Be My Christmas Treat : A BWWM Christmas Romance

by Nia Arthurs

  Whenever I see Clark, she’s all I can focus on.

  All that matters.

  But slowly, the world around me begins to color in. I hear the reporter on the news announcing my name.

  “Mave DeMarco wil take over the company…”

  I glance up. Stare at the television screen.

  There’s my picture.

  My name.

  And my grandmother’s.

  She knows.

  A different kind of pain rocks my chest.

  I step forward. Croak out her name. “Clark, I can explain.”

  Suddenly, the door of the waiting room bursts open and a flood of reporters storms in. They fill up the space between me and Clark, pushing her further away.

  “Move,” I growl, trying to get past the cameras and get back to Clark.

  Just as I’m making headway, Will and five other guards form a circle around me. Like I’m the freaking president.

  “Will, get out of my way,” I demand, my eyes still on Clark. Don’t leave, baby. Let me explain.

  Will says nothing.

  “Will!” I shriek.

  His jaw clenches. Thick hands lift at his sides to keep the journalists back.

  I’m trapped under their protection.

  Clark backs away slowly, that shell-shocked expression still on her face.

  No.

  Agony roars like a lion, clawing at my insides. At my soul. At the wounds left gaping open after another loss. Like a turtle kicked on its back, I’m powerless while the woman I love walks away.

  The urge to fight my own bodyguards fills my head, a fury desperate to be unleashed. But if I release the anger and helplessness in front of these cameras, Gran’s legacy will be tarnished.

  Rather than rehashing her accomplishments, her contributions to the world, and the lessons she’s leaving behind, all the news stations will play on repeat is Leanne Antaya’s grandson bucking like a wild horse in grief.

  A month ago, I wouldn’t have cared.

  A month ago, I would have let my emotions scar my grandmother’s legacy.

  But I learned a few lessons when she sent me to the bakery.

  I tap Will’s shoulder. Whisper, “Don’t let Clark leave. No matter what.”

  He nods. Moves on it.

  Because I’m the new head of the company.

  Because that’s the power I have.

  I know Clark will protest. She’ll probably refuse to go with Will. I hope she doesn’t put up too much of a fight. I hope he doesn’t have to physically restrain her.

  But if that’s the only option, I hope he takes it.

  The chaos around me comes into sharp focus all at once. I hear voices shrieking questions at me, asking about Gran, about her illness, about the future of the company.

  I lift my head. Raise a hand to quiet them.

  At once, the room goes silent.

  “Which one of you,” I give the nearest reporters the darkest eye I can muster, “in your time of mourning, would want your privacy invaded?” I lower my voice to a growl. “I just lost my grandmother. If you have a shred of human decency, you will leave. Now.”

  People squirm. Glance down. Look away.

  They have jobs. Bellies to feed at home. Mortgages.

  It’s not personal.

  I suck in a deep breath. “There will be a conference when the preparations are done. You can ask all the questions you want there.” With the guards at my back, I return to the hospital room.

  They continue to snap their photos and fling questions at me.

  So much for human decency.

  When I return to the room, Gran is gone.

  Brendon leaps to his feet. “You okay?”

  “Not really.” I pull a hand over my face.

  Clark is my number one priority right now.

  I try to move, but my gaze fastens on the bed where Gran took her last breath.

  My limbs tremble.

  Tears rush my eyes again, but I bite them back.

  I can’t let myself fall apart tonight.

  Brendon sees the direction of my gaze and sighs heavily. “They took her to the morgue. We have to—” His voice cracks. “We have to sign some papers, but she arranged her own funeral.” He rubs his neck briskly. “She had everything lined up, so we don’t really have to do anything else.”

  “Gran…” I groan.

  She prepared everything for her death.

  Except me.

  She didn’t freaking think to prepare me.

  My eyes burn like two suns are shining directly at them.

  All I can say is a hoarse, “Okay.”

  “Kayla asked if she should come.”

  “No. Tell her to stay at Gran’s place with the baby. It’s a circus out there. I don’t want her to get caught up in it.”

  Brendon bobs his head.

  I stare at him. “You should go too.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.” He squeezes my shoulder. “We’re family, Mave.”

  His words drop heavy in my stomach.

  Brendon’s the only family who gives a damn about me now.

  Everyone else is dead.

  The helplessness drowns me again.

  My knees buckle.

  Brendon grabs me by the arms. “Mave, you okay?”

  “Clark,” I croak, my head swaying listlessly, “I need to find Clark.”

  “Dude, you’re about to drop.”

  “I need Clark,” I snap.

  “Okay. Okay.” He walks to the door. Peers through the glass. “There are still a few reporters there. You think you can make it?”

  “Distract them for me.” I take a shaky step.

  “Me?”

  “You’re Brendon Humes. That’s worth a news story.”

  His eyebrows crinkle as he considers it. Finally, he nods. “Okay.”

  Brendon heads outside and the journalists flock him. He answers all the questions in cool tones, relaying nothing in a bunch of eloquent words. While he’s keeping the press occupied, I sneak out behind the guards and rush down the hall.

  When I’m clear of them, I call Will. “Where is she?”

  He gives me directions to a room in the VIP recovery ward.

  I run there and, by the time I get to where Will is guarding the door, I’m out of breath.

  Will gives me an appraising look. “She did not come willingly.”

  “Did you hurt her?”

  “Of course not.” He grunts as if offended.

  I shove the door aside and clamor into the room. Clark shoots to her feet the moment she hears the door.

  Then her brown eyes fasten on me.

  They sharpen.

  “Clark…” I had all these words in my head. Explanations that would make her understand. Apologies that would make her forgive me.

  My head goes blank instead.

  All I feel is pain and that swirling darkness.

  The kind I experienced when mom died.

  And then dad’s car crashed into a tree.

  “I’m pretty sure kidnapping is illegal, Mave.” She gestures to the room. Paces up and down. “You have no right to send your goons to drag me around like I’m your property!” Her voice is hot. Scalding. “No right!”

  I breathe heavily through my nose.

  Out. In.

  Even pissed at me, her presence brings comfort.

  It brings warmth and peace.

  Damn.

  The tears push harder at the back of my eyes.

  A lump forms in my throat.

  I hold it all in. Step closer to her. “I’m sorry.”

  “Are you?” She shoots me a dark look. “Because I’m still here.”

  “I need to explain.”

  “What?” She throws her hands up. “What do you need to explain, Mave? That you lied to me for weeks? That you played me for a fool and made me think you were some normal guy who just had an inheritance?” She laughs bitterly. “I guess you technically were right. A billion-dollar company is a hell of a
n inheritance.”

  “At first, I had to keep it a secret for Gran’s sake.” I lick my lips. “And later, I… I didn’t want to lose you.” My eyes drill into hers, searching for hope, for a lifeline. “Clark—”

  “I don’t want to fight with you, Mave. Not right now.”

  “Then don’t.” I reach for her.

  She backs away.

  Hurt crescendos through my skull.

  Rattles every one of my bones with a thud that I feel to my soul.

  “I don’t know who I’m falling in love with anymore,” she whispers.

  Her words slam me like a gunshot.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  I swallow past the painful lump in my throat.

  Clark shakes her head, her eyes glistening. “Is this who you are? Is this how you operate? You keep secrets and lie to the people you love? What else do I have to find out about you from the news, Mave?”

  “I only hid it because the thought of losing you drove me crazy. But I swear to you, Clark, the man I was back then is not the man I am today. I wanted you to see that first. I’m sorry I lied to you.”

  Will knocks on the door. “Mr. DeMarco, they’d like to speak with you about the funeral arrangements.”

  “Not right now,” I say.

  Will bangs on the door again. “Mave…”

  “Not now!”

  Clark digs her fingers into her coat. “It’s clear you don’t have time for this.” She juts her chin at the door. “You should deal with what’s more important.”

  “I am dealing with what’s more important.”

  “Mave—”

  “I’m not leaving this room without you, Clark.” My chin rises. Lips parting in a broken husk, I admit, “I can’t live without you.”

  Her chest heaves as she sucks in a deep breath. Brown eyes search mine intently, sorting through the shattered pieces to find something precious. Something worth holding on to.

  Stiff shoulders relax incrementally.

  My heart lodges to my throat as she steps forward.

  Another step.

  Another.

  Slim arms wrap around my neck.

  Slender, brown fingers slide into my hair. Pull me down.

  Until I’m bending over. Until my chin hits her shoulder.

  Clark presses her body into me. Gives me a hug so tight, it’s like she’s pulling me into herself. Into her soul.

  The simple caress of her thumb scraping the nape of my neck unravels me.

  Tears fall without my permission.

  Skid like rain down my cheeks. My jaw. Down to her shoulder.

  The tears pool in the hollow of her neck.

  She whispers that it’s okay.

  And it’s not, but because she says it, a part of me foolishly believes.

  Because I’d follow her off a damn cliff.

  Build an army for her.

  Die for her.

  The force of my love and the pain of my loss brings me to my knees.

  Clark falls with me.

  Weeps with me.

  Her fragrance fills my nose with life even as I remember the stench of death. A stench I’m reacquainted with after twenty years.

  We spend the night in the hospital room, curled up beside each other on the bed. Her fingers never stop soothing. Her lips drop gentle kisses on my face.

  We don’t fight again.

  Not for the next few days.

  Clark’s there at Gran’s funeral, holding a black umbrella over my head because I don’t give a damn about getting soaked in the rain.

  Clark’s there at the conference when I read the type-written acceptance speech Gran prepared for me. Because Gran knew that I wouldn’t have a freaking word to say to the press apart from ‘go to hell’ and she made sure to take care of that.

  Clark’s there on Christmas Eve, when I need a distraction from the emptiness inside. When the thought of a future without my parents and grandmother erupts in the form of angry kisses that press her head deeper and deeper into the bed, rough caresses that leave no room for adjusting and preparation. There’s only pounding and thrusting with no mercy, filling her to the brim before I do it all again, garbled cries that wrangle into the dark night and shadows that dance with the moans that drill from her wet lips.

  She’s there in body.

  She’s there with a touch. A small smile. A heated and hungry look.

  She’s there.

  But it still feels like I lost her.

  27

  Clark

  “Are you okay?” Maxine places a hand on top of mine. Dark eyes peer into my face with concern.

  Am I okay?

  My eyes slip to the ground where Moe and Tan have demolished the paper wrapping on their presents. Now, they sit in their Christmas morning PJs, oohing and ahing over the gifts Maxine and I bought for them.

  “Clark,” Maxine calls me softly.

  I glance at her. Force a smile.

  It’s a familiar one.

  The one I’ve been shoring up and delivering since Mave’s grandmother passed.

  Since I found out who he was.

  “Yes.” I dip my chin. Throw a little teeth into the grin.

  Maxine’s sharp gaze cuts into me. “And how is Mave?”

  “He’s…” I stumble on the word ‘fine’.

  Mave is not fine.

  Even if he donned a black suit and tie and stood tall at Leanne’s funeral.

  Even if he gripped a podium with steady hands, cameras flashing, reporters hanging on his every word as he publicly accepted his grandmother’s company.

  To the world, Mave DeMarco is a news scoop in Armani.

  He’s generational wealth and the American dream.

  The press lauded his mother and grandmother for three days straight.

  The middle-class family who built a bakery empire.

  The broken son riddled by loss steering the company to a new horizon.

  They praised Mave.

  Put him up on a pedestal.

  Knighted him in their adoration.

  And it shattered him.

  Last night, I sensed the chaos that swirled beneath his skin. It eased out in the form of deep, unforgiving strokes. Fingers that dug into my hip, that pushed my thighs open, that touched and stroked with the goal of unravelling me over and over until I passed out.

  I saw the wild sheen of desperation in his eyes.

  And he knew that I saw.

  So he flipped me around and had me bouncing on top of him. Then he threw me against the wall. Then I was bending over till my hands touched the floor. Then I was on my hands and knees panting from the rush that exploded inside me.

  Mave did everything to hide that broken gaze while plowing his anger and hurt and helplessness into all the tight places he could find in my body. As if looking into my eyes would make it real.

  Make it hurt more.

  He tried to hide from me.

  Tried to blind me with his lust and need.

  But I saw him.

  Felt him.

  Heard him.

  And after he had bruised and destroyed me. After he had found a million different ways to stretch me and take me and drive my name from his lips in tortured gasps, I cradled him to my body. Held him close to my chest and touched his turmoil.

  I stroked the back of his head and tears leaked from my eyes.

  The way they’re about to spill from my eyes now.

  Mave is spiraling. Which is why this is not the time to burden him with my own misgivings about what he did and what that means for us.

  Maxine takes my hand. Squeezes it. “What do you need, Clark?”

  “To work.” My lips tremble. “The furniture and appliances for the bakery were delivered yesterday. I need to arrange everything. Make sure I’m ready for opening on New Year’s. The company I worked with last year? Buchanan Foundation? They want me to bake the cake for their New Year’s Eve gala again. I have to plan for that and—”

  “Clark.”

&
nbsp; “I need to order inventory. Flour. Sugar. Chocolate chips. I need to go down to the co-op. Maybe invest in some gluten free products. It’ll be more expensive, but it’ll set me apart from other bakeries.”

  “Sis—”

  I raise my voice. Try to talk over my own restlessness. “I need to figure out if I’ll have enough to hire staff for the first month. Just until I can get on my feet. Maybe I can ask Stacie to join me. She’s a great worker…”

  “Oh, sweetie.” Maxine grabs me and hugs me.

  I tuck my chin into her shoulder. Bite down on my lip as my heart burns.

  She rubs my back. “I hear you. I hear you, sweetie. But Mave won’t know you’re drowning until you tell him. If you just ignore your own hurts, it’ll grow until it breaks the bond you guys have.”

  “Maybe it should.”

  She pulls back. Wipes at my eyes. “Do you mean that?”

  No.

  I don’t.

  And that makes me feel even more pathetic.

  Mave lied to me for weeks. He deceived me.

  And I still love him.

  I would still set everything aside to be with him.

  “Mommy,” Tan whimpers, “why is auntie crying?”

  “Auntie.” Moesha runs to me and wraps her little arms around my neck. She tilts her head against mine. Her sweet scent of baby powder and gel makes me cry harder.

  Tan touches my knee, her eyes filling with tears too.

  I hug my nieces close.

  It helps. More than I expected.

  My family is the warmth that I need to face the cold. The strength that I need to keep going.

  But Mave doesn’t have any of this.

  The thought hits me hard.

  My perspective shifts a little and though the anger doesn’t leave me, it does lessen.

  I wipe my cheeks and smile. Genuinely this time. “Alright, that’s enough of that.”

  “What’s wrong, auntie?”

  “I’m just…” I squeeze Moe’s hand, “really, really happy that I have you. And I’m also sad for all the people who don’t have a family as awesome as mine.”

  “We can be their family,” Moe says.

  Tan nods maturely. “Yeah. It’s Christmas. We should be helping other people anyway.” She shrugs. “It’s not just about getting gifts.”

  “When did my little girls get so smart?” Maxine plants a kiss on Tan’s head.

  I grin. “Why don’t I bake some cookies while you guys get ready for the Christmas pageant?”