reputation?”
Eleanor sucked in her breath at that one, her eyes wide. She stopped, tugging at his hand.
“Liam?” Her voice, so small against the din around them, lit a fire in his chest.
His fists clenched at his side as he whipped around, looking for the reporter bold enough to suggest such a thing. He ought to shove that microphone where the—
But the reporters weren’t right behind them as he’d assumed.
Startled, Liam blinked, eyes scanning the crowd. The reporters remained several yards back where they’d started, at the edge of Main Street—right where the “Welcome to Tinsel” sign stood proudly in all its red and green splendor.
They couldn’t cross the property-line.
Main Street tilted and dipped. Eleanor’s hand slipped from Liam’s and she wrapped her arms around herself as the reporters’ words rang like a warning bell in her mind. …to repair your family’s reputation…
Used. Duped.
Again.
Liam reached for her, then stopped as she inched away. “Eleanor, you can’t believe them. I didn’t do this. Don’t listen to them.”
“Those same words…” Her voice trailed off and she looked at the shouting reporters pressing against an invisible boundary line, then back at Liam. His eyes darted back and forth between her and the media, his expression transitioning between rage and despair with each glance.
She swallowed, impatiently brushing snow off her eyelashes. “The same thing. I heard you say almost that exact same thing to your father. Last night, on the phone.” Her words tumbled over themselves, and between the mix of adrenaline and fear coursing her veins, she could barely keep her sentences straight.
“You heard me?” The color washed from Liam’s face and he moved toward her, hand outstretched. She stepped backward, onto someone’s boots, and automatically apologized as they bumped her forward. The crowd, previously so cozy and energetic, now just felt dangerous and suffocating.
She turned. Nowhere to go. Nowhere to escape. Main Street had become a yelling wall of people.
Liam’s voice near hers turned pleading as he shouted to be heard. “Eleanor, you don’t understand.”
Didn’t she, though? Hadn’t they just had this exact conversation when he’d lied about his identity?
Liam’s image before her shimmered as her vision tunneled. She unbuttoned the top button of her coat for air and blinked rapidly, determined to gain control. But the truth wouldn’t release her emotions.
He’d betrayed her.
Desperation shone in Liam’s eyes. He grabbed her hand and held on tight. “Eleanor, listen to me. You can’t—”
“You’re not wearing your hat.” Her frantic gaze zeroed in on his head, and realization gripped her throat. It was so obvious. How could she have been this foolish? She’d been set up to be caught with him.
He exhaled. “I forgot it. After you found out who I was, it didn’t seem to matter so much if—”
“If every
one else found out?” She narrowed her eyes. Fool me twice… She had no one to blame but herself.
“What is the meaning of this!” Mayor Hayden strode down the center of the street around the floats, his voice imposing steel, his salt and pepper hair tousled. All his previous holiday cheer had vanished, and even the gaudy lit tree on his Christmas sweater couldn’t drown the intimating indignation radiating from his posture.
The music ground to a halt and the floats stopped.
The mayor crossed his arms over his burly chest and faced the media head-on. “This is an outage. You know the rules.”
“And we’re following them, Mayor.” A male reporter in a black coat holding a camera shot him a smirk before gesturing to the Welcome to Tinsel sign. The row of reporters lined up exactly along its edge.
Mayor Hayden’s bushy brows merged into one and he lifted his chin. “It’s Christmas, ladies and gents. I suggest you leave my innocent guests alone and go home to celebrate the holiday—while you still have your jobs.” His jaw clenched.
“Some of them aren’t so innocent.” The reporter in red snickered.
Eleanor’s stomach sank and she yanked her hand free of Liam’s. The mayor’s face turned crimson and he opened his mouth, but was interrupted again.
“Come on, Mayor.” The reporter in the black coat waved his media badge. “We’re not doing anything wrong. Just interviewing for a story.”
“Fine.” The mayor turned toward Eleanor then, his eyes gentle and knowing as they landed on her. She’d yet to meet Mayor Hayden in person—she’d only spoken with him on the phone that one evening before leaving Brightloch—but somehow, in that moment, it seemed like he understood her better than anyone. Something in his gaze felt safe, and right now, she longed to hold on to that. “Princess, would you like to be interviewed?”
She shook her head, her lips pursing the word “no” but her voice remaining stuck in her throat.
“Mr. Neal, anything you’d care to share with the media?”
Liam’s jaw clenched as he confirmed the same answer.
Mayor Hayden dipped his chin low in acknowledgment, then swiveled to face the media. His voice back to flint, he practically spit his next words. “I know all of your employers. I would advise you to go home—before the only thing you’ll be writing is your grocery list.”
The media grudgingly turned, mumbling and packing up equipment as they slowly dispersed. Relief melted in a puddle in Eleanor’s stomach, and her legs strengthened. She was out of the spotlight—for now.
But she’d never be if she dated someone like Liam.
Their gazes locked, his full of regret, residual anger, and hurt. She could only imagine what her face portrayed. Shock. Fear.
Definitely regret.
The excitement over, the crowd pushed past them to the street as the parade started back up at Mayor Hayden’s theatrical command. Christmas music blared, the townspeople cheered, and the snow continued to fall.
But all she could feel was the cold.
Liam shook his head. “Don’t do this, Eleanor.” A muscle in his jaw twitched, as if restraining emotion.
“Do what? Let myself be tricked again by the same man?” She blinked back stinging tears. “I think it’s much too late for that. But don’t worry, I’m sure your reputation will recover nicely.”
Hers, on the other hand…her stomach dropped at the realization. The queen would hear about this any minute. Jackson. The rest of the council. They’d think she’d come to America to be irresponsible and party.
She’d never have a voice there again.
Grief washed over her in a gray wave. She couldn’t go back to Brightloch—but she couldn’t stay in Tinsel, either. Not when her heart broke into a thousand fragments in Liam’s presence.
A father holding a toddler boy stepped between her and Liam, accidentally jostling them further apart. Liam attempted to dart around the man’s broad shoulder, but another couple with several children immediately filled the space and jumped up and down, eager to catch the next float’s offerings.
Sudden, warm arms wrapped around Eleanor’s shoulders. She jerked away, startled, then recognized Mrs. Hough and almost wept in relief. She fell into the woman’s hug.
The kind woman smiled with compassion and patted her arm. “Come on, dear. Let’s get you back to the Snowflake Cottage. You look like you could use some hot chocolate.” Without waiting for an answer, she propelled Eleanor to the back of the crowd, where they could slip alongside the store fronts and escape the din.
Eleanor allowed herself one last look over her shoulder toward the mayhem that had stolen the day. But she didn’t allow herself to respond to Liam’s despondent stare as the distance between them increased.
Or to shed tears as her fissured heart cracked a little deeper.
Chapter 13
Nothing was open on Christmas afternoon, because everyone was at the parade. Everyone except him—and Eleanor.
And apparently, Mrs. Hough, who had whisked her off before he could attempt any further damage control.
Liam walked briskly away from the festive crowd up Main Street, passing the dark record shop and the closed hardware store before slowing his anxious pace. The snow flurries cut through his jacket with cold, and he scrubbed his hand briskly over his hat-free head. For the third time, he regretted not grabbing his beanie when he left his apartment that morning. Who would have thought the stupid, itchy thing could have been so important? No wonder Eleanor thought he’d set up the discovery of them together. His presence in Tinsel was the big secret—not hers. And all signs pointed to him blowing the whistle to reveal their developing relationship.
To use her.
His stomach knotted as he crossed the street onto Wonderland Way. Miniature trees stood sentry by each snow-dusted mailbox, garnished in strands of red ribbon for the holiday. The merry sight only reminded him of decorating the B&B’s tree with Eleanor last night—and how quickly it’d all changed. But once again, Eleanor had assumed the worst about him before giving him a chance to explain. It didn’t matter. He’d never outgrow his reputation. He could become a Baptist preacher and it wouldn’t help.
His family’s sins would follow him wherever he went.
He ran his palm over his snow-dotted beard. At least now that his secret was out, he could trim the thing. He had nothing to lose by hiding anymore.
He’d already lost it all.
Liam’s cell buzzed in his pocket and his breath tensed. If the media had somehow gotten his phone number…he tugged his cell from his jeans and wiped snow off the display. Tristan, calling via Skype.
He accepted the video invitation with mixed feelings and sank onto a wooden bench. “Hey there.”
“Merry Christmas, big bro.” Tristan’s long dark mane of hair was swept over her shoulder, a silver pin from Tiffany & Co. holding back one side. He remembered it specifically, because he’d gotten into it with the security guard as they’d been leaving the store that day over Tristan’s pretending to shoplift as a joke.
“Merry Christmas.” Was it, though? It’d started that way. But not so much anymore.
Tristan narrowed her contact-enhanced eyes, leaning closer to peer into the camera, and frowned. “Are you in a snow globe?”
He snorted. “Sometimes I wonder.” He then recognized the background of his own house behind her. “Are you adding breaking and entering into the list of family crimes?”
She matched his snort. “Your maid let me in. I forgot you wouldn’t be here.” She spun the camera to show his stainless-steel kitchen counter and a gift-wrapped box sitting on top. “I brought your Christmas gift.”
No telling what that was. Tristan was good at giving gifts—when she was sober. If she’d not been sober when she picked it out, well. There could well be a live monkey in that golden box. But he’d let the thought count. “Thanks, sis.”
Digs barked in the background, and suddenly his shiny black snout took over the camera. The view tilted to the floor
, then Tristan laughed over the sound of heavy panting as she grappled for the phone. “Someone sure misses you.”
He missed Digs, too. A slow ache filled Liam’s stomach, but it wasn’t for California. Or even for his sister, as much as he loved her. It was for Eleanor, and for everything he’d just lost on Main Street. Everything he’d never really had in the first place, but desperately wanted in his life.
He had to win her back.
He rallied his nerve. “I need advice.” This was dangerous territory, which only proved his desperation. Tristan was not your average female, but she was a woman, so maybe she’d have some useful advice.
“Who is she?” Tristan flicked back her hair and snapped into business mode. “And what’d you do?”
“Nothing!” He blew out his breath, a cloud forming in the brisk air. “It was all a misunderstanding. It was more what Dad did.” And just like that, the pieces connected. His fist clenched. “Oh, man. I’m an idiot.”
Tristan didn’t even blink. “Well, you’re smarter than some.”
“Thanks for the support.” He pinched the bridge of his nose as the puzzle pieces aligned. His dad alerted the media to his location, not the hospital nurses. How could he have missed that? When Liam refused to play his shady game, Vincent must have taken matters into his own hands to force his way.
Because Vincent Neal always got his way.
“I think I just figured it out.” He gave his sister a quick run-down of the last few weeks, and Dad’s proposed game plan for him and Eleanor.
“Not surprising.” Tristan carried the phone to his couch and laid down, propping a gray pillow under her head. For a moment, so casual in a baggy sweatshirt, she looked more like his baby sister—before she grew into their fame. “Dad is Dad, after all.” She squinted at him. “Is that why you left?”
He knew she’d been a little hurt over that decision, but he wasn’t sure if the bitterness lingered. Now he knew. “I needed a break from the drama. Even my counselor suggested it.”
