Christmas Baby for the Princess

by Barbara Wallace

  Ten minutes later, he returned and announced, “Mission accomplished.”

  “What mission?”

  His eyes had an awfully mischievous sparkle. “Stand right here, just like this...” Moving behind her, he put his hands on her shoulders and turned her toward the stage. “And you’ll see in...five, four, three...”

  The Christmas tree came to life. Thousands of dancing colored lights sparkling in the snow.

  “Merry Christmas, Princess,” he whispered warmly in her ear.

  Arianna fingers flew to her lips. This was why he had disappeared? She looked over her shoulder to find him smiling down at her. “You asked them to light the Christmas tree?”

  “I might have persuaded them to test the lights a little early.”

  For her. “I can’t believe...” The words stuck in her throat, blocked by a floodgate of emotions filling her heart. “Thank you.”

  “It was nothing. You gave me a tree, now I’m giving you one. Sort of.”

  Arianna shook her head. “Not nothing.” She touched his cheek. The stubble of his five o’clock shadow scratched against her glove, making her wish the weather were warmer so she could feel skin against skin. But she was touching him, and they were standing toe-to-toe in the snow, and that would have to be enough. “It is the perfect ending to the perfect day.”

  His smile sobered, the playfulness growing tender. “I’m glad,” he said, knuckles brushing her cheek in return. Lifting her hand from his face, he pressed a kiss in her palm. “Now you’ll have something to remember New York City by.”

  Remembering New York City wasn’t the problem, Arianna thought as she looked back at the tree. It was getting her heart to forget.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE NEXT NIGHT, the Fox Club celebrated its own tree lighting. Max sat at the bar and watched as his staff sang and drank their way through decorating the restaurant. Usually he joined in the merriment, but this year he had too much on his mind.

  What had he been thinking? Romantic walks in the snow, paying guys to light the tree early? All so he could enjoy watching a woman’s eyes shine like Christmas lights?

  That wasn’t like him. As far as he was concerned, romantic gestures led to mistaken impressions. Implying a commitment he wasn’t willing to make. Yet with Arianna, the gestures came naturally. He wanted to make her happy. He wanted...

  And there was the problem. He wanted. He’d wanted yesterday to never end. He wanted circumstances to be different. He wanted Arianna... About the only thing he didn’t want was for her to leave. Which was the only thing with any basis in reality.

  When had this happened? When did he go from wanting to help a woman out...to wanting the woman herself?

  On the other side of the room, Arianna laughed as Darlene chased Javier around the tables with a can of scented aerosol. The sound went straight to his insides, leaving his chest with a funny kind of fullness.

  It was the same feeling he’d had hearing her baby’s heartbeat.

  “Oh, come all ye faithful, with a bough of holly...” Darius suddenly joined him at the bar, his off-key voice drowning out whatever song was playing on the sound system. The bartender wore a scarf of silver garland, and had a red paper ribbon stuck to his curls. Easing himself onto the stool next to Max, he flashed a grin. “Yo! How do you like Santa’s Little Helper?”

  Max blinked. “Who?”

  “The drink, Max. How do you like it?”

  “Oh, right.” He looked at the red martini concoction sitting on the bar, untouched since Darius poured it. “Sorry, I’ve had other things on my mind.”

  “No kidding.” Reaching over, the bartender picked up the drink and downed it in one swallow. “These are going to be a big hit this month,” he said. “Put some sugar on the rim and the ladies will eat ’em up.”

  “Don’t you mean drink?” Max muttered.

  Darius’s raucous laugh was the opposite of Arianna’s. “Good one! Glad to know you’ve still got your sense of humor.”

  “And you’re drunk.”

  “Possibly. But isn’t that what Christmas parties are for?” He followed Max’s line of sight, before turning back and setting the glass on the bar. “You know, you can take your eyes off her. She won’t disappear.”

  Max felt his entire face heat. “That obvious, huh?” He supposed it was.

  “Like a neon sign,” his friend replied. “Look, we totally threw that security guard off the scent. He ain’t coming back.”

  “I hope so.”

  At least Darius blamed Corinthian security for his obsessiveness and not the fact that Max simply couldn’t get Arianna out of his head. Knowing his friend, Darius blamed both, but at least he was being kind in only mentioning the security.

  “I know so. By the way, you never did tell me her story.”

  “Told you, it’s not my story to tell.” Darlene had twirled a strand of garland on Arianna’s head like a crown, causing another ripple of laughter to filter through the room. “Besides, you wouldn’t believe it if I did.”

  “If you say so.” In other words, he wouldn’t push. That trust was one of the things Max liked about the man. He might talk big, but when push came to shove, he respected Max’s privacy. “It’s got to be good, though, if she’s got you this whipped.”

  Max whipped his head around. “I’m not—”

  “Speak of the devil,” Darius said, gesturing with his head. “Nice crown.”

  Wearing a trio of paper bows stuck to her hair, Arianna gave them both a regal wave as she approached. Seeing how brilliant her smile was, Max’s stomach did a backflip. “Darlene and the others have decided to go someplace called Xenon,” she announced. “They want to know if you two are interested in going.”

  Darius was off the bar stool in a flash. “I am primed and ready. How ’bout you, boss? You up for some dancing?”

  Max looked to Arianna, who shook her head. “Maybe next time, Dar.”

  He should have realized the bartender caught the exchange. Darius looked back and forth between them. “Did you two get married and not tell anyone?”

  “Very funny. Someone has to stay back and clean up after you people.”

  Sliding off his stool, he used retrieving the empty martini glass as an excuse to hide the way his insides reacted to the comment. For the first time, the word didn’t generate a wave of cynicism. Instead, his stomach backflipped again.

  “Unless you all want to do it tomorrow morning while you’re hung over?”

  “No way. I will happily give you that pleasure,” Darius answered. He started toward the coatroom. “Oh, and just so you know, we’re all going to be a little late tomorrow,” he called over his shoulder. “So you might have to do the opening yourself.”

  “Like I don’t every year,” Max called back.

  “They certainly know how to have a good time,” Arianna said as the crew filed out a few moments later, Darlene leading them in a conga line.

  “Yes, they do,” Max replied. “Did you?”

  “Very. I think they are starting to forgive my ineptitude. Everyone was very friendly.”

  “Of course they were. You’re easy to like.” He adored the way her cheekbones pinked whenever he complimented her. “And they are good people,” he added.

  “It’s obvious they like working here. I think they were disappointed you didn’t go with them. You didn’t have to stay behind on my account.”

  “Soon as they get on the dance floor, they’ll forget all about me. Besides, I was serious about someone having to clean up.” Plus, there was nowhere he’d rather be than with her.

  Man, he had it bad.

  There was also something he needed to do. His own personal holiday tradition that none of the staff, not even Darius, knew about. He moved around to the back of the bar, ta
king the glass with him.

  Wedging herself into the space beside him, Arianna leaned back, elbows against the bar rail. “The tree looks wonderful, don’t you think? It makes the entire club smell like pine.”

  “I think that might be Darlene’s air freshener.”

  “What about you? Did you have a good time?”

  “I always have a good time,” he said, setting the glass in the dish bin.

  “Every time I looked over, you looked so serious. Is something wrong?”

  “Not at all.” Only a bunch of emotions he couldn’t describe and the knowledge that time was slipping through his fingers every time he looked at her.

  The cardboard box was still where he’d stashed it last year, tucked behind the spare napkin caddies. “Ah, found it,” he muttered.

  “Found what?” He could feel her looking down on the back of his neck, trying to see.

  “My lucky tree,” he answered. His one sentimental nod to Christmas, or to anything for that matter.

  “What do you mean? I thought the tree onstage was your tree.”

  “Oh, it is. This is to hang on the tree.” Rising, he set the box on the bar. The red corners had started to tatter, and the white cover had grayed a long time ago. “I’m afraid the box is a little worse for wear these days.” He’d snatched it out of a recycling bin a few years ago in an attempt at preservation. What was even more sad was that as bad as the box looked, it was in better shape than the contents.

  His palms were sweating a little as he lifted off the cover. When it came down to it, his tree ornament was as ugly as sin. Chunky and dull, with several branch tips missing, it looked more like a green acrylic blob on a string. Anyone in their right mind would laugh themselves silly.

  He held it up by the string and held his breath. “Presenting my lucky tree.”

  Arianna didn’t laugh. She simply tilted her head to get a better look. “What makes it lucky?” she asked.

  “Well, for starters, it came from the very first bar I ever worked at.”

  “The place where you bar-backed.”

  “You remembered the term. Nicely done.”

  Arianna lifted the ornament from his grasp. “I never would have guessed you to be the sentimental type.”

  “Normally, I’m not.” At least he never thought himself to be, but the last few days had revealed his hidden emotional side. “This ornament is special, though. It saved my life.”

  “It did? How? It’s a two-inch plastic tree!”

  “Remember how I told you the bar was a dive?” She nodded. “That was putting it mildly. It was the kind of place where your feet stuck to the floor. I’d mop up, but I’m pretty sure all I was doing was putting dirty water on top of dirt. And you know how we’ve got frosted windows? The windows there were frosted, too, but with dirt.”

  “Eww!”

  “Yeah.” A woman like her didn’t belong within a hundred miles of such a place. “Anyway, my first year, one of the waitresses decided to decorate for Christmas. We didn’t have a tree so she hung this thing on one of the window hooks. I think it came attached to a bunch of bubble bath she had or something.” He remembered the sound it made clicking against the dirty pane. The bright green had been out of place amid all the dirt. “Wasn’t much, but it was something.”

  “How was it lucky, though?”

  “One night while I was cleaning up, I knocked it off the hook. When I kneeled down to pick it up, someone shot out the window.”

  Arianna gasped. “Shot? With a gun?”

  “Uh-huh. If I hadn’t been under the table looking for this sucker, who knows what would have happened.” Touching his finger to one of the few undamaged branches, he gave the tree a small tap. “It’s been my good-luck charm ever since.”

  “As well it should be.” Her hand shook slightly as she lifted the ornament into the light.

  It was nothing but a tacky piece of garbage, and yet she was holding it as though it was made of Baccarat crystal.

  “Amazing how the small things turn out to be some of the most important,” she said. “I’m glad you knocked it over that night. I’d hate to think of a world without a Max Brown in it.”

  “Oh, I doubt it’d be that much different,” he replied, pretending to study the box the ornament came from. A lump had jumped to his throat that he couldn’t swallow away, causing his voice to turn gravelly.

  “You sell yourself short.”

  “Not really. I’m just one guy.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” she said. “I know my life is better.”

  She smiled, and just like that, the emotions he’d been battling found a name. A big, scary four-letter name that jammed its way into his heart.

  He curled his fingers around the hand holding the ornament. “In that case, let’s hang it together.”

  * * *

  Arianna’s pulse skipped. Was he really asking her to share in his personal ritual? She looked down at the tree dangling between their joined hands. “Are you sure?”

  “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t.”

  He was just being kind—that was all. Including her because she was there. He had no idea how the gesture squeezed at her heart.

  “Why?” Glutton for punishment that she was, she had to ask.

  He shrugged. “Maybe I thought we could both use the luck this year.”

  “We certainly could.” Although something told her all the luck in the world wouldn’t be enough to solve her troubles. Not unless it could change reality.

  His hand hovered by the small of her back as they crossed the room, a fitting reminder of the distance between them. While they were together tonight, she could never truly be with him. Would it be so horrible, she wondered, if she pretended for one more day that she wasn’t leaving? To freeze time for just a little while longer?

  “Where should I hang it?” she asked when they reached the tree.

  “I usually hang it in the back, near the top where no one can see. Can you reach?”

  “I think so. If I stand on my tiptoes.” They were, it appeared, the magic words, because suddenly his hands were on her hips, steadying her. Keeping her safe, as he always did. She looped the ornament over a branch just below the peak. Safe in its new home, the green blob swung back and forth, the plastic catching the overhead light and looking almost decorative.

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  “Beautiful.”

  His voice was rough and low, sliding down her spine until it pooled at the base, where it set her insides aching. Turning slowly, she found herself face-to-face with eyes dark with desire. Heavy-lidded, they searched her face, looking for what, she wasn’t sure. Permission? She shivered. He needn’t look very hard.

  “Beautiful,” he repeated. Suddenly, his fingers were tracing her jaw. Slow and soft, their path stoked memories of their first kiss. The ache inside her grew stronger. She could feel the vibrations of his breath against her breasts. Shallow and ragged.

  His hand moved to the back of her neck. Arianna’s eyes fluttered shut. She let her head fall back, baring her neck in silent acquiescence. She felt his breath on her lips and then, the rest of the world vanished as his lips covered hers, his unique, indescribable flavor traveling over her tongue and into her soul. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she returned the kiss as deeply as she could.

  Time and reality could wait.

  “Arianna!”

  Her heart froze. Father?

  CHAPTER NINE

  ARIANNA SPRANG FROM Max’s arms, practically shoving him in an effort to be free before Father saw her. She couldn’t believe he was here. How did he know where to find her? A quick look at Max said he was as shocked as she.

  Was it possible she heard wrong? Maybe it was someone else with an accent that sounded
like Father.

  “Is anyone here? I demand you show yourselves immediately!”

  It was definitely Father. Smoothing her hair, and praying it wasn’t too obvious what she and Max had been up to, Arianna stepped out from behind the tree.

  There, in the middle of the dining room, surrounded by discarded garlands and plastic cups, stood His Majesty King Carlos IV, wearing a scowl to beat all scowls.

  “I thought you said she was here,” he hissed to Vittorio. “Aria—”

  She took a deep breath. “Hello, Father.”

  “Arianna!” The scowl vanished in favor of relief as he rushed to the stage, his arms around her before she could say another word. “Oh, my precious little girl! I’m so glad to see you.” He crushed her to him, enveloping her in a ferocious cocoon of wool and fatherly affection.

  Arianna closed her eyes. While she’d had bouts of homesickness, she hadn’t until this moment realized how much she missed her family. She clung to him just as ferociously, feeling his body tremble with emotion. His coat smelled of nicotine, the aroma sending guilt stabbing through her. He only smoked when he was extremely distraught. “I’m sorry, Father,” she murmured against his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

  She pulled back to see unshed tears glistening in his eyes. “Worry?” he said. “You frightened me half to death.”

  “Didn’t you get my note?”

  “You mean that slip of paper telling me you needed a couple weeks alone to ‘think’?” He tossed up his hands and made a scoffing sound. “How was that supposed to keep me from worrying? When I didn’t know where you were or what had happened? I was afraid I’d...”

  His words might have drifted off, but Arianna heard them anyway. He was afraid he’d lost her, too. Like her mother and sister-in-law.

  Now that she looked closer, she saw how badly the uncertainty had taken a toll. He looked older. Weary. Normally pale, his face looked even gaunter than usual, the bags under his eyes looking more like bruises than circles. It was the same face he’d worn for weeks following Mama’s and Christina’s deaths. Realizing she was responsible for its return made her sick to her stomach.