by Noelle Adams
She sputtered, trying to scoff but almost on the verge of tears. “Don’t treat me like I’m stupid. It has nothing to do with the site.”
His eyes were boring into her, as if he were trying to search for some sort of answer on her face. Before she could stop it, a tear slipped out of one eye and streamed down her face. She brushed it away impatiently.
“Damn it, Helen. Tell me,” he insisted hoarsely.
“What does it matter?” She jumped to her feet in her emotion, angry because she hadn’t been able to control herself the way he always could. “Why do you care if I’m mad? I’m just a foolish, spoiled princess who will never be anything but a drain on a man’s bank account.”
She hadn’t meant to say as much, but the words just came tumbling out. And with them more tears.
Cyrus had stood up too, but now he froze. He stared at her blankly for a long time. “Wait,” he said at last, his voice thick with confusion, “Who said that about you?”
“You did!” she sobbed, palming away the tears she couldn’t hold back. The words hurt so much, and they hurt even more since he obviously didn’t even remember saying them—they meant so little to him. “You did! I heard you.”
“I never said that,” he argued, looking vaguely horrified. “I never would have said that about you.”
“You did! You were talking to your dad about why I couldn’t go to Paris. I heard you. I remember it exactly.” She took a few breaths and recited the words that she’d never been able to forget. “You said, ‘The trip will be nothing but trouble. She’s a foolish, spoiled princess whose only talent is being a pain in the ass and draining a man’s bank account.’ Those were your words exactly.”
Cyrus rubbed a frustrated hand through his hair, his brow lowering as he tried to recall. Then his expression changed. “Damn it, Helen—you little idiot. If you’re going to keep eavesdropping, at least learn to do it well.”
“I eavesdrop fine!”
“I wasn’t saying that about you. I was talking about Maria’s father’s girlfriend.”
Helen had been about to make an automatic retort, but then she processed the words and stopped short. She stared at Cyrus’s outraged face and tried to make herself think. When nothing still made sense, she gazed up at him with bewilderment. “What?”
He sighed deeply and rubbed his head again, more slowly this time. “You must have missed the first part of the conversation. I was telling him that Maria’s father is living with a woman who is the daughter of the kingpin of one of the biggest organized crime families in Europe. I don’t know whether Maria’s father is connected to the business, but we couldn’t send you into that situation, not even with security.”
Helen swayed on her feet and had to sit down again as she processed the new information. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Maria is your friend. I didn’t want to get in the way of that.” Cyrus gave a huff. “Of course, that was before I knew she took you to idiotic parties.”
She still couldn’t wrap her mind around what this meant. Cyrus hadn’t said those awful things about her after all. He didn’t really think she was useless, silly, and a burden.
Then she remembered something else and stiffened in indignation. “No! That can’t be right. You were talking about me. Because then your dad said something about how I wouldn’t like it, and you said, ‘What the hell do I care what she thinks?’”
Cyrus actually groaned. “So you took that to mean I don’t care about you at all? For God’s sake, kid! I just meant that I didn’t care if you were going to be mad about the canceled trip. Even if it made you angry, you still couldn’t go if it might be dangerous.”
Helen sank her head into her hands, trying to make sense of everything. Her shoulders shook with emotion.
“Helen, please don’t cry.”
She couldn’t bear to look up at him. Everything she’d known about her world seemed to be falling apart. “Can you just leave me alone for a little while? Please?”
“Okay.” He stood and stared at her for another moment. She wasn’t looking at him, but she could feel him. Then, “I’ll be downstairs.”
Helen cried for a few minutes until she’d managed to work through her emotions. Since she felt like crap, she went to take a shower. By the time she finished and braided her hair into two damp braids and put on red flannel pajamas, she was actually feeling better.
Cyrus hadn’t said those horrible things. He hadn’t just been pretending to be nice all this time.
Maybe she hadn’t been a fool to like him as much as she had.
Sure, he did a lot of dumb things and was pretty sucky with the women he dated, but at least he hadn’t been faking caring about her.
She put some slippers on and then went downstairs. She found Cyrus in the media room. He was staring at the television, which was set to a cable news channel.
He turned when she entered. “How do you feel?”
She shrugged and sat down beside him on the couch. “I’m okay. Not great, but not fuzzy anymore.”
He peered at her closely but didn’t say anything.
She felt awkward and a little embarrassed as she thought over the events of the evening. To make conversation, she asked, “How did you know I was at the party?”
“My father has security assigned to you all the time.”
She blinked. “I’ve never seen them. So they tattle on me all the time?”
“They’re supposed to be discreet. They’re good at it. Their role is not to keep you from having fun. It’s to make sure you’re safe. They only tattle when you might be in danger, so don’t think about trying to sneak away from them.”
She thought about that but didn’t have the mental energy to process it all tonight.
“Helen,” he said, a little hoarsely, catching her attention again. He’d leaned toward her, meeting her eyes. “I know I’m not your father or your brother or anything, but I’m a guy who has done a lot of things I wish I hadn’t done. Have fun if you want. I’m not saying you have to follow every rule. But don’t let yourself become helpless. I promise you’ll regret it.”
Helen was deeply affected by the look in his eyes, and she couldn’t help but wonder what he’d done that had made him helpless, what he’d done he now regretted. She couldn’t seem to speak, so she just nodded.
Cyrus relaxed a little. His mouth relaxed, as if he was relieved his advice-giving was over. “And I’m sorry you misunderstood what you overheard back in August and it upset you so much. I wouldn’t have said that about you. I like you, kid.” His smile broadened. “I always have.”
Something softened and warmed in her heart. She smiled back at him, widely, sincerely, for the first time in months. “I like you too.”
After a moment of smiling at each other, Cyrus picked up the remote. With a click of it, the opening credits of White Christmas started to run.
Helen felt even warmer, even fuzzier. She leaned over to grab a thick, cashmere throw from the floor and pulled it up over her.
“There’s some more water there, if you want it,” Cyrus said, gesturing toward the side table beside her. “We can get cider and cookies later, if you want.”
Helen didn’t know if she would be up for their normal snacks, but she took the water gratefully.
She didn’t feel too bad now, just a dull headache and some lingering fatigue. She was warm and comfortable on the couch, though, taking in the familiar images and music on the television screen.
And she felt safe, secure, sheltered with Cyrus there with her, on the other side of the couch, slouching back with his legs extended and his blue eyes focused on the movie.
“Will you wear your Christmas sweater tomorrow?” she asked out of the blue, grinning at him when he turned to look at her in surprise.
His lips parted. “Are you serious?”
Her mouth wobbled as she tried to suppress amusement. “Just to prove there’s no hard feelings?”
“Somehow, I ended up with the raw end of th
is deal,” he muttered, narrowing his eyes in exaggerated annoyance.
“Why would you expect anything else?”
With a laugh, he reached over and gave one of her braids a playful tug. “If you can stay awake through the whole movie, I’ll wear the sweater.”
Helen was getting very sleepy, but she wasn’t about to lose the challenge. So she managed to keep her eyes open until the movie was over, although it was touch-and-go there at the end.
She went to bed happy, looking forward to seeing Cyrus in his sweater the following day.
It might not have started off well, but it was a pretty good Christmas Eve after all.
Fourth Christmas Eve
five years ago
Cyrus wasn’t having a very good day, but at least it wasn’t snowing.
That morning, as he’d been wrapping up the final tasks he needed to complete before a few days of vacation over the holidays, he’d gotten pulled into a four-hour meeting about how to deal with an emergency situation at one of his father’s plants. His father had left for Clarksburg the previous day, so he’d told Cyrus to take care of the crisis for him.
Cyrus had been working at the executive level in his father’s company for seven months now, ever since he’d finished his MBA. The position had been created just for him, so at first he’d filled a mostly empty role, but a few months ago he’d started pushing his father to give him some real work to do, which his dad had taken as an invitation to dump any tedious, tiresome, or unwanted jobs on his son.
He’d completed them all without complaining, and he was satisfied he did them well. He wasn’t surprised his father was testing him, to see how deeply he was committed and where his limits and boundaries were. Cyrus was determined to make himself indispensable. If that meant managing a four-hour meeting on Christmas Eve day when he’d been planning to drive out to Clarksburg, then so be it.
He liked the work—the real work and not the empty tasks he’d been given at first. And, while he wasn’t fool enough to start believing his father really liked or respected him, at least they’d been getting along better in the last few months than they ever had before.
He’d already been running late when he returned to his place to get ready to go, and then he’d had an awkward conversation with a woman he’d gone out with a few times. He’d thought there might be potential there, but his feelings for her were definitely cooling. He’d been trying to let her down easy. Only she didn’t want to be let down at all.
When he’d finally gotten off the phone, he’d been tired and frustrated. He spent most of the drive mentally composing a proposal for a new project he wanted his father to invest in.
At least the sky and the roads were clear, so he didn’t have to focus much on his driving, and he started to relax when he pulled his car into the garage.
Dinner shouldn’t be bad, since he and his father had been on pretty good terms lately. He could spend a relaxing, companionable evening with Helen, without any pressure or stress, and tomorrow he had the day off.
Hi mood had recovered by the time he walked into the house—only to be greeted by silence.
He frowned. Usually Helen was waiting for him and would run up to greet him with a hug, except when she was mad at him or was caught in a snowstorm.
He knew she wasn’t angry with him right now. They’d talked on the phone the previous day, and she’d seemed excited about his visit.
He shrugged off the strange lack of greeting and took his bag up to his room. He checked Helen’s bedroom on his way back down, but she wasn’t there.
He found his father in the study, sitting by the fire, listening to Puccini at a very loud volume, and reading a book.
He lowered the music when he saw his son enter. “I heard back from Walton. He said your plan was a good one, and the plant has begun implementing it as of now.”
Cyrus nodded. “Good. Tell him to watch Cutler. I don’t trust him at all.”
“I’ll convey your suspicions.” He raised his book again. “Dinner is at seven.”
“Where’s Helen?”
“How would I know?”
Cyrus sighed. “Is she here?”
“She’s around somewhere. She’s probably too distracted to notice your arrival.”
“What does that mean?”
His father smiled, almost predatory. “It means I wouldn’t count on your being her favorite any longer.”
Cyrus started to ask another question, but he stopped himself. His father was looking too pleased with himself, and it would be a mistake to give him the advantage by acting curious or confused. Instead, he just murmured, “Hmm,” and left the room.
He was confused, though, and a little worried. It wasn’t like he had to be Helen’s favorite person, although he knew very well that—with the exception of those months she’d been angry with him about the imagined slight—he had always been her favorite. But he didn’t like the idea of something going on with her that he didn’t know about.
They only saw each other a few times a year, but they emailed or talked on the phone at least weekly and she’d taken to sending him funny texts at odd times of the day. He also got regular updates on her from the security assigned to her.
Cyrus thought he basically knew what was going on in her life.
He had to ask a member of their security team to find out where Helen was in the house, since he didn’t want to traipse all over looking. On discovering that she was in the kitchen, Cyrus went to find her.
He found her rolling out dough on the large granite island. Her long red-blond hair, darker than it had been a few years ago, had been clipped up on her head, but it was now falling down and hanging messily around her face. Her cheeks, forehead, hair, and sweatshirt were all covered in flour.
When she finally looked up from her exuberant rolling, she gasped in surprise and cried, “Cyrus!” Despite the excessive flour, her face glowed when she saw him, and she immediately dropped the rolling pin and ran over to hug him.
“Uh,” he began, predicting the result of a hug from her at the moment. Then he resigned himself to being covered with flour too as she hurled herself into his arms.
He laughed as he returned her hug, wrapping his arms around her warm, messy, little self.
He had to admit that it was really nice—to have someone who was always happy to see him, someone who genuinely liked him simply for who he was, someone he could trust to never betray him.
He wondered if this was what it should be like to have family.
“You’re late!” Helen exclaimed. “You were supposed to be here hours ago.”
“A few things came up.” He brushed off his dark shirt and trousers, which were now festooned with blotches of flour. The brushing did nothing to restore them so he gave up. “So you decided to amuse yourself until my arrival by baking?”
“Sugar cookies,” she declared with a wide smile. “For tonight.”
“I didn’t know you had any culinary aspirations.” He idly noted that she was getting prettier as she grew into her features.
“I don’t. I’m a horrible cook. But I wanted—” She cut off her words for some reason, looking slightly self-conscious. It immediately triggered Cyrus’s curiosity, since she rarely appeared self-conscious around him. Her green eyes seemed to really look at him for the first time, and her expression changed, “Oh no! I got you covered with flour.”
He chuckled at the way she’d just now had such an obvious revelation. “No big deal. What were you going to say you wanted?”
She opened her mouth, but before she could reply another voice broke into their conversation.
“Hey, Helen. Did you know there’s—“ The new voice cut off when the owner of the voice entered the room and saw Helen was no longer alone.
A young man, probably around Helen’s age, had walked into the kitchen. He was tall and athletic with dark hair and a square jaw. He wore jeans, sneakers, and sweatshirt. “Oh,” he said, pausing and looking at Cyrus in surprise. “Sorry.�
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“This is Cyrus. He’s Drake’s son, you know,” Helen said, going over to stand next to the young man with a smile that almost looked shy. “Cyrus, this is my friend Ben.”
The way she said the words sounded almost like a pronouncement, as if she were voicing something of utmost importance. She slanted Cyrus a very particular look that he understood immediately.
She was trying to covertly tell him that he was supposed to be very nice to Ben. Because she really liked him.
Cyrus immediately smiled and held out his hand, giving the boy a quick but close assessment. Ben was clean-cut and healthy, with a relatively intelligent expression and a smile of almost earnest good-nature.
Cyrus’s first impression was that Helen would be able to run verbal circles around the boy. He’d never be enough of a challenge for her.
But she seemed to like him very much. Her expression was glowing, almost besotted, as she gazed up at Ben. Cyrus recognized the expression since she used to look at him that way.
She’d been quite happy to see Cyrus earlier, but she hadn’t looked at him the way she used to.
He brushed the thought aside. It was ridiculous to feel like something between them had changed merely because she had a very normal crush on a classmate. She was sixteen. Something would be wrong if she didn’t have a romantic interest.
She’d mentioned Ben to him before, but always in the context of friendship, so Cyrus hadn’t made the connection that Ben was someone special to her.
But at least he seemed to be her age and appeared to be a sincere and responsible. Much better than the crowd she’d been hanging out with two years ago, when he’d almost had a heart attack on finding her being groped by a drunk football player.
She’d grown up a lot in those two years, and he was glad that she seemed more comfortable with who she was and that she’d made real friends who seemed to care about her as a person.
If that meant she would start to have boyfriends, then so be it.
Helen had been rambling on about her adventures with Ben in cookie-making, but Cyrus was only listening with half an ear. When she demanded that he help them cut out the cookies from the flattened dough, Cyrus obediently took a cookie-cutter. He was already covered in flour, after all.
