The Christmas Bet

by Alice Ward

  I felt certain I could create a win-win for the Butterfly. If she’d let me.

  After we sat in silence for several miles, I thought it was time for me to speak up. “This must be painful for you. I can only imagine what it’d feel like to have somebody I cared so deeply for disregard everything I am because of their greed. I want you to know, I can help you. I want to help.”

  “She gave me a gun.”

  I stared at her, unsure if I’d heard her correctly. “What?”

  “Brandy. She gave me a gun before I went to the meeting I thought was with you. It was in the clutch we always carry. It’s stocked beforehand, so I didn’t know it was in there until I was in the room. It’s how I got away from Jack.” She covered her mouth, her shock obviously not worn off yet.

  For a moment, I was at a loss for words. “Well, thank God she did. I think you should take some time just to heal and recover. I have a large home with lots of space, very private. You’ll never know I’m there.” Unless you want to. God, I hope you want to. “I hope you’ll consider staying with me until you get back on your feet again. We’ll find a way to recover your belongings. I won’t allow them to win.”

  “I just left her there. Roman, there’s no telling what they’ll do to her.” She looked at me with large glassy eyes. Her mask was the same color of her skin, giving the illusion of being able to see most of her face. The mask had been jarred a bit, revealing more of her bone structure than it had before. As we passed out of the small town we’d just driven through, ironically called Anaconda, the light shifted, and moonlight struck her face — like a spotlight. A sudden memory jolted me, and it was like I was watching it all again on the giant TV monitor that had been hanging from the wall in the VIP lounge.

  It was an old lounge, at a stadium that was within the fairgrounds and only used for the county fair. But when a business associate had offered me tickets, I’d had to see the famous duo.

  Her voice. It was one I’d heard many times, yet different.

  I felt like someone punched me in the chest, all the breath knocked from my lungs.

  Adara Wilde and Nate Galloway. An unlikely couple, her a rock star and him a country music stud.

  They were magic. Even that night, as the fair called the concert off. But the fair board had waited too long, and the crowd wasn’t willing to leave and miss their heroes performing together.

  I’d watched in horror as it all happened. The screaming of the crowd, the whistling of the wind, and the horrible wrenching of steel as it dropped to the stage.

  There’d been nothing I could do then.

  I’d tried to find out what had happened to her after Nate’s death, which was bad enough to witness in person and just as horrid when a video of it went viral. Adara had been in the hospital for weeks. But then she’d disappeared from the public eye completely.

  Until now.

  In disbelief, I knew I couldn’t do anything more for her than offer her safety and help her find a new life. But I would do everything she would let me.

  “What if they hurt her? I have to help her, and the others. Jewel is so much darker than it seems.”

  “As soon as we get back to the house, I’ll make a call. It’ll be discreet. If your friend wants out, I can be sure she gets out.”

  Maybe I could really get her out. And shut the damn place down. Maybe get Jack Marshall in a jail cell where his fucking ass belonged.

  I let go of her hand and wrapped my arms around her. As she sighed and leaned into me, and I held her, a protectiveness I’d never felt before bubbled up into my chest.

  Stunned, I stared out the window, holding Adara Wilde in my arms. It all made complete sense now. The mask, the limp.

  Most of her fans had assumed she was dead, but her records still sold, even to this day. Why didn’t she have that money? Why would she have to work at Jewel? Had she suffered a bout of mental illness? My curiosity raged within me, but I couldn’t bring myself to let her know that her secret was out.

  I stared for a moment at the beautiful woman sitting quietly beside me as Warren drove us up the driveway.

  “We’re here,” I said softly.

  She looked up at me and seemed so small and fragile that I took her hand and helped her out of the car.

  “Let’s get you inside and to bed.” I didn’t leave room for argument, and she didn’t protest.

  As we walked inside the ranch house, Ms. White greeted us. “Good evening, Mr. Wellington. You have a guest this evening?” While she did well concealing her shock, it was evident in the fractional rise in her tone.

  I hadn’t thought about the sight Adara made, standing in the foyer in her barely there dress and black cape. Ms. White looked like she was trying to keep from having a stroke and was probably regretting her advice to me.

  I cleared my throat to cover a chuckle. “Yes. I’m sorry I didn’t call ahead, but do you mind opening up the west wing? I think the rose suite would be best, it has the most light.”

  There were three suites in the west wing of the house, each with a living area, bathroom, study or kid’s room, and a bedroom. There were also five single bedrooms, with two shared bathrooms. I never visited that side of the house, but I knew Ms. White kept the rooms tidy, dusted, and ready for use. It was one of her household duties.

  My side of the house had my apartment and an identical one my sister used when she and Pete were here. When I was young, I remembered sharing rooms in the west wing with my siblings. Ms. White still had an apartment on the first floor behind the kitchen and there were other servants’ quarters on the grounds that were for our seasonal staff.

  I watched Adara’s eyes widen when she walked through the foyer. It was quite grandiose. The sweeping banister staircase was straight out of a 1950’s movie and the three-story entry more resembled a grand ballroom than a home.

  Adara’s mouth dropped open. “Wow. You live here? By yourself?”

  I nodded, but at that moment I seriously wondered why I chose to live here alone. I’d done a lot of updating to the place, so everything was modern, sleek and top-of-the-line, but I hadn’t altered the original structure. It’s what held most of the memories, there wouldn’t be any point living here without those.

  “Mr. Wellington, if you’ll permit me, I’d like to go and freshen the linens,” Ms. White commented, a minuscule glint of panic lighting up her features.

  Ah, so she did slack off at times, good for her.

  I nodded. “Of course.”

  Ms. White left without another word, and I faced Adara. “I know it’s late, or early… are you hungry? I’m not the best cook, but Ms. White always keeps stuff I can grab and nuke.” Insecurity tickled my stomach. I may have had a lot of money and a fierce reputation in business, but my lonely bachelor lifestyle sort of bordered on antisocial loser. Who had a whole fridge full of meals for one?

  “I’m a bit hungry,” she offered as I led her to the kitchen and motioned for her to have a seat in a comfortable padded chair at the kitchen table.

  “Good, good.” I opened the fridge. “Let’s see what we have in here.” I started pulling out containers with clear glass lids. Each was labeled with the meal and ingredients on them. “We have Beef Wellington, of course.”

  She laughed, and I thanked god for Ms. White. “Of course.”

  I smiled and continued, “With snow peas and garlic confit, lamb shanks with mint leaves, quinoa salad and aged goat cheese. I like that one.”

  She scrunched her nose like a four-year-old. “Don’t think I can do baby sheep.” She flashed an endearing smile.

  I paused to look at her for a moment. It was the first genuine smile I’d seen from her.

  “Okay.” I smiled in return. “How about chicken? No baby chicken nuggets or anything, just the big adult chicken. Probably was old, near death even…”

  She grimaced.

  Fuck, Roman, how have you ever even had sex with a woman if you’re this awkward?

  “There’s frozen pizza. I alw
ays keep it on hand for my sister’s kids.”

  I hated frozen pizza, but the smile that lit up her face was so delightful, I made a vow to myself to learn to love it as I stuck it in the microwave.

  “Pizza, it is. You want a salad to go with it, and some Italian red?” I looked over the beverage choices I had to offer. “Or Coke? Orange juice? Beer?” Help. I was dying.

  “A glass of wine would be nice.” Her tone sounded more relaxed, and I could tell the shock was wearing off.

  If it’d been me, I would’ve been scalded with anger. Then I remembered the gun she handed over to me in the car and guessed she just had an iron spine. She deserved to be pampered now, and that’s what I aimed to do.

  “I have to say, I didn’t peg you as a pizza eater,” I commented as I grabbed two wine glasses and some nice bottle I brought back from Italy last year.

  “Pizza is good for your soul.” She shifted in the chair with a flirty smirk.

  “Is it? I’ll have to remember that,” I said, handing her a glass of the rich full-bodied wine, raising my glass to hers. “Cheers.”

  We clinked glasses, and I relished the delight that spread across her face after her first sip of wine.

  “Nice, isn’t it?” I asked as I watched her enjoy the wine. “I love this label because it reminds me of the small winery in the mountains of Italy I visited. It has a hint of smoky flavor that brings to mind the smoke billowing from tiny mountain houses that sit atop the steep hillside. Then there’s also a touch of flower, like the fragrant ones that dotted the landscape.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Roman, you just painted a picture with your description. How lovely. Thank you.” She looked happy-ish, then her head bowed and there was the woman I’d met at Jewel.

  Fear that someone from that damn place would come after her almost choked me. I would make sure she’d be safe at all costs. And help her shed the unnatural submissive body language that had probably been seared into her brain.

  “I want you to feel safe here. They can’t touch you here. I have security. No one enters the property without permission. You can relax.” But I couldn’t relax. I needed to protect her. As I gazed across the countertop at her, with her beautiful wine-tinged lips and red-brown hair mussed from her flight, my cock came to life with a vengeance. God help me, even as she’d just stepped out of a place where they’d damn near brainwashed her, I wanted her.

  I could protect her from them.

  But who would protect her from me?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Adara

  It was surreal.

  I was in Roman’s massively lavish home, sipping the best wine I’d ever tasted, sharing a frozen pizza with a man who made me smile. Really smile. Even after all that just happened an hour ago.

  Being here with him felt so right, even though the circumstances couldn’t have been more wrong.

  We simply ate and talked about nothing in particular, and it felt good. He didn’t ask me any more questions about my past and didn’t offer to hash out solutions to my present. We talked about Italy, his nephews, and the history of his home, which apparently had been in his family since the eighteen hundreds.

  I got a glimpse of this incredible man’s normal life. Well, normal to him. He was raised with money, and at first glance, had always had far too much of it.

  After we finished eating, it was nearly two in the morning.

  “You’re exhausted,” he said, keeping a respectful distance. “I’ll walk you to the guest quarters. Now, please be assured that your privacy will be respected. I’m happy to have you here as the space is far too large for one person and the house manager. You are welcome to stay here for as long as you like.”

  My heart squeezed at the sincerity in his gaze. “Roman, I’m so grateful for everything you’ve done.” He’d made me feel wanted and safe, which was a feeling I hadn’t known in far too long.

  The suites in the west wing were literally on the other side of the expansive home, up an entirely different flight of stairs from the entrance. I’d need a set of wings to get to his side of the mansion if I wanted to do so fast.

  I was winded, and my leg was sore by the time we reached my suite. When he opened the door, my jaw felt like it nearly dropped off my face.

  I was well accustomed to large homes. Nate and I had owned several. It had always seemed like overkill to me — the house on the beach at Malibu, the one in Brentwood, Tennessee, the place in the Caribbean — but it made Nate happy. And more than anything else, I wanted Nate to be happy. But here, in this home that was more like a hotel, I felt a pang for a moment, imagining Roman growing up here with all this empty space.

  This wasn’t my kind of living. I’d had to adjust once mega stardom hit, but I was raised in modest foster homes. Even when I broke out as an artist and started making money, I never really spent it. I’d had a simple condo until I moved into Nate’s opulent house.

  I never bought much of anything apart from outfits and a new guitar, although I had the normal expenses that came with touring and performing. Nate, on the other hand, spent a fortune on luxury cars and vacation homes, which I’d ended up eventually sinking much of my own money into because he was such a flamboyant spender that he often got ahead of what he was bringing in. Thanks to my generosity — and ultimately my stupidity — his family now owned everything that hadn’t been foreclosed on after Nate’s death. As naive as a child, I’d let him handle everything. Had trusted him to handle everything. And I hadn’t been smart enough to protect myself.

  Standing here, with the massive suite decorated in hues of rich gray with striking white trim, I remembered what it had been like to walk into a room and just enjoy it, not worry about whether you could pay for it or not. I wished I could have that feeling again. There was a thick plush rug on the floor and a scent of cedar in the air, which perfectly complemented the lavish minimalism.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said in awe, running my hand across a polished wood table that was a symphony of sleek lines.

  “Here…” He nudged me with a gentle touch. “I’ll show you the rest.”

  He took me into a small study with a brushed metal desk, a voluminous leather arm chair you could curl up in with a good book, and a bookcase filled with novels that crossed the entire back half of the room. It was cozy and inviting, especially the fireplace in the corner. Roman caught me staring at the hearth, which beckoned me to find a Stephen King novel and just lose myself for a day.

  “Would you like me to light the fire?” His eyes sparkled as he spoke, perhaps enjoying the idea that he’d make me happy.

  “I’d love one, but not tonight, thank you.” I drifted over to the bookshelves.

  “Do you like to read?” There was a discernible note of enthusiasm in his voice.

  “Yes, very much.” So much that I was torn between wanting to make conversation with him and hoping to devour the titles before me. “You do too, I take it. Unless…” I looked over at him, slightly worried I’d made too quick an assumption, “this room belongs to someone.” I tried to smile, a little embarrassed to be asking him personal questions, no matter how innocuous.

  “It’s my guilty pleasure. I hide in this room and spend the day reading when I want the world to go away. Sadly, I don’t get much of a chance to escape my life.”

  He and I seemed to be kindred in so many ways. I wanted to rush over to him and throw my arms around his neck. I felt like we’d known each other all of our lives, and even lifetimes before that.

  With Nate, I’d learned to love him. Nate had grown on me, and we volleyed our considerable differences with compromise and negotiation.

  With Roman, things felt simple, like they just slipped into place.

  “Since you’re tired, I’d like to show you the bedroom and bath,” he said as he nudged me toward the hallway, “then I’ll retire myself.” His eyes were red. He was tired as well.

  The king-sized bed heaped with pillows in the finest damask looked so soft and delightful, I
thought I’d died and gone to heaven.

  “This is your bedroom, I hope you’ll be comfortable here. Please make yourself at home.” He turned and opened the door next to a giant walk-in closet and revealed an amazing marble covered room with a swimming-pool-sized whirlpool and two sinks.

  “I can’t believe this place,” I said, amazed. “I had a nice home before… but this is exquisite.”

  “Thanks. My mom has good taste, but when I bought the place from my parents, I added many upgrades that better suited my needs.” He seemed really proud of the work he’d done to the house, but it felt unlived in, like it was waiting for people to fill it up.

  Such a big place for only one person seemed like a waste, unless he was fond of entertaining.

  “Do you host a lot of parties here?”

  I blushed, and he laughed. I knew from the look in his eyes that he understood my unintentional meaning. Why would a single guy have such a huge place for entertaining? He shut the bathroom door and brought me back into the living space.

  “I have a few parties now and then.” The way he said it implied that he didn’t want to expand on the subject.

  There was a small suitcase standing near the entrance door that wasn’t there when we first walked in. My heart leaped into my throat, and I felt a rush of nauseating heat coat my skin. I was too accustomed to Jewel, where a suitcase that appeared out of nowhere was liable to be filled with sex toys and other erotic items.

  “What’s that?” I almost didn’t want to know.

  He sensed my fear right away and smoothed his arm down my back. I stiffened at his touch.

  “Ms. White has brought you some clothes.”

  I swallowed hard and stepped away from him. “Do you keep women’s clothes in different sizes?” Maybe I was entirely wrong about him. I barely knew this man, and here I’d walked into a secluded mansion with him alone. Maybe I was still naive. Maybe I was still too trusting. Maybe…