Once Upon a Christmas

by Lisa Plumley

  Sunday had already arrived, bringing with it the end of the honeymoon charade. And the end of their weekend together.

  He shouldn’t mind, Dylan told himself as he rumpled his fingers through his hair and examined his jaw in the mirror, deciding whether or not to shave. It wasn’t as though they wouldn’t be seeing each other back home in Phoenix. After last night, anything felt possible between him and Stacey.

  He leaned toward the mirror, rubbing his hand along his jaw, and decided he ought to at least try to look civilized for her sake. Resigned but still whistling, he reached for his razor and glimpsed something shiny on the vanity. Curiously, he bypassed his razor and picked up the smooth circle of gold that had caught his eye instead. As soon as his fingers touched it, his whistled carol stuttered to a surprised stop in his throat.

  It was Stacey’s ex-wedding ring.

  Dylan rubbed the thin gold band between his fingers, watching it glimmer beneath the bright vanity lights. He’d never seen her without it. The fact that Stacey had left it behind now could only mean one thing.

  “Whoo-hoo!” he hollered, jigging naked into the honeymoon suite. “She loves me, girl!” he yelled at Ginger. With his dog frolicking at his heels, Dylan jived to the window and whooshed his arms overhead like a Super Bowl fan doing the Wave of Love. “Hey, Las Vegas! She loves me!”

  Ginger hunkered down and tucked her muzzle on her paws, her hind-end wagging along with her tail.

  “Stacey loves me!” he told her, grinning like an idiot.

  His dog joined in the celebration with a sneeze and a rollover that left all four paws lolling in the air. Dylan gave her belly a vigorous rub, his mind and heart still reeling with the significance of Stacey’s actions. She hadn’t said the words last night, not that he remembered—and he would have definitely remembered—but her leaving behind her ex-wedding ring could only mean one thing. Not only did he love her…Stacey loved him back.

  Too happy to hold still, Dylan got up and cha-cha’d across the suite. “She-e-e-e loves me, cha-cha-cha-cha-cha-CHA!”

  The door swept cautiously open. Stacey came in with her purse slung over her shoulder, wearing boots, a sexy pair of jeans, and a vibrant orange sweater. She looked gorgeous. She looked bemused, probably at the sight of him dancing naked around the suite. She looked…a lot less interested than he’d hoped she’d be, seeing him dancing naked around the suite.

  Dylan smiled and boogied toward the woman he loved, slipping the shiny gold harbinger of all his happiness safely on his pinky so he wouldn’t dance it off.

  “Good morning!” He crushed Stacey to him for a fast kiss. Grabbing her hand, he twirled her away from him and back again, then caught her waist and two-stepped them both into the sitting area. “How was your mass—”

  “Dylan, stop! Stop! This is terrible.”

  She wrenched out of his arms and pushed herself away from him. She gazed up and down his body, squeaked out a startled sound at the sight, buried her face in her hands.

  “Geez.” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “You seemed to like everything okay last night.”

  A huge snuffle came from behind her hands. Her shoulders shuddered. He could see her trying to get a hold of herself long enough to speak.

  “This can’t be happening!” she wailed.

  “It was only dancing.” What the hell kind of massage did they give in this place anyway, to leave her in a mood like this? Dylan stepped toward her, gesturing vaguely to the bathroom. “I’ll go put on a towel or something if you want me to.”

  Stacey sniffled and peeked through her fingers. “Oh. Oh!”

  Her hands went to her sides, making desperate little fists against her jeans. Again her gaze whipped over him, and a blush rose in her cheeks. Laughter, slightly hysterical and utterly confusing, burbled from her lips.

  “Oh, Dylan. I didn’t mean that.”

  He stared at her for a minute, then shook his head. “I’d better get dressed anyway.”

  “Really!” She trailed him to the half-packed suitcases lying open on the bed. “I just—just—”

  Stacey faltered and stopped, her gaze slanting over him as he yanked a pair of jeans from his duffel bag and pulled them on.

  “I just…do you do this often?” she asked in a small voice.

  “You mean the naked boogie?”

  She nodded, not looking at him. He grinned and touched her chin.

  “I’m not sure. This is the first time I’ve tried it,” Dylan leaned down to whisk his fingertip over her lips, making her draw in a quick breath in reaction. He smiled gently. “But I’m pretty sure I could only manage it when I’m in love. Deeply, crazily in love.”

  Her lower lip wobbled. An instant later, her face crumpled in a wail louder than the first one had been. Turning away from him, Stacey sank on the bed in a disconsolate heap, sending clothes toppling to the floor. A bottle of shampoo thumped down and rolled beneath the bed, joining whatever else lurked in the wasteland beneath a hotel bed’s dust ruffle.

  “Stacey?” He knelt beside her, taking her hand between both of his and squeezing. This was more than a reaction to bare naked joy dancing. “What’s the matter? Did something happen during your massage? Was it something I said? Did I do something, any—”

  She shook her head. A tear fell on his wrist, then another. Whatever this was, it was serious.

  “Honey, whatever it is, I can help.” Dylan rubbed her hand softly between his. “Just tell me what’s the matter.”

  “You’ll hate me,” she choked out between shuddering breaths. She shook her head again, pressing her lips together. Still they trembled, and another tear coursed over her cheek. “It’s too awful.”

  “There’s nothing you can say that’ll make me hate you. What’s the matter?”

  He raised his hand to brush away a tear from her cheek. She grabbed his hand, spreading his fingers and staring at the gold band on his pinky. Her gaze lifted to his.

  “I was keeping it for you,” Dylan told her, slipping it off. “You left it in the bathroom.” He held the ring out to her.

  She took it and wrapped her fist around it, then promptly started crying harder. She folded both arms around her middle, shaking her head.

  “I thought I didn’t need it.” Stacey looked up at him through shimmering, tear-filled eyes. “I thought we—you and me—that we—”

  “We can!”

  “We…Dylan, I wrecked everything. Just now. Everything. I was at the masseuse’s, having the most wonderful massage.” Sniffling through her tears, she rifled through her purse and pulled out an apple, a day planner, a box of condoms. “Here,” she said absently, handing them to him. “I got these while I was out.”

  “The economy jumbo pack,” he remarked, turning over the box. He tossed it in an open suitcase. “I didn’t know they made these.”

  “You just have to shop around.”

  Elbow-deep in her purse, Stacey grabbed her wallet, then dropped it on the black silk comforter. A bottle of calcium supplements, a roll of tape, and a jump rope followed. Dylan raised his eyebrows. A jump rope?

  She spread her arms, scowling down at her purse. “Where are my tissues?” she demanded in a quavery voice, picking up her bag and giving it a hearty shake. Things rolled and clanked together inside. How much more could possibly be in there?

  “So you’re having the massage,” he prompted, handing her the box of hotel tissues from the nightstand. “Then what happened?”

  She blew her nose, then stared up at him mournfully. “Please don’t be mad.”

  “I won’t be mad.”

  “Swear it.”

  What had she done? “Cross my heart.” He whipped his hand in an X over his chest. He sat beside her on the bed, shoving things aside with his hip to be closer, and wrapped his arms around her. “I love you. Nothing can change that.”

  Her face crumpled. “I wrecked the whole honeymoon charade!” She burrowed her face in her hands. “I hadn’t had my coffee yet, and I was feeling sooo goo
d after last night, and the massage was so… Oh, Dylan, there’s no excuse.” Stacey paced toward the sitting area and back. Balling her hands into fists, she met his gaze dead-on. “The masseuse recognized me from our picture.”

  “Our picture?”

  “Our winning picture. From yesterday. ‘Say we won!’, remember?” She pantomimed snapping a picture, then grimaced.

  “Is that all? That’s not so bad. Maybe she—”

  “She caught me, Dylan. She asked me, point-blank, why I was using two names.” Her gaze swerved guiltily to his. “I couldn’t lie. Not like that! I spilled everything…the whole story.” Her hands shook as she picked up the fallen clothes from the floor and stuffed them in one of the suitcases. “It’s finished.”

  “Wait. You think I’ll be mad at you because you couldn’t tell a bold-faced lie?”

  Hell, that was one of the reasons he loved her—because she was so kind-hearted. Because she was the kind of woman who’d go out of her way to help her family.

  Her family. The family Stacey felt sure she’d let down, because she thought she’d given away the honeymoon charade.

  “Don’t you get it?” She didn’t look at him as she shoved things industriously back in her purse. “The masseuse knows Aunt Geraldine. She’s a personal friend, remember? She’s probably on the phone with her right now. My family will never forgive me when word of this gets out.”

  Wailing, Stacey threw down her purse and twisted her hands in front of her. “I’m sorry, Dylan. I wrecked this for you, too, and all you were trying to do was help Richard and Janie.” She raised her chin. “I’ll explain, though. You were doing things my way in the end, even though you didn’t agree. I’m responsible. You won’t—”

  “No.” He stood to pull her into his arms. She nestled against him with her head beneath his chin, softer than he’d dared hope for and all the woman he’d ever wanted. Dylan hugged her tighter. “No, you’re not explaining anything,” he said against the silkiness of her hair. “I love you, and I won’t—”

  “I love you, too.”

  Her whispered words arrowed into his heart, into his soul. He’d dreamed of hearing those words from her. Now the dream was real.

  “At least there was one good thing in all this.” Stacey shifted in his arms so she could look up at him. She gave him a quivering, hopeful smile. “At least I found you again.”

  “We found each other.” Dylan touched her cheek. He kissed her, long and slow and sweet. “I wouldn’t give up this weekend for anything.”

  Stacey stepped away, then breathed deeply, like a runner preparing for a long-distance race.

  “Me, neither.” Her smile steadied. “I’d better call Janie. And Aunt Geraldine.” She raised her chin staunchly as she reached for the bedside phone. “I’ve got some explaining to do.”

  “No!” Dylan grabbed for her and captured nothing. She’d already slipped away from him.

  She picked up the phone, then pulled her day planner from her purse. “I know I wrote the number of their hotel in the Bahamas in here someplace.” She balanced the phone between her ear and shoulder as she turned pages, searching.

  He slapped his hand on her day planner.

  She stared up at him, her eyes wide. “Dylan?”

  God, it wasn’t supposed to be this way. She loved him. He loved her…too much to see her hurt by something that he’d set in motion. It was up to him to finish it.

  “Don’t call,” he grated out. His gaze sought hers. Dylan drank in the sight of her, closed his eyes to concentrate on her scent and the feel of her next to him. He opened his eyes. “Don’t call.”

  “What?” Stacey wrinkled her forehead. “I have to, I—”

  “The masseuse doesn’t know Aunt Geraldine. Neither did the mini-golf people or the breakfast serenaders or anyone at the Renaissance. The honeymoon surprises were a hoax.” He held himself rigidly, forcing himself not to touch her. “I arranged them all.”

  “You arranged…?” She shook her head and tried to pry his hand loose from her day planner. “That’s sweet, but avoiding the facts won’t make this go away. You know how I feel about the men in my life making decisions for me. Not again. Never again, after Charlie. I told you, and you listened. You wouldn’t lie to me about—”

  He slapped a receipt on her day planner page.

  “You’re just trying to make me feel better.” She overrode his actions with faster talking. “You—you…”

  Her voice faltered and stopped as Dylan added another receipt to the pile.

  “Aunt Geraldine paid for the hotel, but everything else was my doing,” he said harshly. “I knew you’d be here, and I took advantage of the situation to try to win you back.”

  Stacey’s mouth dropped open. Her gaze locked on his, filled with surprise and dawning belief. She glanced at the growing pile of receipts, then lifted one in her trembling fingers.

  “The Renaissance,” she read. “Tickets for the dinner show.” She picked up the next. “Mini-golf passes, arranged by Las Vegas Travel. Massage package, hotel extras…”

  The receipts drifted to the floor, and pain drained the color from her face. Her eyes, when she looked at him, filled with tears. “All lies?”

  Dylan’s throat ached, making it hard to speak. “I already checked out by remote. As far as the hotel is concerned—and Aunt Geraldine—Richard and Janie had a fabulous honeymoon.” His hands fisted and flexed, wanting to touch her and ease her pain somehow, but it was too late. He was the one who’d caused it. “Your honeymoon charade is safe.”

  Stacey’s tears shimmered and fell. “Damn you, Dylan.”

  He closed his eyes. You did the right thing, the only thing, he told himself.

  It didn’t matter. All he wanted was her.

  He heard the phone being replaced quietly in its cradle, heard suitcases snapping shut. He sensed her presence, her warmth, in front of him…almost as though she’d reached out to touch him and withdrawn her hand at the last moment.

  “Goodbye,” Stacey whispered.

  The next sound Dylan heard was the door closing behind her, leaving him more alone than he’d ever been.

  He’d lost her.

  They’d lost each other.

  Chapter Ten

  “I heard from Aunt Geraldine this morning.”

  At the sound of Janie’s voice, Stacey looked up from her miserable contemplation of her first peppermint mocha of the morning, glad to have company at the Phoenix café she and her cousin both frequented. Janie chugged toward her across the holiday-decorated outdoor seating area, waving a packet of something and grinning her elfin smile.

  Elfin. It was the only way to describe pert, petite Janie, with her black pixie-cut hair, tilting green eyes and penchant for gauzy, pastel-colored dresses. Reaching Stacey’s table, Janie dropped her purse, an eggnog latte, and a slew of shopping bags packed with wrapped Christmas gifts, before settling in.

  “You did?” Stacey asked. “You heard from Aunt Geraldine? She must have gotten your thank-you letter, then. What did she say?”

  Please say she said nothing about the honeymoon charade.

  She held her breath, waiting for the verdict. It had been almost a week since she’d returned home, and a day and a half since Janie had returned from her real honeymoon.

  It had been the longest five days of her life.

  “She said she was glad Richard and I had a good time.” Janie winked, then opened the packet she’d brought and slipped out a stack of glossy photos. She handed the bundle to Stacey. “Pictures. Of our Bahamas trip. I just picked them up on my way here.”

  “Thanks.” Stacey shuffled through them, watching images of a smiling Janie and Richard slide through her fingers—on the beach, at their hotel, boating on the ocean, looking honeymoonish and carefree. Envy stabbed through her. That could have been you and Dylan. Better not to think about what might have been.

  “That’s all she said?” Stacey asked instead. “Nothing else?”

  “Aunt Ger
aldine? There was more, but don’t worry.” Janie waved her fingers. “She doesn’t know our secret.” She sipped her eggnog latte, then stirred it with a sobered expression. “I’m sorry to put you in such a spot, Stace. I was desperate. You know that. Otherwise—”

  “It’s okay. Everything worked out, so, so—”

  So, suddenly, she couldn’t go on. To her horror, Stacey burst into tears. Shaking, she realized she couldn’t quit crying, either, and bawled harder.

  “Hon, hon—what’s the matter?” Janie asked, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

  Stacey leaned shamelessly into her, grateful for her tear-hiding sunglasses. Everyone at the café might hear her blubbering away, but at least people driving by in their cars with their windows rolled up wouldn’t see her doing it. At the thought of the public spectacle she was making over herself, she wailed harder. This was so unlike her.

  Janie handed her a scratchy paper napkin. “Blow,” she ordered. “Can you tell me what’s the matter?”

  She shook her head and snuffled into the napkin. “I—I—”

  “Is it Dylan?”

  The world got waterier. Stacey took off her sunglasses and swabbed at her eyes with another napkin, nodding.

  “That rat! I knew it.” Janie stabbed her coffee stirrer in her cup with a vicious frown. “I’ll kill him.” She brushed back Stacey’s hair and set their foreheads together, looking into her eyes. “Or would you rather have him maimed?”

  Janie’s loyalty pushed a feeble-feeling grin onto Stacey’s face. Trying to take her mind off her troubles, she fumbled to put the Bahamas pictures back in the envelope so they wouldn’t get soggy. She took a deep, shuddering breath, then shook her head.

  “Okay, not maimed, I guess. You big softie.” Janie smiled wickedly. “Financially ruined? Publicly humiliated? He deserves it for hurting you.” She squeezed her hand. “You just tell me what you want, hon, and I’ll make sure you get it.”

  Stacey thought over the past lonely days, remembered her weekend with Dylan and everything they’d shared. It had felt so real, so right, between them.

  “All I want is Dylan,” she said sadly.