by Liz Johnson
She rolled her eyes. “And now, you finally realize Dad’s drama will just follow you on a national level?”
More like global. He’d never escape it.
So why stay in California?
The answer dawned like a sunbeam streaming through a snow cloud. All this time, he’d thought a future with Eleanor was impossible because he was ultimately tied to the West Coast. But it didn’t matter. Tristan was right—the drama would follow. He could run interference as best as possible, with all the boundaries he could muster, from anywhere he wanted.
Even Brightloch.
In fact, not being in California might be the best boundary of all. It’d worked for Albert…But what about Tristan? He exhaled long and slow. “Well, I’m coming back, don’t worry.”
She tilted her head. “But you don’t want to.”
He swallowed. No. he didn’t. He didn’t admit it out loud, but as usual, nothing slipped past his street-wise sister. She read people like books.
Her gaze grew serious, in the way it only did when she was about to be incredibly vulnerable—or had stumbled upon a massive shoe sale. “You can still be my brother from anywhere, you know. Don’t you dare let me hold you back.”
His throat knotted and he tried to clear it to no avail. “Tristan—”
“I’m serious.” She blew out her breath, a long strand of raven hair fluttering off her forehead. “You’ve carried this family mantle for years now. Take your break. In some foreign country or wherever you need.” She winked. “But hey, if you happen to find a prince who’s available...”
Liam stood up and paced in front of the bench, hoping to burn off the emotion burning his throat. Or were those tears? He’d never done emotional well with Tristan—it was too rare for them both. But the burden she’d lifted felt like an early Christmas gift.
He coughed to lighten the mood. “Don’t forget, I’ve got to actually snag the princess before you get any royal dates.” He paced faster. There was still one looming problem. “I don’t know that she’ll forgive me.”
“It doesn’t sound like it’s about forgiving. It sounds like it’s about accepting.” Tristan rolled over and propped on her elbow. “She’s got to accept who you are, or it won’t work. No matter where you live or where she lives.”
She had a point.
“You’re not the same Liam from last year.” Tristan sighed. “I kind of miss that Liam, but I have to admit, being a goody-two-shoes sort of works for you.”
“You can make changes too.” He had to test the waters. Maybe she was ready…
But she jumped back into the boat. “You do you, big brother. I’m fine with me.” She rushed on before he could coax her. “I’m just saying, if she can’t see who you really are and believe in that, she doesn’t deserve you. Princess or not.”
Another good point. But he had to know. If Eleanor heard the whole story about what happened and still rejected him, he’d find a way to deal with it. But he couldn’t let things end between them because of sabotage from his father. “I need to find a way for her to hear me explain about Dad.”
“Have you given her a Christmas gift yet?” Tristan raised her perfectly arched brows. “I know I listen better when there’s a bow on top of something.”
“No, not yet.” But he had no idea what to get Eleanor. He wasn’t good at choosing gifts—but he was good at gestures. Experiences. Like making cookies and dragging trees onto limo roofs and hanging doll clothes on branches, all to make a woman he cared about smile.
Bottom line, he wanted to make Eleanor smile again, whether she gave him another chance or not. He couldn’t let her leave without making that happen.
His shoes left tracks in the accumulating snow as he continued to pace. What would prove his heart to a princess? What gesture could he make to show her that he hadn’t set her up, that he would never use her?
The women in his past would have forgiven anything if accompanied by a little blue Tiffany & Co. box, but that wasn’t his goal anymore. He was done using his money for his own selfish desires or manipulation. That was his father’s MO—greedy. Self-serving.
What did he have to give?
Then Liam stopped pacing. “I’ve got it.”
She was a fool for coming to the Christmas Ball. But Mrs. Hough—and the mint green dress she’d purchased her second day in Tinsel—both demanded that she did.
Eleanor smoothed the satiny material over her hips as she hovered by the table laden with holiday desserts. She’d been off her diet and exercise regimen since leaving Brightloch, and she was afraid it would show. But the soft material hung exactly as it should.
If only her heart would as easily fall into line.
She cast yet another glance at the front door as townspeople milled about, dressed in dark suits and red dresses, sipping from champagne glasses. A live band played Christmas tunes from a portable stage, under a banner of garland and twinkle lights. Mayor Hayden and his wife slow-danced to Santa Baby under a low-hanging mistletoe. They shared a quick peck, and Eleanor looked away.
It’d been a mistake to come. But she’d decided to return to Brightloch for the New Year, and she hated to leave Tinsel on a sour note. Crying alone in her rented room on Christmas didn’t seem preferable to dressing up and listening to music.
But maybe she’d been wrong.
The thoughtful gift Mrs. Hough had presented to her earlier that afternoon helped a little—the snow globe from her collection that reminded them both of Tinsel. She’d demanded that Eleanor take it, despite her initial protests. The kind woman insisted that Eleanor would need to remember their charming, magical little town, and made her promise to think of her every time she shook it.
And she would. She’d think of her and Mayor Hayden. Unfortunately, she’d also think of Miles—Liam. And the hot chocolate food truck break-in, and the Christmas tree farm and the snowball fight and the cookie baking…Her eyes darted once more to the door of the civic center.
Mrs. Hough sidled up to her with a glass of fruit punch and smiled. “I saw that.”
Eleanor took the glass Mrs. Hough offered. “Saw what?”
“Your eyes, going to the door every few moments.” The kind woman leaned in closer. “Listen to your heart, not to logic, dear.”
She took a slow sip of juice. “What do you mean?”
“Logic says you’re better off without Liam and you don’t ever want to see him again.” Mrs. Hough gestured with her glass. “But your heart is hoping he walks through that entryway any moment.”
She was right—as usual. Eleanor set her glass on the table, unable to let go of the churning emotions from the parade. “I don’t know what to believe. I thought I knew Liam, but there’s been two issues of deception now, and we’ve only known each other a matter of weeks.”
It sounded absurd. She was not the type to fall impulsively for a man she’d just met—or any man, for that matter. She was careful. Responsible. Stoic.
For all the good those traits had gotten her…
She lifted her chin, reaching deep to find any remaining bit of dignity. “I’m returning to Brightloch soon, anyway. It’s all futile.”
“That’s such a depressing word—futile.”
Eleanor stiffened at the familiar voice over her shoulder. She turned slowly. Liam, in a black tux, his dark hair perfectly combed and gelled, stood with his hands clasped before him. He’d dressed up.
For her?
She glanced back, but Mrs. Hough had disappeared. She’d probably seen him approaching all that time and in her own way, primed Eleanor to accept him.
“May I have this dance?” Hope lit Liam’s eyes.
She opened her mouth to say no, but the B&B owner’s wise words resonated deep within. Listen to your heart. Not logic. She exhaled slightly and nodded. “You may.”
Liam looked as surprised as she felt, but quickly ushered her on to the dance floor. His warm grip on her waist felt familiar and safe—the opposite of logic. Logically, she should be t
elling him off, or putting up boundaries to guard her heart. Logically, she shouldn’t be so easily persuaded by his charm and charisma.
But her heart was shouting for logic to hush.
Liam easily twirled her around the floor with grace, as if he’d had lessons. Maybe he had. Maybe there were a hundred things she didn’t know about him. And suddenly, despite that pesky logic, she wanted to know them all.
But he’d hurt her. Betrayed her. Twice. If that wasn’t illogical, what was?
“I didn’t think you’d come.” He spun her, then pulled her back in.
“I almost didn’t.” She held on to his shoulders, the tailored cut of his tux enhancing his muscular frame. “But Mrs. Hough insisted this was the place to be on Christmas.”
“It seems to be.” His gaze briefly roamed the room before landing back on hers. “You look beautiful.”
So did he. She looked away and rolled in her lower lip, tasting the berry gloss she’d applied and the remnants of fruit punch, and restrained from repeating the sentiment. “Thank you.”
She wanted to open up and be vulnerable. She also wanted to fall apart and demand answers. But mostly, she wanted to drop the stiff guard keeping them apart. Sheer willpower and the public eye kept her from doing any of those things.
Liam spun her again. “Did you notice?”
“Notice what?” She collided back with him, struggling to regain their proper distance and not sink into the warmth of his embrace.
Liam nodded his head toward the other couples dancing. “That no one is noticing us.”
She glanced around. He was right. He wasn’t in hiding, and no one cared. Despite the issue on Main Street a few hours ago, everyone from Tinsel was caught up in their own holiday story. They didn’t seem to care about theirs at all.
A bit of the tension eased from Eleanor’s shoulders.
Liam lowered his voice, drawing her slightly closer to hear. “Look, I know when I hid my identity from you, that was on me. I should have told you sooner, and I owned that. But there’s nothing for me to own today except the fact that my father can be a real jerk.”
She risked a glance at him, which was dangerous this close, when he smelled like spice and evergreens. “What does the media showing up have to do with your dad’s character?”
“I didn’t call them, Eleanor. My father did. He was on a selfish mission to help our family reputation by having me date you.”
That’s what she’d heard them discuss on the phone last night. The heavy ball of emotion from that afternoon began to roll, picking up new pieces of distrust and despair. She stiffened again.
Liam stopped dancing and held both her hands in his, as if afraid she’d bolt. And logically, she should. But the intensity of his expression kept her heels rooted on the dance floor. “Listen, I know it looks bad. But when my dad suggested that to me weeks ago, I thought he was crazy. I didn’t ever have that agenda, not for a moment.”
“But you did date me.”
“Trust me, I tried not to.” Liam snorted. “If I were to admit how many times I tried to talk myself out of my feelings for you, it’d be embarrassing.”
She gripped his hands in hers. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to shove logic aside and go with her heart. But how could she trust?
“You were irresistible to me, Eleanor. Even knowing that in a few days we’d be back in opposite countries, I couldn’t stop what my heart was telling me.” He rolled his eyes. “If me using the phrase ‘what my heart was telling me’ isn’t proof enough that I’m being sincere, I don’t know what is.”
A short laugh escaped her lips before she could stop it, and Eleanor took a deep, shaky breath. The tension might be broken, but the fears lingered. How could she know for sure?
Liam started swaying them again as a new song started.
She moved with him, trying to ignore the lump in her throat. It was Christmas. Just dance, Eleanor. Just dance. Reality would hit soon enough when they parted ways that night. Maybe she didn’t have to decide to trust or not. Wasn’t it all a moot point? She could just enjoy this moment and fly back to Brightloch in a few days with the questions still packed securely in her suitcase.
Liam peered down at her as they danced. “By the way, I forgot to give you your Christmas gift.”
She’d gotten him a bulk-size pack of Cheez-its, still in her room at the B&B. “Oh? What is it?”
He offered a mischievous grin. “Happy children across the world?”
She smirked. “Seems ambitious. Isn’t that Santa’s job?”
He released her and reached into his lapel pocket. “Santa had a helper this year.” He handed her a piece of paper.
A check. She opened it and her eyes widened. “Liam! What—”
“For the children’s wing of the hospital in Brightloch.”
Her breath hitched at the substantial amount. Disbelief and gratitude erupted in her heart. “What? How?”
He smiled. “I had a good bit saved back.”
Then it hit her. His security company. “Liam, I can’t accept this. It’s for your start-up business.” She tried to hand the check back to him. “You need this.”
“I only thought I did.” He folded it and pressed it into her hand, wrapping his fingers around her closed fist. “I wanted to start a company to escape my family’s money and influence. I thought it was the only way out.” He shrugged. “But it’s not. Besides, I felt what you were talking about that day when we visited the kids here in Vermont. The world has enough bodyguards for now. I’d much rather put that money to use in a way that will make a true difference.”
Joy filled her from the inside out. The hospital donation might be the tangible present, but the real gift was that he heard her. How could she not trust a man who was willing to sacrifice his dreams for the fulfillment of her own?
She allowed him to draw her back in against his chest as they continued to dance. “I don’t know what to say.” Her mind and heart raced to catch up with the new revelation. It seemed too good to be a true. Like a Christmas miracle.
He hummed gently along to “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,” the deep sound reverberating in his chest. “Say you’ll go out with me on New Year’s Eve.”
“I’m already spoken for, actually.”
He tensed. “Oh?”
She nodded, fighting to maintain her serious expression. “My new sweatpants have already requested my presence at a prior commitment.”
“Too bad. I was going to ask you to show me around Brightloch.”
Brightloch.
For New Years?
Hope lit a sparkler inside her heart. “A tour of my country, huh? What’s in it for me?” She lifted her chin, wondering if he felt as arrested by her gaze as she felt by his. Hopelessly captured, even.
He was coming to her home country.
He tapped his chin, as if pretending to think. “Well, I can buy you all the oysters you can eat.”
She wrinkled her nose. “No, thank you.” Plus, her mother would have a fit.
“What about all the obnoxiously-colored nail polish you could want?”
She tilted her head. “Hmm. You’re getting warmer.”
“Endless supply of hot chocolate?”
“Warmer, still.”
His cinnamon breath fanned her cheek. “Are you sure your gauge is accurate? Because I’m feeling incredibly warm right now.”
Joy bubbled over and she pressed against him. “You know, maybe we should make Tinsel notice us one last time.”
Liam winked. “As you wish.” Then, as the band burst into a cheery rendition of “Jingle Bell Rock”, he dipped her backward and kissed her soundly.
Epilogue
Three Christmases Later
“Your Highness, the Queen requests your presence in the parlor.”
At Jackson’s polite declaration, Eleanor turned from the window overlooking the snow-covered front lawns, her extended midsection grazing the branches of the Christmas tree and knocking a
purple glass ornament to the floor. It hit the hardwood and shattered.
She winced. “I keep doing that.”
“I’ve got it, babe.” Liam rushed to her side, and in his suit and tie, bent and started plucking the bigger pieces of glass from the floor. “Just another family heirloom. No biggie.” He shot her a teasing wink.
She patted her stomach, slightly over eight months along now, as she stepped out of his way. Corban Miles would make his arrival around New Years. “I’m apparently not quite accustomed to the wide load.”
Jackson attempted to hide his grin behind his hand but failed. Eleanor narrowed her eyes at him. “Thank you for not agreeing.”
“I would never, Princess.” His grin fully escaped then, and he coughed once and gestured toward the door. “Might I escort you to the Queen? She seemed impatient.”
“You know good and well that Mom is just ready to open presents.” She’d taken to referring to the queen as “Mom” around the castle, and that subtle shift had seemed to do everyone some good. It made their relationship feel less distant, and it reminded Jackson, the council and the rest of the staff that they were, first and foremost, a family.
And now she and Liam would soon be starting their own.
Jackson dipped his head, his hands clasped behind his back. “I concur, your Highness.”
“You also know good and well that we can’t open presents until tomorrow, on Christmas day. It’s tradition.” She pressed her hands into the small of her back to alleviate the seemingly constant ache these days. “And part of the tradition is Mom trying to get around it.”
Jackson grinned.
“Hey, I might be siding with the queen on this one.” Liam put the shards of broken ornament on the end table and dusted off his hands. Digs rose from his royal perch on an oversized floor pillow and trotted to Liam’s side. “I’m down for presents. Let’s go!”
The gold band on her husband’s ring finger reflected the light from the chandelier above, and Eleanor smiled. It still caught her off guard that he’d really come to Brightloch for her. That they’d really gotten married last Christmas and discovered they were expecting a few months later. That she’d started a non-profit that aided charitable causes such as funding hospital improvements, or whatever else she felt a burden for that deserved attention.