Love 2 Jingle U: A Sweet Vine Christmas Romance

by Alexandra Silva

  Taking a deep breath to steel myself for what’s about to happen, I shut the trunk with echoing force.

  “Take it easy on Fiona,” Amelia calls from the driver’s side. The door is wide open, and she’s standing in the misty drizzle like we have more business. Her Santa hat is threatening to fall off, and her hair is beginning to fuzz with the humidity.

  When I round to her side, I notice that my small token of our time together is now at the top of her purse, still unopened. I’m not sure whether she’s ignoring it or whether she hasn’t noticed it. Regardless, I focus back on her, cupping her face with both hands, tilting it back so that I can have one last look.

  “You are something special, Amelia Harding, and you are right—you deserve the whole fairy tale.”

  I’m just sorry that I can’t be the prince she’s waiting on. About to open her mouth, she bites down on her lip as though she’s trying to stop herself from saying something, or maybe she’s trying to hold in all the things she’s feeling.

  “Goodbye, Adam,” she finally says.

  Tears instantly flood her eyes at the words, and my already tight chest constricts in a vise like grip around my insides, making it impossible to catch my breath.

  “Don’t do that. Don’t cry.” I lean forward to kiss each of her cheeks and the tip of her nose, leaving her lips for last.

  Licking into her mouth, I drink in her sobs. Again and again, until her hands are molding my jaw, fingertips clawing at my skin as our tongues steal one last taste.

  “Get in the car, sweetheart,” I tell her, pulling away to press a kiss to her forehead.

  Unlike all the other times, she doesn’t do as she’s told. Instead, she presses one more kiss to my lips and then another, and before I know it, we’re back to tasting and nipping and sucking. And all the composure I’m holding on to so tight is threatening to slip.

  “Get in the damn car, Amelia,” I grit across her lips with one last bite.

  When I pull away with her tears coating my face, I watch her get in and close her door before heading back to the cottage and locking the door, putting the keys under the boot brush. As I head to my rental, I catch sight of her. The devastation of her tears guts me in a way that I have never been cut through before.

  It’s for the best, I tell myself. She’ll get over you and find her fairy tale.

  As much as the thought twists my insides, filling me with a nausea I’ve never felt, I get in the Range and follow her out of the drive. When we get to the highway, she turns right, and every instinct is telling me to follow even as the GPS tells me to go the opposite way.

  It’s for the best, I keep telling myself as I follow the instructions of the guide.

  With her out of sight, and our time over, it doesn’t get any easier to breathe. All I can think is that the roads are icy and she’s driving in that tiny car. And maybe I should have made sure she got home okay.

  They’re all excuses. All silly ideas. I know better than to listen to them as I park the rental in the private hangar and get on the jet that’s already waiting for me. Knowing that I’ll never replace the heart I’m leaving behind.

  The entire flight I can’t stop thinking about Amelia. It doesn’t matter how much scotch I drink or how many emails I try to reply to. I even go to the general inbox my assistant normally deals with. It gets to the point where I’m beating myself up about my state of being.

  It’s pathetic.

  A little over a week and I’m fucking losing my mind over a woman.

  It’s ridiculous.

  Or it would be if it hadn’t been the best week of my life, and it’s nothing to do with the fact that I’ve made the biggest deal the firm has ever brought in. No, it’s all to do Mrs. freaking Claus.

  Damn, she’s even got me thinking like her.

  Of course, it doesn’t help that every time I glance at my phone, I can’t help but go back to the selfie I took of us. My chest constricts at the sight as I zoom in on her smile and how close we are. For a moment, I swear I can still smell her beside me. Feel her lips on my jaw. It’s a first; my dick isn’t hardening at the mere sight of her, like it too has been broken.

  “Fuck, get your shit together, asshole!” I tell myself as the flight attendant collects my empty tumbler.

  “We’ll be landing in fifteen minutes,” he informs me. “Your car will be waiting for you, and I believe it’s just started snowing.”

  I look out of the window to realize that the clouds are dense, and it makes my chest tighten some more.

  “Thanks, Will.”

  “Pleasure, sir.” He nods, glancing down at my phone and the photo lighting up the screen.

  Although he doesn’t say anything, he has a knowing smile on his face as he walks back to his seat near the cockpit, leaving me to pack my MacBook away while trying to push away all thoughts of fiery hair and mossy amber eyes. It’s impossible though—Amelia is all I see whether my eyes are open or closed. She’s like a ghost, haunting me to the ends of the earth, across oceans and continents.

  We land without any issues. It’s midafternoon in New York City which means it’s nighttime in London. I wonder if Amelia is on her flight to LA or whether she’s still at home. Checking my phone in case she’s messaged in the last ten minutes it’s been on airplane mode, I’m greeted by nothing but disappointment.

  I don’t know why, but I expected a reaction to the small gift I slipped in her purse. I was so certain that it would be an open invitation for her to think of me—of us—and maybe break the silence. It was the only opening I could think of leaving her, but she’s clearly chosen not to take it.

  It’s for the best, I keep telling myself as I look around the oddly quiet private airport. It’s so still that Daphne’s blue Audi SUV stands out in the snowy fog. Perched on the hood, she focuses on me the minute she sees me. As much as I know that she’s going to ask me a million and one questions, it feels so good to see her.

  “Why are you alone?” It’s the first thing she asks when I reach her. As though my lone presence isn’t enough, she looks behind me. “Where’s Amelia?”

  “It’s good to see you too, Daph.”

  My tone must tell her that I’m not in the mood for her usual eager enthusiasm because she throws herself at me, hugging me hard enough that I have no choice but to reciprocate. Normally when I return from a trip and I see her, it feels like a part of me is found again. Maybe I was expecting that to happen this time, but all I feel is this awful ache in my chest, all the way to the pit of my stomach.

  Letting me go, she plants a kiss on my cheek before taking my case and putting it in her trunk.

  “What are you waiting for?” she asks as I stand staring at the jet.

  Maybe I’m waiting, hoping that by some miracle, Amelia will appear. That by some miracle, I’ll wake up and we’ll be back in our cottage in the middle of fucking nowhere.

  “Adam?”

  I should have made sure she got home safe. I should’ve been a better man and taken her myself. Why didn’t I? Why didn’t I follow her home? Then at least I would know she’s okay. That her silence is because we really are done and not because she’s hurt or…or…

  Fuck!

  If I’d taken her home, I would know her address. What kind of place she lives…

  “Adam!”

  “Yeah?” Shaking my head free of my thoughts, I get in the car.

  It smells of roses and verbena, just like Amelia, and I feel as though I’m suffocating on the scent. Every second that goes by, I miss her smiling eyes. Every minute that ticks on, I miss the feel of her hair tickling my chest. I miss her voice and her laugh. The way she would hum all the time or sing along to the songs on the radio. I miss her one-sided dimple and the way she bit her lip when she was trying not to laugh or when she wanted me to touch her but was shy about it.

  “I miss her.” The words fall from my lips without warning, and rather than lightening the weight, it makes it harder to bear.

  It’s only been el
even hours since I last saw Amelia, and I already miss her as though it’s been days. Or even weeks.

  “You want to talk about it?” Daphne reaches across, squeezing my hand.

  “No. No, I don’t.”

  We spend the rest of the journey to my apartment in silence, driving through New York to the Upper East Side. The sight of the ice rink in Central Park and all the Christmas decorations guts me a little bit more than I thought possible.

  When we get to my place, Daphne parks in one of my designated spots, and as I’m about to get out, she says, “You know, it’s her loss anyway. You’re practically New York royalty, and every woman and even some men with a pulse woul—”

  “Daphne,” I halt her tirade. As well-meaning as it is, I can’t listen to her bad-mouth Amelia for the sake of making me feel better. “I said I didn’t want to talk about it.”

  “We tell each other everything.”

  “Not right now.” I don’t want to share any of my spitfire with anyone. I want to keep her all to myself as ridiculous as it even sounds to call her mine when I let her go. I had to though, didn’t I?

  “You know, if you’re that cut up about her, maybe you should figure out how to make things work out. I know you say that she’s in London and you’re in New York, but you travel all the time, and it’s not like you can’t afford to visit her often, right?”

  “Sure.” I nod, getting out and taking a large gulp of city air to clear my lungs of the flowery scent. When I’ve grabbed my case from the trunk, she’s already at the elevator, waiting for me. “I need to get some rest.”

  “Okay, but I’ll see you at Sabbath dinner tomorrow?”

  “I don’t know, I have a lot to catch up on.” I get in the service elevator that goes straight to my apartment, and as the door closes she says, “Nanna’s gonna be there, and she’ll kick your a—”

  Of course, Dad has probably told our grandmother all about the deal and they all want to celebrate. And even if I’m not in the mood, I can’t begrudge them that. I have a role, and I can’t let anything get in the way of it.

  The minute the elevator doors ping open, I head straight for my bedroom on the other side of the apartment. I’ve never realized how quiet it is up here until now. I’m crossing the open-plan living area when I see her.

  Long waves cascade down to her waist where the blazer of her suit cinches in. A couple of weeks ago, I probably would’ve fucked her and made a point of throwing her out on her merry way, but today…today, all I can do is ask myself why I ever thought things would work between us? How did I ever think that we had a future? We’re different in every possible way. In all the wrong ways.

  Icy blue eyes meet mine as she flicks her almost white-blonde hair over her shoulder. At least she has the decency to look nervous and out of place.

  “What are you doing here, Christie?” I ask, throwing my briefcase on the sofa and wheeling my case to the hallway leading to the bedrooms.

  “I wanted to congratulate you.” She smiles shakily when I turn toward her. “You’ve worked so hard, and it’s paid off…I guess.”

  “You guess?” Pausing in front of the drinks cart, I pour myself another scotch. Not that I actually want it, but I need something in my hands so I don’t do something stupid like manhandling the city’s next tipped district attorney. “What exactly do you guess, Christine?”

  I use her full name knowing that she hates being called by it since it’s her mother’s disapproving address for her.

  “Your investment deal with the British aristocrat is all anyone can talk about. Culture and innovation, not to mention the rehoming project for the people in the area. You really did think of everything, didn’t you?”

  “I’m thorough, if anything. You should know that.” Swirling the liquor around the glass, I focus on the amber color, and I can’t help but smile at how warm it is. How warm Amelia’s gaze was.

  Hell, all of her was warm. It’s why she was so easy to—

  I force the thought out of my head and focus back on Christie and whatever it is she’s saying. I’ve missed most of it, and when I level her with my stare, she stops her diatribe to state, “It’s impressive.”

  “Is it? We’re businessmen making a deal—it happens every day. It’s not like I’m actively trying to do something good. Right?”

  With a sigh, she puts her large designer purse down on the entry table. Her heels clack on the marble floor as she comes closer.

  “You were hurt, Adam, and mad…” Pausing in front of me, she reaches for my hand, and when I snatch it away from her, her demeanor deflates a little.

  Good. It’s all the pity I can dredge up for her. I knew her games when we started dating in college. Women like her are a dime a dozen in New York. She might have the education and career to back up her narcissistic and self-entitled nature, but she’s clearly deluded if she thinks she can put any reasoning to her actions. That failed catastrophically for her the last time I was idiotic enough to listen.

  “We both said things we didn’t mean, and I know I made a mistake. I’m not proud of it, but we are good together.”

  “Define ‘good together’ because either I am completely off base about the meaning, or you really have lost touch with your sanity.” I scoff, looking at the elevator that’s pinging open.

  “Oh.” The concierge startles as he puts a large hat box overflowing with white flowers and green foliage down on the hall table. The red holly accents make my heartbeat thrum at the sight, and when I spot the mistletoe, it goes into overdrive. “I’m sorry, we didn’t realize you were back. The florist dropped these off, and I didn’t want to leave them downstairs too long. The draft will dry them out, and Miss Cohen will not be happy.”

  “Who are they for?” I’m the last person anyone would send flowers to, and Christie and I have been over long enough that no one should be sending her anything here.

  Peter looks between me and her before he takes the address card and reads out, “Adam and Amelia, thank you for dinner. Wishing you both a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. See you both soon. Greetings, Louis and Harriet Drummond.”

  “Thank you.”

  Putting the card back in place amongst the flowers, he nods in my direction. “Always a pleasure, sir,” he tells me, turning toward the elevator.

  When he’s gone, Christie meanders over to the arrangement, plucking the card as she asks, “Who’s Amelia?”

  “None of your concern,” I tell her, trying to keep my cool because Amelia’s name from her lips…isn’t something I want to hear.

  “Really, Adam? I’m your—”

  “You’re my ex. You’re going to stay my ex if not for the fact that you were fucking your junior, then simply because we are not good together.”

  “You don’t mean that!”

  “Leave, Christine.” Walking around her, I call the elevator. “We’re done. In fact, we were done the second you even contemplated touching another guy. I don’t share. Simple.”

  “You were never here!”

  “I didn’t want to be!” My yell echoes around the vast space, and it’s in that moment of quiet shock that I realize my mistake.

  All this time I kept thinking about all the reasons Amelia and I would never work. How my absence would eventually kill all the goodness between us. But I was wrong.

  Amelia is nothing like Christie. There’s nothing but softness and warmth to her. She doesn’t care about what she can get out of people or a situation; she only ever wants to be happy and to make others happy.

  “Why? I’m…I-I’m me. In a few years I’ll be DA and I can open doors for you. I’ll be able to help you get in front of the people that matter. Imagine what your legacy will be for Cohen Capital. It’ll be…incredible…”

  “Is that what you think I want? I don’t want to fuck my job. I don’t want to be with someone because of what they can do for the firm. I just…”

  I want someone for me.

  The company has had every ounce of my dedica
tion since I can remember. Everything I’ve done in my life has been for the company and to make Dad proud. But Amelia was all mine. And there is nowhere I want to be other than with her. My need for her goes beyond an addiction or obsession. It’s so much more than compulsion. It’s a soul-deep desperation that is a constant in every thought, wish, want, breath…

  “You want to know who Amelia is?” I ask, grabbing Christie’s purse and taking it back to the waiting elevator. “She’s someone worth being around for. Someone I actually want to see and be around all the damn time.”

  “You’re being mean,” Christie murmurs with tears in her eyes that only make me angrier at her self-pity.

  “I’m being an asshole so you get the message. I don’t want you—I clearly never did because if I had, I would’ve tried harder. You would’ve been more important than the company.”

  Before she can say anything else, I grab her elbow and lead her into the elevator, making sure she stays inside as the door closes. The second she’s out of sight, I pull my phone from my pocket and take a photo of the flowers and the card and send them to Amelia. I keep waiting for the message to be delivered, but the word “sent” keeps staring at me from beneath my messages.

  What if she’s blocked me because she doesn’t want to hear from me again? The question pops into my head, and before I can think better of it, I look up Sweet Vine Co. If there’s one person who will know the answer, it’s Kate.

  12

  Amelia

  A sense of déjà vu hits me while I’m standing in my bedroom packing my suitcase. But this time I’m home in London, with Kate perched on the bed next to me, helping me fold my clothes.

  Surrounded by familiarity, I feel strangely lost. Like this isn’t where I belong. I left my heart behind when I drove away from Adam, and I’m not okay. Every breath I take is taxing. It’s like the sun has set but the stars refuse to shine. The moon is in hiding, mourning our loss.