A Christmas Reservation (The Royale Series)

by Devon Michaels

  Peter honks his horn as he comes to a stop, signaling his arrival. He leaves the car running but gets out of the car, walking around front to open the door for me.

  “Milady,” he jokes, bowing a little as he holds his hand out for me to hold.

  “What are you doing?” I laugh.

  “Giving you the boyfriend experience.”

  “Is that what this is?” I ask, raising my eyebrows in mock surprise. “Please don’t be like this around my family.”

  “Why not?” He grins.

  “Because they’ll know something’s up.”

  “What makes you think this isn’t how I would treat a girlfriend?”

  I roll my eyes, but humor him by taking his hand. He helps me slip into the passenger seat before closing the door behind me. He gets back in the driver’s seat and pulls on his seat belt. He reaches down and passes me a coffee cup. The paper cup is holiday-themed –red with a simple design of candy canes all around the base.

  “What’s this?”

  “A peppermint hot chocolate. I thought you might like it.”

  I place the box of cupcakes down on my lap and take the cup from him. The warmth from the hot drink heats up my gloves, leaving a wonderful heat in my palms. The scent of chocolate and mint wafts up from the lid, which prompts me to take in a deep breath. It smells like Christmas.

  “Thank you,” I mumble in appreciation.

  “It’s no big deal,” he says with a shrug. “There was a two-for-one deal on today.”

  “No, not for the coffee. For agreeing to all this.”

  Peter scratches behind his ear. His cheeks look a little pink, his eyes unable to meet mine. He shoulder checks before merging back into traffic.

  “So is there anything I should know?” he asks me after a while. “About your family, I mean. Anything a real boyfriend would know.”

  “Er,” I stutter. “What would a real boyfriend know?”

  “Come on, we have to be convincing. Tell me about yourself.”

  I smirk. “Doesn’t that go against one of our rules?”

  “It does,” he admits with a shrug of the shoulder. “But if you want things to go smoothly, I suggest you tell me a few things about yourself.”

  I sigh, taking a sip of the hot chocolate Peter bought me. It’s sweet and light, but still too hot to chug all in one go.

  “What’s your favorite color?” he asks me, breaking the ice.

  “Red.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. You?”

  “Purple. What did you want to be when you grew up?”

  “I wanted to be a lawyer,” I tell him.

  Peter glances at me and smiles. “Really?”

  “Don’t believe me?”

  “No, no. I believe you. I just never understood why people wanted to pursue law. Isn’t it super boring?”

  I shrug. “I liked it.”

  “Liked?”

  “I went to law school for two years.”

  Peter whistles. “That’s impressive.”

  “I had to drop out, though,” I reminisce.

  There’s a tense beat between us.

  “Why?” he asks me. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to.”

  “It’s okay,” I dismiss quickly. “My dad, Richard–”

  “Oh, I remember Richard.”

  I chuckle at his discomfort. “He got sick. Suffered a string of heart attacks all in one year.”

  “Jesus,” he mumbles. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “I was, too. I ended up dropping out to take care of him.”

  Peter remains silent, focusing on the road. I listen to the rush of traffic and wind past the car as he merges onto the highway. We’re still in for a relatively lengthy trip, so I decide to keep talking to fill the quiet.

  “I wound up taking over a few responsibilities at the Royale. By the end of the year, dad decided he wanted to retire. You know, for his health.”

  “Sure, sure,” says Peter with a nod. “Makes sense.”

  “And that’s how I wound up owning the Royale.”

  Peter bites his lip. “You don’t sound too happy about it.”

  I shift in my seat, stretching my legs. “Sometimes it can be really tough. I don’t know what I’m doing half the time.”

  Peter frowns at this. He reaches over and strokes my cheek with the back of his fingers. It’s light and comforting. I lean into his hand, unexpectedly enjoying the sensation. I could get used to this –the hand holding, the kisses on the cheek, the warm smiles, the gentle touches. But I pull away. This wasn’t what he signed up for. He was just doing me a favor; this was all just part of the act. Peter takes his hand back, having noticed me flinch away. He chews the inside of his cheek, returning his attention to the traffic.

  “I mean,” he says, breaking the silence, “for what it’s worth, I think the Royale’s fantastic.”

  “Thanks,” I mumble under my breath. “What about you?” I ask him.

  “Hm?”

  “What did you want to be when you grew up? Did you always want to be a doctor?”

  Peter chuckles, a nostalgic look in his eyes. “No. I wanted to be a cowboy.”

  I clap my hand over my mouth to stifle a laugh. “A cowboy?” I repeat.

  He smiles wide, lips stretched from ear to ear. “Don’t laugh at me, I thought cowboys were cool. I used to watch a lot of old western movies.”

  “I’m sorry. I just can’t stop imaging you in ass-less chaps.”

  “I’d look great in them and you know it.”

  My stomach hurts from laughing so hard. I have to wipe at my eyes to rid them of the tears that are forming. I take a deep breath, trying to reign it in. “Sorry,” I manage to giggle. I clear my throat, pushing the image out of my head. “So, what’s your family like?”

  “They’re a handful,” he admits. “I grew up in the suburbs, so my mother thinks the city’s too dangerous to visit.”

  “You said your sister’s coming. What’s she like?”

  “I think you’d like her,” he says. “Very energetic. You never have to worry about coming up with things to talk about because she does all the talking for you.”

  “Dinner should be easy, then.”

  “Key word being should.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Peter

  We’re met with an onslaught of questions –entirely expected, but jarring nonetheless. Kate has two younger sisters, Amy and Alexa. Each sister has two children –all of them boys– named Jacob, Daniel, Ralph, and Max. I quickly learn that Amy is married to a hardworking plumber named Philip, and Alexa is married to the stern-looking stockbroker who also happens to be named Alex. All of their names swirl around in my mind as I struggle for the better part of an hour to try to put names to faces as we gather around the living room while we wait for the turkey to come out of the oven.

  “So what do you do?” inquires Amy. One of her son’s –I think it’s Jacob– is sitting on her lap reading a children’s illustrated picture book. He’s only a few years old, so Amy can easily hold him still without much struggle.

  “I’m a doctor,” I answer. I’m sitting next to Kate on the loveseat sofa that’s against the cabin wall facing the brick fireplace.

  “What kind of doctor?” asks the boy who I’m pretty sure is Ralph. He’s the kid with a splash of freckles across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

  “I’m an emergency room doctor.”

  “What’s that?” asks Ralph and Max at the same time.

  “Well, when people have accidents and hurt themselves, they’re taken to the emergency room at the hospital. That’s where I work.”

  “Like when I get a booboo!” exclaims the last boy, Daniel. He’s maybe four years-old, at the very most.

  I smile and nod at him. “Yes, exactly.”

  Kate has her fingers knitted together and placed neatly on her lap. She’s been uncharacteristically quiet this entire time, not that I can exactly blame her.
Her lips are pulled into a tight, straight line, and she keeps her eyes on her hands –trying to appear aloof enough to avoid intense familial interrogation. She seems only slightly relieved that I’m here to shield her from the forceful scrutiny.

  “How’d you two meet?” asks Alexa. She has a small cup of eggnog in her hands, which she periodically takes dainty little sips from. She sits with an incredibly straight back and furrow between her brow –and here I thought Kate was the uptight and serious sister.

  “A mutual friend,” Kate answers quickly, fumbling over her words. This was one answer I didn’t review with her on the drive over, so I was glad she wanted to take the lead.

  “Which mutual friend?” Philip pried.

  “You wouldn’t know her,” Kate muttered quietly.

  “Try me,” suggests Amy.

  “Do you remember Rachel? From college.”

  “Oh, oh no,” giggles Alexa.

  Kate raises her eyebrows and nods with a sigh. “Yeah.”

  “She’s…” Amy hesitates, trying to find the right words. “Fun.”

  “How long have you two been dating?” asks Alexa.

  Kate shoots me a nervous glance. I suddenly realize how underprepared we are. I reach out and take her hand in mine, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

  “A couple of months,” I say calmly.

  Amy whistles. “That’s a big step, taking your new boyfriend to meet the family. She must like you.”

  “Well, I–” Kate stammers.

  “I insisted,” I continue on her behalf. “I may or may not have bribed her into letting me meet you all.”

  “I like him,” Amy not-so-discreetly whispers to Kate.

  Kate’s cheeks flush pink. She does her best to stifle a smile. She hasn’t pulled her hand away from mine, so I assume that she doesn’t mind.

  Richard leans against the open-door frame that leads from the living room to the kitchen. He clears his throat, commanding attention of the room.

  “Why don’t the kids go play outside for a little bit?” he suggests. “And maybe I can get Peter’s help in the kitchen?”

  “Er, sure,” I stutter. Kate gives my hand a small, encouraging squeeze as I stand up and start toward the kitchen.

  The children rush to the front door and bundle up in their thick winter coats and snow boots. Their mothers and fathers usher them outside as a huge blast of frigid wind shakes the frame of the cabin.

  “Why don’t you show me how well you can build snowmen?” suggests Alex. The kids cheer in unison as they storm out into the knee-high snow. It crunches under their little boots, heavy with moisture.

  I enter the small kitchen slowly, admiring the numerous pots and pans that hang on hooks over the kitchen sink. The kitchen sink is located just below a small window that looks out into the yard, trimmed with delicate lace curtains. There are several herb plants in small pots along the window sill –several of which I’m unable to identify. The kitchen smells absolutely delicious. I can see through the glass window of the oven that the turkey is browning nicely, there are steamed vegetables resting on the warmer of the stove, and Richard is attentively stirring a pot of gravy. He waves me over and points at the pot.

  “Here, keep an eye on this,” Richard instructs.

  I nod and take up my position. My eyes wander around, finally falling upon the collage of family photographs that are stuck to the massive fridge door with magnets. There are pictures of Amy, Alexa, and Kate together as young children and teenagers. I’m especially impressed with one of Kate, who’s holding up a giant golden trophy in the picture. She’s missing a couple of baby teeth, but her smile is massive and her chubby cheeks are adorable. Kate is probably no older than ten in the photo. Her knees are freshly scraped, clumsily covered in bandages.

  “That,” starts Richard, “was when she came in first at her very first cross-country race.”

  “Did she fall?”

  Richard nods and chuckles. “She fell right at the starting line. But she got up and kept going. Ended up winning the whole thing.”

  I smile at this. “That’s amazing.”

  “Kate’s always been a winner,” he says fondly. “My little champ.” But then Richard’s expression falls, sadness behind his eyes. “I worry about her a lot.”

  I frown. “Why is that?”

  “She’ll never say it out loud, but I know she hates running the Royale.”

  I stir the pot of gravy mindlessly, doing my best to mix all of the lumps out.

  “She told me she wanted to be a lawyer,” I say quietly.

  “Yes,” he replies solemnly. “She would have been great.”

  “I’m sure she could still go back to law school if she wanted to.”

  Richard shakes his head. “She’s too stubborn to give up on the restaurant. She’s not a quitter.” Richard reaches up to one of the cupboards just above his head and pulls out a bag of all-purpose flour. He then reaches for the small bag of chocolate chips he’s stashed away in the back, likely to keep them out of the reach of his grandchildren. He places the ingredients on the counter and pauses for a moment before looking at me. “I want to know you’ll be able to take care of her. If you hurt Kate, I dump your body in the woods.”

  His threat is cut off by Kate’s light laughter. She’s standing at the doorway, hand clasped over her mouth.

  “Really, dad?” she snorts.

  “I thought you were outside.” Richard shrugs.

  “You said my name one too many times, so you effectively summoned me here.”

  Kate strides into the kitchen and takes up the space beside me by the stove. She reaches down and grabs a green been from off its serving plate before stuffing it in her mouth.

  “How do the judges score?” asks Richard.

  “Ten out of ten.”

  Richard wipes his hands on a tea towel before walking past us. “Why don’t you show Peter how to make those Christmas cookies the kids like? I’m just going to go check up on them.”

  “Sure,” she agrees and nods. After Richard leaves the kitchen, she turns to me and grins. “I hope he wasn’t giving you too hard a time.”

  “Does he always threaten to kill your boyfriends?” I ask, chuckling nervously.

  “You can always ask them yourself. Oh, wait, you can’t. They’re all dead.”

  I scratch anxiously behind my ear. “You’re kidding, right?”

  Kate simply shrugs, but doesn’t answer my question. She begins to open up the bag of flour.

  “Seriously, your father scares me shitless,” I tell her in a low tone.

  She laughs. It’s bright and beautiful –I could listen to it forever. I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her close so that we’re facing each other. She’s still got the bag of flour in her hands and a mischievous smile on her face.

  “If your father ends up burying me in the woods, I will haunt you forever.”

  “Good thing I don’t believe in ghosts,” she giggles.

  I have her pinned against the counter, our faces mere inches away. I can feel her warm breath against my lips; the scent of her floral perfume filling my nose and leaving me dizzy. She pauses for a brief second before reaching up with her empty hand. Her fingers graze the back of my neck, touch so soft and gentle I could very well have imagined it. Her eyes are fixed on my lips, just as mine are on hers. I could kiss her, if I wanted to –and I did want to– but that would be against the rules. I want to kiss her for real. I want to kiss her so hard that all she sees is stars. I want to make sure that she only has eyes for me; only wants me by her side. I hesitate. We linger. My heart pounds in my ear, but my brain is screaming at me to stop immediately.

  I take a step back, clearing my throat. Kate looks puzzled.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks me.

  “Nothing,” I lie.

  It physically hurts me to not tell her the truth, but I know that if I utter even a word about how I’m really feeling, this will all be over. She’ll never want to speak to me again.
The only reason she agreed to any of this in the first place was because she believes this –whatever this is between us– comes with no strings attached. Kate reaches out, confusion evident in her expression, but I turn so I’m just out of range. She opens her mouth to try and say something, but the front door to the cabin bursts open.

  “Kate! Peter!” shouts Richard.

  We rush into the living room where we find Richard with little Daniel cradled in his arms. The boy is crying loudly. His eyes are red and swollen, his nose is dripping with snot and tears. I hurry over.

  “What happened?” I ask quickly.

  “He fell, slipped on a patch of ice,” explains Amy, who closes in to place a comforting hand on Daniel’s cheek. She tries to coo him into silence, but the boy is clearly in too much pain. He’s holding his left arm close to him and flinches every time he tries to move.

  “Set him down on the couch,” I instruct.

  Richard places the boy on the cushion. Daniel manages to sit up right, but his shoulders are hunched, and his eyes are screwed shut in agony. I kneel down and gently take his hand in my own. I carefully pull the sleeve of his jacket up to reveal the swollen skin of his wrist. It’s already a bright red, and it’s quite obvious by the protruding bulge that he’s popped his wrist out of its socket.

  “What is it?” demands Amy. “What’s wrong?”

  “He’s dislocated his wrist,” I explain. “I can set it for him, but I still recommend taking him to the hospital for x-rays.”

  “X-rays?” echoes Amy.

  “It’s just a precaution, but there could be minor fractures in the bone that need to be addressed.” I give Daniel an encouraging smile. “Hey, buddy, you’re doing great.”

  “It hurts,” he whines.

  “I know it does, but you’re being really brave. What I’m going to do is put your wrist back, okay?”

  “But it hurts!” he cries. Daniel starts bawling again.

  “I know, buddy, but it hurts because your wrist isn’t in the right place. I’m going to put it back where it belongs so it won’t hurt as much anymore, okay?”

  Daniel sniffles, pulling it together just enough to nod. “You’re going to fix my booboo.”

  I chuckle. “Yes, exactly.” I line his hand up straight in front of me. I have on hand on his forearm and the other clasped tightly around the base of his hand. “I need you to take a big breath for me, Daniel.”