I want to cry and laugh at once. So much, too late. ‘Thanks, Dad, I appreciate it.’
‘Good.’
‘But you don’t need to worry. I’ve decided to sign with Rosalie.’
My father’s frown is immediate, as is my brother’s.
‘Why?’
My throat clogs as my vision blurs, and I try to swallow, to force it back. I can’t bring myself to say that it’s over between Lucas and I. All of it—over.
‘Sis...?’
Nate’s voice is soft, his hand on my shoulder aimed to soothe, and I shake my head. My fingers tremble as I press them to my lips.
‘He’s gone... He’s gone and he’s not coming back.’
‘But—’
My father’s voice is drowned out by the ancient doorbell chiming through the house and Frodo’s bark. Everyone looks in the direction of the hall, momentarily frozen, and it’s my mother who comes alive first, standing and brushing off her skirt.
‘How’s that for timing?’
She bustles out, Frodo on her tail, but she’s hardly gone a second before her voice reaches us.
‘Eva, darling, you have a visitor.’
A visitor? On Christmas Day?
There’s only one person I’d dare hope would turn up.
‘Don’t keep him waiting,’ my father urges.
I rise up and head out into the hallway on autopilot. Mum is at the front door. Frodo is on his hind legs, fussing over my visitor.
Over—Lucas.
My heart leaps inside my chest, and my footing falters just as his eyes meet mine.
‘Ah, there she is,’ says Mum, turning to face me, her smile one of beaming encouragement as she leaves Lucas and walks towards me. ‘Come on, Frodo, let’s get you some turkey.’
She gives my arm a gentle squeeze as she passes, but I’m barely aware of the contact as I drown in his gaze, forcing my legs to close the distance between us.
‘What are you doing here?’ I manage to say.
‘Isn’t it obvious, Evangeline?’
The sound of my name from his lips runs through me, comforting as honey. Is he really here? Is this some sick joke? Some weird dream that I’m going to wake up from any second?
‘The last time we spoke you wanted my product with a bit of fun on the side.’
He cringes, his fists flexing at his sides. ‘I couldn’t care less about the product.’
I scoff—I can’t help it—but it dies at the sincere look in his eyes. They’re swimming. Or is it only mine that are? Making it impossible to focus clearly?
‘Sorry—of course I care about your product, and Janus Industries will do an amazing job, I’m sure, but what I mean is... What I’m here for is... Hell, I love you, Evangeline.’
He reaches for me, his hands cupping my arms, his touch as real and as warming as his words.
He loves me...he truly loves me.
My head spins as I blink through the tears and see the passion, the love, in his warm brown gaze.
‘I’ve loved you for far too many years to count,’ he says softly. ‘I wish I’d just come out and told you, but I was scared. Scared to take that leap...scared of putting you in the middle, making you choose and having you regret it.’
I shake my head. ‘I’d never regret you.’
He groans and pulls me against him, his hug so tight I’m winded, and then his hands are in my hair, he’s tilting my head up to meet him, and his lips are on mine, crushingly sweet.
I kiss him back, but it’s not enough. I am finally free to say the words that have been burning through me for so long. No more fear. No more doubt.
I pull away, my hands framing his face as I look up into his eyes. ‘I love you too.’
His grin is long and slow, and his eyes are moving over my face as though he’s reading my sincerity, and then he breaks away, his voice soft as he says, ‘I’m so glad you said that because...’ He rummages in his pocket. ‘I have something for you.’
‘You bought me a present? But I haven’t—’
I look down as he raises his hand. On his palm rests a small red box.
A small red ring box.
My lips part on a rush and my eyes lift to his, wide and questioning. ‘Lucas...?’
‘You’re all the family I could ever want—you, me...kids if we so desire. I don’t know how we navigate this with your family, but I know this is the right place to start. By giving you the choice.’
I watch as he drops to one knee on the weathered coir mat, his eyes not once leaving mine. I press my fingers to my lips, keeping back the sob that threatens. I don’t want to break this moment.
He opens the box and inside is the most beautiful pink diamond ring—pink.
‘Is it—?’ I break off. It can’t be. And yet I know that it is. This is Lucas.
‘It’s an Argyle Pink Diamond. It seemed very...you.’
My laugh is soft and shaky. ‘It’s exquisite.’
‘So are you.’ He blinks up at me once, twice. ‘Will you marry me, Evangeline Beaumont?’
I am trembling. My head is shaking. My eighteen-year-old self is dancing like crazy inside.
‘No?’ He frowns, panic creasing his forehead, his hand dropping just a little. ‘I’ll work hard to make amends with your father...your brother. I’ll do everything I can—’
‘Shh...’ I drop my hand to his lips, silencing him, laughter bubbling through the tears. ‘Yes, I’ll marry you—yes! Now, hurry and put that ring where it belongs and maybe I’ll believe this is real.’
‘Oh, it’s real, all right.’
His grin is so wide, so happy, as he does as he’s told, sliding the ring in place.
‘If it doesn’t fit I can—’
‘It’s perfect!’
I give my finger a little wiggle, watching the diamond catch the light in the porch, and then I start to sob and laugh all at once. I drop to my knees, flinging my hands around his neck, and kiss him hard, every ounce of excitement, happiness and love poured into it.
He breaks away first. His skin is delightfully flushed, his eyes bright.
‘Merry Christmas, wife-to-be.’
Evangeline. Wife-to-be. The words work the same magic and my heart flutters and swells with sheer joy.
‘Merry Christmas, Lucas.’
EPILOGUE
Christmas Day, one year later
‘MUM, WILL YOU stop flapping? Dinner is going to be great.’
‘But she’s a chef—a celebrity chef—what if it’s awful?’
I laugh. I can’t help it. Ever since Nate brought home his new girlfriend, Florence, six months ago, Mum has gone into panic mode, not wanting to scare the woman off.
Not that I blame her. Florence has been great for Nate. He’d come a long way since he and Lucas cleared the air, and then he met Florence and the transformation was complete.
Mum looks at me as if she’s going to tape my mouth shut. ‘Really? You think laughter is going to help right now?’
I take pity and give her a quick squeeze. ‘Mum, how many Christmas dinners have you cooked?’
‘Too many to count.’
‘And how many have gone wrong?’
She frowns. ‘Too many to count.’
Okay, bad choice.
‘Sorry to disturb the private party.’
Lucas appears in the kitchen doorway—my incredibly handsome saviour.
‘But your dad’s breaking out the champagne and itching to do a toast.’
He looks at me pointedly and a small smile lifts my lips as we share a silent exchange.
‘Come on, Mum. Champagne will make everything better.’
We coax her into the living room just as Dad pops the cork and begins to pour.
I take in the entire scene. Everyone is happy, content—eve
n Frodo is asleep in front of the fire—and I know it’s about to get better. Inside my heart swells and Lucas wraps his arm around me as Dad starts to fill the last flute.
‘Just a small one for me, Dad.’
He stops pouring and they all look at me, concern flaring. My smile grows. I look up at Lucas, search his deep brown gaze and share my elation with him.
‘We have some news.’
The room falls silent. Everyone is waiting and I let Lucas finish it for me.
‘We’re pregnant.’
Mum gives a dizzying squeal. The men chortle. Congratulations stream through the air as Dad hands out the glasses and gives me my mini-one with a kiss to the cheek.
Nate comes up to us, patting Lucas on the back before giving me a hug. ‘I’m so happy for you both.’
‘Thank you.’
I look up at Lucas. He knows what I’m going to say next and part of me wants that final nudge from him first. I get it in the form of a kiss to the forehead and a squeeze around the waist.
‘That’s not all,’ I say, my eyes returning to Nate. ‘I’m going to need someone to look after things while I’m out of action, and I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have than you—if Dad can spare you, that is?’
Nate colours. His eyes blaze. ‘For real, sis?’
He knows how much this means. It’s the biggest statement I—we—could make to show that the past is long since buried.
‘For real.’
‘You’ve got it.’
He pulls Florence into his side and offers his glass to the room. ‘To the Beaumonts, the Warings and the mini-Beaumont-Warings!’
Laughter fills the room and my tummy gives the smallest flutter, calling my hand to it. Lucas traces the move, his hand coming to rest over mine.
‘To family,’ I say, raising my glass.
And we all drink to that.
* * *
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Turn Me On
by Dylan Rose
CHAPTER ONE
IT SEEMED LIKE just another ordinary workday, but Faye would soon learn that there was a life-changing surprise in store for her. It was one o’clock on a Thursday and she was just about to close out of the document she was working on and head down for lunch. Her desk was in an open-plan maze of cubicles, with fluorescent overhead lighting and the constant buzz of her coworkers’ chitchat. Every day at this time she made a point of leaving her editing work behind and taking the elevators down to the sprawling cafeteria in the building with its coffee bar, hot entrées and salad station. She had been working at Amuse Bouche for nearly ten years. It was her first job out of graduate school and over the time she’d been there, the magazine had become one of the world’s most preeminent food and wine publications.
That’s not to say she considered herself any kind of food expert. There had been a time when her palate had been more adventurous—when she couldn’t imagine a better plan for a Sunday then to take the subway into the outer boroughs in search of the spiciest Indian food or the most delicious Thai noodles. But ever since things had ended with David, she had left all that behind in favor of bland foods: peanut butter and banana sandwiches were her new go-to. What was the point in making an elaborate meal when it was just her dining alone? Plus, she hated that now everyone who took a picture of their sandwich considered themselves a “foodie.”
Faye pulled on her sweater, let the screensaver take over and grabbed her purse to head downstairs. She wasn’t going so much for the food—although the selections were incredible—so much as she was just to take a walk and get a change of scenery. She’d lost almost twenty pounds since the breakup. And even though her skinny jeans were now her loose ones and stuff relegated to the back of the closet now fit, and she got second glances from men as she walked to work up Sixth Avenue, she was basically indifferent to the attention. And while part of her did imagine bumping into David and seeing him seeing her looking incredible, mostly she just felt so sad about the whole thing, even though it had been almost a year now since that fateful day.
Just as Faye turned to leave, she heard the familiar chirp of her desk phone. She knew it could only be one of two people: her boss or her mother. They were pretty much the only people who ever dialed her work number. All of her friends and contemporaries just texted. Faye preferred it because it was easier to delay responding. Calls were so immediate, and you had to actually talk to the person, which she was constantly trying to avoid. She knew if it was her mom, she would have to answer a series of questions that were all too familiar: Who was she seeing? Anyone worth a second date? What did she have lined up for the weekend? She hated the fact that she had instilled a grain of hope in her mom by telling her she was on Match, Tinder, Bumble and Plenty of Fish. The truth was, the only apps she had on her phone were her fitness tracker and an annoyingly addictive game where you pushed blocks around a grid. That was the extent of her dating life.
A quick glance revealed the name Beverly Rice flashing on the screen and Faye picked up the receiver, glad to delay the parent talk.
“Hi, Bev,” Faye answered, greeting her boss by her preferred nickname. Bev was the editor in chief of Amuse Bouche and a legend in the New York publishing industry, known as much for her food and wine expertise as her iconic horn-rimmed glasses. Faye had started out as her assistant, and very quickly Bev
had shepherded her into writing for the magazine. Now she considered Bev her mentor, and often stayed late nights to help her, long after the other staff members had gone on to happy hour when an issue was closing.
“Faye, can you come see me in my office?”
“Of course.” Faye hung up the phone and smiled. Her door was adjacent to Bev’s, within earshot, but Bev liked to keep things formal.
Taking her bag with her just in case there would still be time for lunch, Faye rounded the corner past the cloth-covered walls of the cubicles and found the door to her boss’s office ajar. Knocking lightly, she made eye contact with Bev, who stood up from her desk chair and waved Faye inside.
“Everything okay?” Faye asked, taking a seat in one of the two chairs facing Bev’s desk. The room was tastefully decorated in muted neutral tones and covers from the magazine’s bestselling issues adorned the walls. When Faye looked just past her boss’s head, she could see the sun streaming across the midtown skyscrapers that surrounded them.
“Oh, yes,” Bev said, sitting down and leaning across her desk. She was about twenty years Faye’s senior, in her early fifties, with professionally blown-out long brown hair and hard-earned physique which she attributed to good genes and Pilates. “I have an exciting assignment for you.”
Faye instinctively perked up and sat up a little straighter in her chair. Her first thought was the rumored opening of a new restaurant by a Top Chef contestant. For that, she would definitely forgo a night of peanut butter sandwiches.
“I have two words for you,” her bespectacled boss said enticingly. “Gregor Wright.”
Faye watched as Bev sat back in her chair and waited for her reaction. Of course she knew Gregor Wright. He was famous. In fact, she and David had spent many nights watching his cable show, Globe-Trotting with Gregor, where he visited different travel destinations, eating and drinking his way through under-the-radar hotspots. And although she never said it in front of David, Faye had a major crush on the tall and slender Gregor, always in his signature leather bomber jacket. The combination of his British accent and the facial hair that she could so easily imagine grazing against her lady parts was enough fodder for many a solo session with the handheld showerhead in her steamy bathroom.
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