by Jolie, Mika
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A My Happy Chaos Publishing Novel
Wrapped in Red
Copyright © 2015 Mika Jolie
Cover design by Dawné Dominique
Image by The Reed Files
Edited by PK Designs
Proofread by Colleen Snibson
All cover art and logo copyright © 2015 by Mika Jolie
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
PUBLISHER
My Happy Chaos Publishing
www.mikajolie.com
Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
About the Author
Excerpt from Ricochet, by Allyn Lesley
Excerpt from Cree, by LaShawn Vasser
Dedication
To my husband, thank you so much for all of your support and for taking over our happy chaos when I need to write. A toast to our lifetime of dating. You are my biggest fan and that makes you even sexier than you already are. I love you! Aujourd’hui, Demain, Toujours.
My wonderful group of writers: WWLR and the ladies at Three Chicas and a Book. PK Designs, DusktilDawnDesigns and Colleen Snibson. What can I say? You ROCK!
A big awesome hooray to Bonnie Messinger, you continue to push me and make me better.
Last but not least, to all the readers—without you this wouldn’t be as much fun. Thank you so much for all you’ve helped me to accomplish.
Anyone else I may have missed. Fear not, there are more books to come.
Love you all!!!
Chapter One
“Honey. Our baby’s here.”
Lou Lou Who—How the Grinch
Stole Christmas
Twelve days before Christmas
A piercing wail cut through the stillness of the night, drowning out the silence. Minka flinched. Heavy-lidded eyes popped open. Ears perked, she waited. Within seconds, another sharp bawl lit the baby monitor on her nightstand.
She flung the comforter to the side and sat on the edge of the bed. The December air clung to her body, turning her skin tight with goosebumps. Pressing her fists against her lids, she tried to rub the burn from her sleep-deprived eyes. Instead, a dull, pulsing agony shot straight to her skull. On her nightstand, she grabbed her phone for a quick time check. Four in the morning. Perfect. Only thirty minutes ago, she’d been up with Sebastian’s older sister, Maya. The curse of twins, they were never on the same schedule.
In a zombie-like state, she scrambled to her feet and lumbered out of the room. As she did so, she peered at the long-limbed, masculine form. Jason remained motionless, paralyzed in sleep. He’d have to be dead or unconscious to not hear the twins shrieking at the top of their lungs.
A burning sensation zipped through her chest—acid build-up from that extra piece of cinnamon coffee cake she ate at Forrest’s and Claire’s. Not that she’d needed the additional slice. Hell, cake was never on the need list. However, coffee and cake meant double the deliciousness, and zonked out from the daily grind of motherhood while Jason had been on a business trip, she’d managed to convince herself cake had eggs. Eggs were healthy. Therefore cake fell somewhere between good and evil.
Her chest retaliated and zinged once more. Acid reflux, sleep deprivation, and maybe twenty pounds over her pre-pregnancy weight meant she was back in double-digit sized jeans. Just in time for Christmas.
Yippee! If only she had a scale.
Scale. Ha! Bad, bad idea. She’d been down that path. She was once addicted to the thing, and had even stuffed the metallic equipment in her luggage on her first trip to Martha’s Vineyard. It had taken some work—almost losing Jason actually—but she got the memo: love your body and stop giving a damn what the scale says.
Definitely not gonna go down that road again. The new-and-improved Minka Greene Montgomery was strong, confident, and at ease in her skin. Each time a worrying thought emerged, she should be wise enough to mentally jot it down on a notepad, wrap it around a stone, and throw it into the bottom of the ocean.
Except lately, an eerie fog, gray and ominous, slogged through her.
Another piercing cry, similar to a wounded animal, snapped her from her poor Minka moment. This time, Sebastian sounded impatient. At nine weeks old, the twins sleep pattern was still unpredictable—two to four hours at a time—day or night. The result—lots of sleep for them, a very irregular and tiring schedule for mommy. She fed. She comforted. She changed diapers, lots of them.
When she wasn’t doing that, there was the breast-pumping situation, a total mood killer. The day Jason barged in on her—with two suction cups connected to her nipples while being milked like a cow—had been mortifying.
Ahhh! The joys of motherhood.
She hurried down the hall and pushed the door open. Bas seemed to have sensed her presence the minute she stepped into the room and greeted her with a soft cooing sound instead of the shrieking cry.
“Charming little bugger. Just like your daddy.” She reached into the crib and scooped Bas’ warm body to her chest. Chubby bracelets of fat at his wrists and ankles rubbed against her arm. His sweet smell, fresh and innocent, almost made her forget the sharp pain from the horizontal incision on her bikini line. Recovery from the C-section, which happened a little over two months ago, was still hell. Her abs had been cut in half, making it impossible to do a sit-up without pain, which meant goodbye to ripped abs.
A low chuckle spilled past her lips. She’d never had rock-hard abs—or been a fan of sit-ups—but it’d been a lofty goal. Keely and the others seemed to enjoy planks. Maybe she’d give those a try. One day.
She stepped on the area rug, wriggled her toes into its warmth, then lowered herself into the rocking chair. Gently, she brushed aside the top of her nightgown and cradled Bas to her chest, offering him her nipple. Her son shifted his head, which, in baby language, meant he just wanted to be held.
“Your sister woke up half an hour ago,” she said in a low voice, stuffing her breast back in its package, then softly rocking Bas back to sleep. “Why can’t you guys get on the same schedule
?” In response, baby Bas let out another one of his delightful mews, melting her heart.
About an hour later, Minka flopped back in bed. If she played her cards right, she could get forty-five minutes of sweet, wonderful sleep. Next to her, Jason’s big body stirred.
“Come here,” he said, his voice low and rough with sleep.
Her stomach coiled into a tight knot, but she did as he bid. One arm circled her waist as he pulled her against his hard-muscled chest.
“Who woke up?” he mumbled against her ear.
“Sebastian.” She nestled into his warmth, welcoming him home. His travels had increased right about the time she gave birth—some overseas, some in other states. He’d been gone more often than he’d been home, which meant it’d just been her and the twins.
In the past, she’d rationalized that his travels came with running Montgomery Corporation with his father. Since the babies arrived, she ached for him to be home more frequently, like every day.
“Maya slept through the night,” her husband noted, as if that ever happened.
She wanted to laugh at his remark, but since her energy gauge had fallen past empty, she said, “Nowhere near.”
“We don’t have a tree.” His voice echoed in the vast darkness around them.
“A tree?”
“A Christmas tree.” After a slight pause, he added, “Christmas is twelve days away.”
She said nothing. Other than the crackling sound coming from the baby monitors, all noises were muted.
“Our favorite time of year,” Jason continued, a slight edge to his words.
She understood the tension in his voice. They didn’t even have a wreath on the front door, never mind a Christmas tree, or a decorated house.
“We don’t need to get a tree.” She had been on mommy mode. Former exciting leisure activities, Christmas included, had since given way to compelling interests in baby matters—the quality of a breastfeeding, the magnitude of a burp, or the color of a bowel movement.
“Why is that?”
How could she vocalize that the duties of motherhood had sapped the pleasure from what used to be a joyous time in her life. If she had to choose between sleep or decking the halls, and everything else that came with Christmas—cooking, cleaning, wrapping, shopping—she would choose sleep without any hesitation. Not that she was a Grinch, just overwhelmed.
“Well.” A nervous chuckle escaped her throat. Physically depleted at the end of most days, harvesting a tree at Herring Creek Farm, much less decorating one, was no longer a priority. Her heart was too dark. With both of them running in opposite directions, this season failed to capture the magic of their first Christmas together. “I’m sure all the trees are gone. As you said, Christmas is only twelve days away.”
“We’re getting a tree,” he said in a cool, but determined tone. “I don’t care if it’s the Charlie Brown Christmas tree. The more traditions we can build into Maya’s and Bas’ life, the better.”
She nodded. No point arguing. The invisible wound around her heart continued its silent bleeding. Jason’s palm traced her stomach, teasing her in a slow circle around her navel. Only a man could sleep through two crying babies, then be fully alert and ready for sex five minutes later.
“I’ve missed you.” His lips grazed against her neck—a gesture that normally sent her head spinning, and always managed to get that spot between her thighs throbbing with need. Tonight, while her body failed to scream the usual take me Jason anthem, it did manage to stir a bit. That is, until his palm moved south and brushed the tough, heaped-up scar on her lower abdomen. The familiar disquietude she had been struggling with reared its ugly head.
She didn’t want to be touched.
Minka tensed. Her hand moved to her bikini line, as if protecting the scar tissue from the contact.
“What’s wrong?” he asked
“Nothing,” she responded quickly, too quickly. “I’m tired.”
“Not ready?”
She wanted to have sex.
Kind of.
Not really.
With a baby at her breast most of the day, any additional physical connection was one more demand on her body. Truth was, she had no desire for sex. Her one little secret she wasn’t ready to share with anyone—not with her twin Keely, her friend Claire, or even her BFF Lily. They would think she’d lost her mind. All of them were rolling in some sort of bliss—happily married, newly engaged, new baby.
Nope. She couldn’t disclose this little secret to any member of her tight-knit circle.
Never. Ever.
She’d have to drown in her sorrows all by herself, thank you, very much. Two months after giving birth to the twins, she should be back and ready to go—physically, mentally, and emotionally. But damn it, she was tired. All. The. Fucking. Time.
“I’m sorry,” she said in a low voice, so low she wasn’t sure Jason heard her. “It’s just…” What exactly was she going to say? The disproportionate burden of caring for the twins had diminished her libido?
That would make her a failure. As the mother, she was supposed to be the base of their family—balanced, a multi-tasker, always primped up. Her mother had done it. Really well too.
The fear of failing—lodged deep inside her—stirred. Tears burned behind her eyes and threatened to spill. Not the ‘I’m glad you’re home’ tears, either. These leaned more toward sad. The joy she thought she would experience once the twins were born had somehow managed to slip from her hands before she had an opportunity to savor the moment.
She should be happy. Her life was perfect—a handsome husband who adored her, healthy twin babies, great friends, family, and she was adjusting to motherhood. But lately, life had taken a very difficult course. She’d become a walking zombie, dead on the inside, but functioning by all outside appearances.
Jason rolled onto his back, his arms still around her, holding her tight against him. “Guess what?”
“What?” she repeated, eyes closed, head resting on his chest.
“You didn’t tell me you love me.”
Of course she’d told him. Definitely when he’d first come home—the three little words were deeply embedded as part of their normal every day greeting. She replayed the scene from earlier in her head—the kissing, the smiles, the hugs. A vise closed around her heart. Guilt—the ugly scar sat proudly, not on her stomach, but in her brain.
“I do…love you.” The words stumbled from her mouth.
Chapter Two
“One thing about trains: It doesn’t matter where they’re goin’. What matters is deciding to get on.”
The Conductor—The Polar Express
Eleven days before Christmas
No way in hell was she going to get the jeans past her thighs, stretchy material or not. Minka squeezed her lower lip between her teeth, shifted her hips to the left, right, and pulled.
The denims moved above her knees and stopped. Okay, progress, however small. She inhaled, sucked in her stomach as much as possible and tugged hard. This time the cotton fabric cooperated and slid over her ass.
Self-high-five!
Almost there.
Now to zip. No problem there. Yes!
Today was her day. Jason had taken over watching the twins, which gave her kid-free, quality time with Lily.
Okay, pull really, really tight, get the button into that tiny little hole and voilà!
Easy as pie. Never mind, she wasn’t good at baking pies.
She took in another breath.
Her waist whispered, not so fast.
Stubborn little fuck.
“Everything alright in there?” Lily asked from outside the fitting room.
Surrendering to the power of leftover pregnancy weight, Minka gave up on the button. “I’m fine. Just need a second or two.”
Or a couple of months of pure exercise torture. Why couldn’t she be an athlete like Lily or take up jogging like her husband?
Oh wait, she’d tried that once. As if running weren’t
challenging enough, her boobs had thumped against her chest the whole freakin’ time, threatening to give her black eyes. Talk about a full-contact sport. No thanks. In life, there were a few things she could live without—graphic breasts bouncing and back pain—ranked pretty high on the list.
“Chérie,” Gerard, the co-owner of La Jolie called in his deep French accent. “We can get you another pair that is...um…more fitting.”
Translation: Accept your fatness and bask in its ambiance.
“These are fine. Thanks,” she responded, forcing her voice to sound more upbeat than she felt.
Okay, she lied. See, she had this grand idea that after giving birth, the weight would magically fall off. Well, that had been her goal. Yet, here she was, the twins were nine weeks on the dot, and the fat was jiggling in all the same places as before.
Mission failed. Actually, more like a complete disaster.
On top of that, Christmas was eleven days away. Hell for her. She’d been eating since Thanksgiving. The holidays were another guaranteed ten pounds. All she had to do was inhale the sweet aroma of one of Adam’s homemade Panettone, and she’d gained five pounds.
Just her luck, attractive men who took significant pride in feeding their women and getting them fat in the process surrounded her.
Well, she was alone in this struggle. Lily had sneezed and lost all of her pregnancy weight. Claire and Keely were still blessed with the pre-baby, toned-and-tight bodies. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror—thick frizzy dark brown hair framed her face, sunken eyes stared back at her.
Her hands fell to her side in defeat as she dropped limply into the shabby armchair in the fitting room. This was her day to have fun, relax. Yet, here she was, bottomless, sad at the horizons of her mind, where she’d kept everything clouded. A hard, painful lump pressed in the back of her throat as the tears began to form, and her last shred of normalcy shattered into a million pieces.
From her mouth came a raw cry. Between a little chuckle and a half sigh, she buried her face in her hands and gave way to the enormity of her grief.
She sobbed.