by Cara Colter
Once in the office, they had to figure out how to get the tree to stand up. The rough, uneven cuts to the trunk made it nearly impossible, even using the tree stand she had unearthed.
“I think we should tie it to the wall in the corner,” Imogen suggested.
“I find that an admission of defeat. Surely, if they can get a forty-foot tree to stand in the foyer at the palace, we can figure this out.”
“Well, I hate to break it to you, but we aren’t at the palace, and we don’t have a team of dozens to help us.”
“I find it insulting that you think I need staff to do something so simple.”
“Have you ever done something so simple? Set up a Christmas tree?”
“Well, no.”
“This has been the yearly challenge in my life since I was a babe, so—” she wagged the string at him “—let me know when you’re ready.”
An hour later the tree was stuffed in a corner, attached to the walls with nails and string so it wouldn’t fall over.
The day unfolded with a delicious combination of ease and tension between them. The smallest decisions seemed tinged with both magic and danger.
“Usually, the first step would be lights,” Imogen said, frowning at a box full of light strings, “but is there any point? I guess it would be nice if the power came back on.”
But she realized she did not think it would be nice if the power came back on at all, not even if it did make the tree the prettiest thing in the whole Rocky Mountain Range!
They decided on popcorn garlands. Popping corn over a fire was more difficult than they imagined, and soon the room was so filled with the scent of scorched popcorn Luca had to open a window. It was also filled with the sound of their laughter. Finally, they got a batch just right, ate most of it and had to start all over.
When they had enough popcorn to make garlands, Imogen carefully prepared the tiny chickens in tinfoil packets and placed them in a nest of red-hot coals. Soon, the fragrance of the slowly roasting poultry chased even the scorched popcorn smell from the room.
They sat side by side on the sofa, feeling immense enjoyment in the tedious exercise of threading the popcorn onto strings.
“This is what it would have been like for my great-grandparents,” she said. “Just taking pleasure in completing very simple, time-consuming tasks.”
“Not for mine,” he said, and they both laughed quietly, but she heard the wistfulness in his tone.
They chatted about things that existed in that tiny space where their worlds met: what books they had enjoyed, favorite movies, music.
She created a spontaneous game of twenty questions that made getting to know each other fun and surprising and full of discovery.
“Cats or dogs?” she asked him.
“Dogs,” he said, and then shot back at her, “Elephants or parrots?”
She laughed. “That would depend on context. Definitely a parrot for a house pet!”
He sighed, “That shows you know nothing of the nature of parrots. Nasty things. My mother was given one for a pet once. Mark that down—worst gift ever. A parrot.”
“I’m not sure an elephant would be any better.”
“Actually, there’s a story about that,” he said. “It is said the King of Siam would gift a white elephant to anyone who displeased him. It would seem as if he was being nice, but in actual fact the care and keeping of a ten-ton mammal is extremely onerous.”
“Remind me not to displease you!”
“Oh, I will!”
The game continued.
“Beach or ski hill?” she asked him.
It turned out Luca enjoyed skiing, and it proved to be one of the few things they had in common. They talked about that mutual love. Though her career as a ski racer had ended in the accident when she was sixteen, Imogen still loved to cross-country ski the mountain trails around the Lodge.
“Maybe we’ll do that tomorrow,” she suggested, feeling suddenly shy, as if she was inviting him on a date.
“I’ve never cross-country skied. I can’t wait to try it.”
It took a long time to make that garland, but every second of it felt wonderful, an easy companionship between them. Finally, it was ready. With great ceremony, with their shoulders brushing and their hands accidentally touching, they placed their fragrant garland in the tree, then stood back and admired their handiwork.
Finally, they were ready to open the boxes of ornaments. Imogen opened the first one, and smiled.
“Look.” She held up her find to show Luca. “These are my two favorites.”
Luca took them, one in each hand, turned them over and then passed them back, smiling at her questioningly.
They were reindeer made out of pinecones. They had button eyes and felt ears and tails ratty with age.
“My sisters made them,” Imogen said, “when they were just small.”
“Will you be with them for Christmas?”
“Of course. My sisters both work overseas, and my parents have settled in Arizona. They loved it here when they lived here, but my mother had a lifelong struggle with asthma. The cold seemed to trigger it and the climate is good for her there. So, we’ll meet there again this year.”
“For an admitted lover of all things Christmas, you don’t sound excited about it.”
Imogen hesitated. “Christmas in Arizona never feels quite right. Growing up here, after we opened gifts, Christmas morning, my dad would drive us to town and we’d skate on Crystal Lake. We’d sled on a big hill right beside the lake, and whoosh out onto the ice. It felt as if you were going a million miles an hour when you hit that ice! There was always a big fire going, and tons of hot chocolate and hot dogs. Every kid in town would be there. It was such a sense of community. We were usually so stuffed with hot dogs and marshmallows, we could barely eat Mom’s turkey dinner.
“Now my folks have an artificial tree. My dad loves to golf on Christmas Day because there’s no lineup on the tees. Last year, my mom refused to cook a turkey because she said it was too hot to get the oven going and the house heated up.
“I miss the way it used to be. I wish they would all come back here for Christmas, instead of me going there.”
“Is today the way it used to be?” Luca asked softly.
“Not exactly,” she said. “Except for that one year, we always had power.”
Not exactly. Because of the kiss part. Not exactly, because of the awareness part. Not exactly, because of the part where Imogen felt as if she might catch on fire every time her hand brushed his.
Though usually people who were afraid of being burned didn’t keep inviting it over and over again.
“I understand why you would want to be here,” Luca said quietly. “It’s magic here.”
“What an extraordinary thing to say, given that you are the one who comes from a fairy-tale setting. Tell me about your brother, the one who was supposed to come here. Are you close?”
He contemplated that. “We’re close in age. Antonio is only a year younger than I am. In our early years, we were tremendous friends, but as we got older, the expectations on me were different than they were on him. I’d say that the grooming to assume the mantle of leadership began in my early teens and intensified as I got older.
“So, Antonio had way more freedom than I did, and he was quite the rascal at times. I think I envied him his freedom, and he envied me what he saw as our father’s favor. Both of us worked hard for the King’s approval, and I think Antonio would be surprised to know I feel as if, in Vincenzo’s eyes, I never quite measured up, either. I felt close to my father only when I was successful, and of course that drove me to excel at everything I ever did, from sports to lessons.
“We were competitive with each other, as brothers tend to be, but he was also one of the few people I could be myself with, with no worry about keeping up my image. I
confided in him, I think, as in no one else, and so it was quite a blow when he announced his decision to join the army.
“I hoped it would be a temporary stop on his career path, but he seems to have found a place where he belongs. He’s part of an elite squadron that is posted all over the world. I miss him dreadfully and envy him the camaraderie he enjoys, and the adventures he embraces.”
He stopped, frowning.
“But what?”
“He’s a brave man, and courageous, but I feel something might have happened to him on his last mission. He was changed by it in some way. And then my father’s death followed quickly on the heels of that. But naturally, he’s a soldier, so he doesn’t talk about feelings, or at least not to me.”
“It sounds as though you love him very much.”
Luca smiled. “That’s true, even though I don’t think I have ever said those words to him.”
“You should.”
“Maybe I will.”
“What would you be, if you weren’t a prince?”
He smiled, a bit sadly. “I’ve always loved travel and exploring other cultures, but I feel, because of my title, I don’t always get to see what’s real about a place or about people. The way I have here. It’s been a gift.”
A companionable silence existed between them as they contemplated their families and the coming of Christmas and unexpected gifts.
And then Luca’s eyes drifted to her lips. Her eyes drifted to his. He touched her hand. His fingers stroked the top of it in an unconsciously sensual way.
Magic. If it was really a fairy tale, wasn’t this the part where the Prince showed up and saved the day? Rescued the damsel from the dreariness and challenges of her life? With a kiss?
Maybe in this fairy tale, she was also rescuing him.
From a life that seemed as if it bore almost unbearable loneliness.
Imogen leaned toward him. Luca leaned toward her.
But instead of kissing her, he cupped the side of her cheek with his hand.
“It’s so complicated,” he said, his tone gruff with regret.
“Of course it is,” she said brightly, slipped away from his hand and went to turn the little chickens in the fire.
Despite the tension, she forced herself to relax, but from then on, Imogen avoided touching his shoulder and hands. They finished hanging ornaments, each one with a story that she shared with him. The little guitar had been a gift from a guest, a classical guitarist. The glass one with the scene painted inside it had been handed down to her family from her grandmother. The ugly handprint, so heavy it made the tree branch droop under its weight, had been made by her in kindergarten.
He studied that one for a long time, a smile on his face, before he hung it by a threadbare ribbon on a sturdy branch of the tree.
“More precious than Buschetta,” he told her.
And she had to duck her head from the utter sincerity in his voice, and in his eyes as they rested on her. Only a few days ago, that ornament in particular would have filled her with sadness that she was not going to experience her own children making such things. Now, on the strength of his conviction, she was nursing hope. It made tears smart behind her eyes.
Late in the afternoon, the snow finally stopped. They ventured out into a world so bright and sparkling it almost hurt the eyes. The strength of the sun was already melting the snowmen. It made her feel sad, because the end of the snowstorm, and the melting of their little snow family felt as if it was foreshadowing that their time together, in this magical kingdom of their own making, was coming to a close.
Imogen, despite feeling the sadness of it, knew there was no way a helicopter could land in all that snow, and it would probably be at least one more day before the road to the Lodge opened, possibly two.
Despite her resolve to enjoy the time she had left, to not look to the inevitable goodbye the future held, the mood had already shifted by the time they pulled the little tinfoil-wrapped hens from the fire, and gobbled down their “turkey.”
“Possibly the best Christmas dinner I’ve ever had,” Luca declared.
“Don’t be silly.”
“I’m not. The best Christmas dinner and the best Christmas.” His tone was pensive. He, too, was getting ready for the goodbye.
“It’s not quite over yet,” she said, and got up and took the stuffed sock down from the mantel.
She watched with pleasure as he opened it. He happily shared the chocolate and nuts with her and then carefully opened her package.
One by one he took out the snow family she had made out of Ping-Pong balls and cotton wool.
“They’re beautiful,” he breathed.
“I know they’re clumsy and handmade, but I wanted you to have the memory.”
“I will cherish them,” he said with sincerity—a prince cherishing her little homemade gift, “but I didn’t need them to have the memory. Imogen, I will never forget this time.”
He looked at her handmade snow family again and then looked at her.
“I’m sorry. I never thought of a gift for you.”
But really? The gift had been these few days. Still...
“There is a gift you can give me,” she said slowly.
“Anything.”
“When you arrived here, I saw something in you that was troubled. I want you to trust me with it. I want to know why you are here. Are you running away from something?”
She had shared everything with him, her every heartache. And that was the only gift she wanted from him in return. The same level of trust she had placed in him when she had shared her confidences.
* * *
Luca could have kicked himself for that anything. Of course this woman would require more of him than some bauble that cost the earth financially, but cost nothing emotionally.
He looked at the gift she had given him—that painstakingly crafted snow family—and felt some resistance in him melt away, just like that real snow family outside was melting away.
“I was supposed to be married,” he confessed. “Two days ago.”
Her mouth fell open. “You ran away?”
He snorted. “No, she did.”
How flattering was it that the look on Imogen’s face seemed to say, Impossible, no one would run away from you?
But then Imogen had coaxed a different side from him, a side that Meribel had never seen, that no one had ever seen. Maybe he hadn’t even been aware he had it himself.
“The whole kingdom was preparing for a huge celebration. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Buschetta ornament this year will commemorate a royal wedding.”
“But what happened to your wedding?”
“I wish I knew. My fiancée, Princess Meribel of Aguilarez, came to me the night before the wedding. She told me she loved another and carried his baby. She confessed she had actually considered marrying me, anyway, passing the baby off as mine.”
“But that’s awful!”
“And yet she’s not an awful person,” Luca said. “Like me, she has been raised with the idea that duty came first. She is a princess from the neighboring kingdom. Our fathers signed marriage contracts for us when we were very young. It was to cement a relationship that has not been without its frictions. It was to secure the future of both kingdoms, to strengthen the alliances between them and to give the people peace of mind.”
“That is no reason to get married!” Imogen sputtered.
“In my world it is. And in the one Meribel was raised in, it is. But in the end, her heart was stronger than her sense of duty.”
“Thank goodness,” Imogen muttered.
“Perhaps,” he said wearily.
“And so you came here just to escape?”
“I announced the wedding had been called off because of irreconcilable differences, and then decided to take my brother’s place on this mission
.”
“You protected her,” Imogen breathed. “At great cost to yourself.”
“A prince among men,” he said with dry sarcasm.
“You are,” she said stubbornly. “She must mean a great deal to you for you to take the brunt of the disappointment of two nations for something that was no fault of your own.”
But wasn’t it, at least in part, his fault? For not reading anything correctly? For not paying attention? For not noticing that Meribel was deeply dissatisfied with their engagement? Or maybe for not caring?
But for some reason, instead of admitting all that, he wanted to bask in Imogen’s admiration.
For just a little while longer. His intuition had been humming since the sun came out. It was nearly over.
If he was honest about it, he felt more unsettled, more despairing, about his time with Imogen ending than he had about the end of his engagement with Meribel.
There, his concerns were largely pragmatic. What kind of chaos could result for the two kingdoms? His pride was wounded, not his heart.
Right now, for the first time in his life, his heart was ruling everything, not his head.
Imogen frowned suddenly. “What mission?” she asked.
“Sorry?”
“You said you were taking your brother’s place on a mission. What mission? I can’t imagine any kind of royal business that would bring you to Crystal Lake, Canada.”
Before he could answer they heard the deep growl of a motor, still in the distance, but the high-pitched, incessant whining growing closer. It was a shocking sound against the deep and complete silence they had experienced for their entire time together.
“Snow machine,” Imogen said. “Probably one of the neighbors, or someone from town coming to check on us.”
But he suspected it was not. It would be Cristiano, who would have been relentless in his efforts to get back here.
“Gabi probably sent them.”
Just like that, he thought, it is over. And wasn’t that the thing he should have been remembering about an enchantment?
Just like a fairy tale, it came to an end.