Christmas With Cassandra: A Billionaire Holiday Tale

by Cynthia Dane

  “Hmm. I’ve heard that. Wouldn’t know what it’s like to date her. We were just friends.”

  “Surely you saw what she was going through with her dating life.”

  “I didn’t say we were good friends. Saw her maybe once a month for lunch or dinner. We’d talk about relationships, but nothing that heavy. She was more interested in my life with Gwen than talking about herself.”

  There are other people in the room who don’t talk much about themselves either.

  “Hello, everyone!” While nobody will say they are more than mere acquaintances with the new arrival, everyone does instantly recognize Judith the moment she saunters up to the table. Because what the group clearly needs is one more blond to liven up the eyeballs.

  Not that a single other woman holds even a candle to Judith’s other physical assets. More than one pair of eyes go straight to her cleavage. And by more than one pair, this narrator insinuates every single pair… although she will admit that some linger more than others.

  “Hope you all are having a merry time at the gala, because nobody knows what’s being discussed better than I do.” That is directed at Eva, who can’t even say she knows what is going on as well as Judith. “That said, friendly reminder that I’ve missed all of you at my quaint place of business.” She slams her hands on both Ian and Kathryn’s chairs. “Especially you two lovebirds.” Her eyes linger on Kathryn, who had once entertained the professional submissive with a rousing round of lesbian play back in the early days with Ian. “And you should come by again soon too. I’m sure Monica would be delighted to see more family around.”

  Nadia perks up. “Again?” She rounds on Eva. “The hell is she talking about?”

  “Take a wild guess, honey.”

  Damage and mischief done, Judith too-da-loos and finally returns to her own table, where her irate date awaits. Because Seth hates nothing more than these fancy shindigs that demand his social attention. Especially when that social attention is commanded by his best friend, a man he can barely stand in small doses on a good day.

  “What a swell party.” Only Zack would show up in something less than a tux. That isn’t to say he doesn’t look good. But he definitely isn’t up to snuff according to most of the people sending disgusted looks in his direction. Seth figures his friend has earned the right to do as he pleases at these things. He grew up in high society, as much as he tries to deny it. But unlike James Merange, who could still fit in even with a dubious personality, Zack chooses the bum look whenever possible. Having met some of the other Feldmans? Seth can’t blame him.

  Besides, Seth is at the losers’ table. Okay, so nobody is outright calling it that, but with a table consisting of an ex-doctor-turned-artist, an heir who spends most of his days scruffin’ it on boats, and a sex worker notorious for being absolutely shameless about her job and work history… no wonder Judith keeps getting up to bother people. If they aren’t coming to her, then by God she is going to them!

  “You really need to get a girlfriend,” Seth mutters. “Keep this up and people will start thinking we’re in relationship.”

  Zack shrugs. “I’ve had many girlfriends this past year. Sorry one didn’t make the cut to bring to such a prestigious event as this. Besides, I wouldn’t have the proper attention to give a lady friend, considering the real reason I came here.” Zack won’t admit it, but the rest of his family is sitting on the other side of the room. They haven’t missed his presence. “Cassandra still hasn’t shown her face, and that makes me sad.”

  “Don’t remind me about her, please.” Seth has been driving himself nuts with thoughts of being some child’s father. “It’s all Judith will talk about. Apparently every night at the Château has been a giant blabbermouth party about all the men they’ve slept with and who they think could possibly be the father. I feel sorry for Cassandra.” Seth would feel sorry for her even if he didn’t know her that well. What woman wants to have her entire sex life dissected in order to determine the paternity of her child? The sooner this all clears up, the better.

  “Dude, everyone feels sorry for her. That’s why they’re so up the ass of this rumor. It’s schadenfreude at its best.”

  “Not sure that’s how that phrase works.”

  Judith drapes herself against Seth’s left side. When are they going to get dinner, again? “Do either of you boys know what time it is? Because I…”

  “Mon cherie! There you are!”

  One woman’s burst of joy is another man’s groan of disbelief. Because, seriously, who has told Miguel Bolivar he was allowed to come, let alone before the night was even over? Seth was guaranteed a night with his girlfriend before she jetted off to Monaco for the holidays. Doesn’t this man get to spend enough time with Judith? (Then again, she has to deal with his family on Christmas, and Seth is more than happy to miss that spectacle.)

  “You don’t need me to make people think you’re gay,” Zack says with a chuckle. Both he and Seth watch as Miguel sweeps Judith up in his arms, the woman of the moment squealing in delight at the arrival of her other boyfriend. “If they find out what you get up to with those two, well, bye.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you… no, never mind.” Seth doesn’t need reminding. How he feels during threesomes and how he feels outside of them are two different headspaces, and neither were any other man’s business. Not even Miguel’s most of the time. “Well, you said you wanted more people at our table, so here he is. Make nice with your new best friend.”

  Certainly, Zack would. Because Zack got along with anyone who didn’t mind speaking with him in the first place. Miguel’s mutual love of marine life made them fast friends before they even knew they shared Seth as a common link.

  Because it isn’t bad enough that he showed up at the last minute, Judith clings to him with that adoring smile Seth would rather hoard for himself plastered across her face. “Cómo estás?” Miguel gives Seth his full attention, which happens about as often as the two of them going out for drinks together. “Or was that not Latin enough for you?”

  “Yes, yes, you and your Mediterranean wit have been sorely missed around here.”

  “Seth is dying because he doesn’t know if he’s the father yet.”

  Zach snorts in amusement at Judith’s assessment of her boyfriend’s situation. “With how much it costs to raise a Welsh baby, you can bet he’ll be asking you for a loan so he can pay the child support, Miguel.”

  “I can afford child support, thank you very much.” Don’t people, even ones Seth cares about, have anything better to do than to speculate like this? He would never guess that a party is going on.

  That same party is anything but heating up in other corners of the room, and not just because certain men are so antisocial that they can only stand the presence of one other couple and have asked the bodyguards to keep other visitors away. The only reason Damon Monroe condescended to attend this party is because he has a vested interest in what the Welshes are up to. Like hell he is going to find out from a troubled phone call that he is the father and thus involved in one of the biggest paternity scandals to hit the city since Margaret Winchester ran off to have a shotgun marriage with a Turkish soldier. Or was he Kurdish?

  Well, the other reason is because his darling (and too pregnant for him to ignore) wife Alice wanted to come. Her only exposure to the Welshes so far were when the patriarch and matriarch came to their home to congratulate them on their marriage and baby, as was customary whether they got along or not. (Damon swore that they had a friendly relationship with the Welshes, but that might change after tonight.)

  If Judith is allergic to boredom, then Lana Andrews will simply die if she doesn’t get into everyone’s business. Who does Damon Monroe think he is, scaring away all the good conversation? Like that man has anything to contribute to the dinner table aside from comments about the stock market, his businesses, and the latest playroom he’s designed in his marital getaway pad. This is hardly the place to discuss sex – even Lana can see
that. She and her husband exchange enough bored glances to make them fall asleep. Where the fuck is Cassandra? How soon can Lana get up and find someone to harass? The Coles are hurting for some teasing. It’s also been a while since she last goaded Ian and Kathryn. And who is that hauntingly handsome specimen of manhood that the sex worker Judith King is rubbing herself all over? Could Lana get a turn, while her husband watches, of course?

  “More booze, please.” She shakes her empty glass in front of Ken’s face. “I need to get fucked up before I find out I’m a stepmother.”

  Ken takes her glass and fills it from the fresh bottle of champagne they’ve been given. “You’re the hottest evil stepmother in this whole room.”

  “I better be! That kid is going to boarding school until it’s 18, and then we’re shipping it off to college.”

  “I don’t get any say in it? That’s my child we’re talking about.”

  “Not when you’re married to me, Kenny. Remember? We decided that if any Kennethlings enter the picture, I get to make all the executive decisions about their fates.”

  “That was assuming you’re the mother.”

  “Mother… stepmother… in a perfect world they’re the same thing.” Lana knocks back the glass of champagne and burps into the back of her hand. “Not that I want any real parenting responsibilities, mind you.”

  “So you want to make all the decisions without any of the responsibility?”

  “Isn’t that how men have been doing it for hundreds of years?”

  This is the kind of conversation Damon has been hoping to avoid, but thanks to his wife’s friendship with the Andrews, it is inevitable. He politely ignores Ken and Lana, keeping his hand on Alice’s lap or, even better, on her stomach as his eyes scour the room for anyone who wants to fuck with his family. Alice keeps returning to her phone, having discovered that the last name Monroe precludes her from fully enjoying this party. The Christmas season has her fretting over next Christmas, when her daughter will be a few months old and big enough, and, if Damon gets his impatient way, Alice will already be in the first trimester of her next pregnancy. Alice had underestimated the need for “an heir and a spare” around those parts until she overheard her husband and gyno talking after one appointment.

  Even so, Alice looks over the party, wishing to join the animated conversation happening at one table or at least looking beautiful with a bevy of blondes at another. Yet another table holds some couples she doesn’t know, and both men are very attractive. Were they the ones from the west coast? Would it be uncouth to invite them to her office to discuss some kind of business? Or would Damon get jealous again? (When wasn’t he jealous lately? Alice was already waddling when she walked, yet her husband remained convinced that she was so stunning that half the male population around them were conspiring to get her into bed.)

  Alice will soon feel better, however. For someone is about to make her grand entrance, and one of those tables she’s looking so fondly upon will have their worlds completely rocked to hell and back.

  ***

  Cassandra knows that she’s the biggest topic of conversation in the room. She knows why, too. Her mother made sure she damn well knew when they met each other in one of the back rooms, Madam Welsh expressing her great disappointment that Cassandra is willing to risk the family’s reputation by even showing her face.

  She has no idea just how far Cassandra is willing to go tonight.

  One last look at her pictures of baby Patrick give her the strength necessary to walk out into the ballroom and act as the trained heiress she is.

  Boarding school, finishing school, ladylike lessons from her childhood governess… as much as Cassandra resents these things as a child, she is grateful for them now. Her nerves shake within her, but she will persevere thanks to the training that lends her a reliable autopilot mode. People gasp at her appearance. They point, they whisper, they invite her to come over and say hello for the first time in years. Cassandra, however, is not here to mingle and make nice with the people she left behind when she fled to the Pacific Northwest in search of privacy. She’s got too much riding on her life – her son’s life – to take part in these frivolities.

  Her eyes search the room for one man in particular. A dear old friend. A man she once thought she could love – and perhaps loved her. He is with someone else now. Any feelings he had for Cassandra are strictly platonic, regardless of what they might have once had.

  Instead, she sees every other man she has shared her heart and bed with. Some of them make eye contact with her and instantly look away again. Others cough into their hands and pretend that whatever their wives and girlfriends say is so much more interesting than anything Cassandra offers.

  She bypasses the table where the Monroes and Andrews perch. Both men look her right in the eyes, but only one moves. Ken Andrews looks open to a conversation, but Cassandra doesn’t dare, because Damon Monroe is glaring into her soul as if she is personally out to destroy his life.

  “Hello,” she greets an old family friend. She shakes his hand long enough to be polite before continuing her trek past the other tables. Some of the people in attendance are ones she never thought she would see again. Like Joseph Montoya, a man of means from Portland who offered her a night of escape when she first moved back west. He had been hurting during their time together as well. So had Vincent Lane, the man sitting next to him. Cassandra barely remembers them. She is glad to bypass Vincent’s scowl of heartbreak and instead look upon other people she remembers with more fondness, like Henry Warren, who was always kind to her even when their relationship was nothing more than carnal. But he’s with his new wife and the mother of his child now, and while Cassandra does not doubt that the new Lady Warren would be nothing short of courteous to her, there is too much curiosity in that woman’s eyes. She wants to pick Cassandra apart and pick through everything that makes her… her.

  If Cassandra wants to speak with a real friend, she will veer toward one of the more interesting tables occupied by a colorful cast of characters she never thought she would see in the same vicinity. Ironically, she has only slept with one of these men before, and it’s the one she considers one of her better friends.

  “Cassandra.” Seth jerks against his chair when she appears before him. The rest of the table grows quiet. So, the rumors were true? Cassandra’s reserved and logical ex is in a hot relationship with one of the biggest courtesans in the nation? Well, she won’t begrudge him of his happiness. Goodness knows she could use some of her own right now. “How are you? Haven’t seen or heard from you in a long time.”

  She nods in greeting. Seth is one of the few men in the room she’ll go out of her way to talk to for no other reason than he deserves at least that much from her. “I’m fine, thank you. I take it that you are doing well too?”

  “Uh, yeah…”

  The man is too gobsmacked to give her a proper answer. Judith the courtesan – and his girlfriend, lest Cassandra forgets – puts a protective hand on his leg. Cassandra can’t believe she has not only slept with this woman, but once confided one of her biggest secrets to her. Or was that Sylvia? Sitting at the other table? With Joseph? Really? What a small world. “I’ll be in town a few days. We should have lunch.”

  His face pales to the point Cassandra knows she must clear up one thing.

  “As friends and nothing more, of course. There are many things I’d like your advice on before I return to Seattle. If you’re available, of course.”

  “Sure. You have my number.”

  Cassandra turns and leaves before anyone can question her motives. Everyone at that table thought she was going to confront poor Seth about being the father of little Patrick, an infant nobody even knew existed until a few weeks ago.

  She knows this is not the appropriate event for this discussion, but she’s afraid of her family. Not that they’ll hurt her or her son, but that they’ll somehow interfere with her dying need to get the truth out. Patrick has the right to know who his father is
growing up. That father has the right to know that his son exists. Cassandra doesn’t want money. She wants the truth to be known. She only hopes that the father will be a willing participant in her son’s life, however that man wants to define it.

  She begins to lose her nerve. No, no, her mother will catch on as soon as she sees her daughter going in a certain direction. Now is the time. Now, before Madam Welsh causes the electricity to go out at the biggest party of the year.

  Cassandra approaches one of the last tables that hold any interest for her. She wishes she could completely avoid the faces of Ian Mathers and Kathryn Alison. Ian was such a mistake, wasn’t he? The man hadn’t cared for her at all. Clearly, though, he has changed, if he has managed to keep a woman like Kathryn for so long. Speaking of her… God, isn’t it embarrassing? Kathryn and Cassandra used to hang out in the same social circles, but they were never friends. They were more likely to trade bored glances than to have conversations. Now here they all are, pretending to care about each other’s lives. Isn’t that how it goes?

  She can’t even bring herself to look at Eva Warren and whoever she is touting to be her girlfriend. They are inconsequential.

  “Good evening, everyone,” Cassandra says, attempting to hide the tremble in her voice. “Thank you for coming to my parents’ party tonight. I know that they’re grateful you could attend when you all have such busy lives outside of this ballroom.”

  Nobody is buying her shit. They have been watching her move around the room, never stopping longer than five seconds at any table. She has already spent half a minute at theirs. Nobody is saying hi.

  Nobody except James, the man who claimed to be one of her best friends before she up and left without a trace.

  “Cassie.” His knees bump into the bottom of the table as he attempts to get up and reach out to her. “How are you? Where have you been all this time?”

  She takes a deep breath. “Hello, James. Hello, Gwendolyn.” How could she ever forget Gwen, the woman James has been with for what… six… seven years? Have they finally gotten married? Or is James still too irresponsible?