by J. Kenner
I know my feelings are legitimate. But I also know I’m overreacting. That the maelstrom in my gut is the product of the heightened emotions of the holidays getting the better of me. But I’d so longed for him to be with us. To move forward through the years with us, sharing the holidays and watching his grandchildren grow up. And I’d wanted to start all of that right now.
“He’d be here if he could,” Damien says, squeezing my hand as we sit together on the limo’s far back bench.
“I know.” I lean against him, safe in his arm around my shoulders. “It’s silly, but I had a picture in my head of what this Christmas would be. I’d already come to terms with him being away instead of playing Santa. But to miss the recital and the party and Christmas morning?”
I shrug, trying to act nonchalant. But I’m not nonchalant, and Damien knows it. I’m hugely disappointed. And on top of that, I’m a little annoyed. Because why did he talk to Damien and not me?
Answer? Because he damn well knew I’d be disappointed and he doesn’t know how to deal with that. So he punted and talked to Damien instead of his daughter.
But Frank’s instinct to evade or bolt when there’s hard emotional stuff is the same instinct that pushed him away from me before—his fear that he wouldn’t make a good dad—and I’d thought we’d gotten past that.
I’m frustrated, but I’m trying to be understanding instead of angry. Still, I can’t help but fear that this accidental physical separation is going to grow into a deliberate emotional one.
Damien understands all of that, I’m sure. Just as he understands that the first step to fixing it all is having Frank here in LA.
And the real hell of the situation for my husband? None of it is something that he can fix. And I know that his inability to make my father magically appear is as frustrating for him as the overall situation is for me.
A few feet in front of us, Moira steps into the limo, pausing long enough to say something to the kids, all four of whom are strapped in near the front. Then she ducks her head and scooches her way toward us.
“Jamie told me that Frank isn’t going to make it here for the gala or your party. Will he make it for Christmas?”
I look at Damien, who shakes his head. “It’s not looking good.”
“What happened?”
“Airline strike,” Damien says. “He could rent a car—or buy one, God knows I’ll reimburse him—but even that wouldn’t get him here in time. He’s all the way south, and it’s a forty-four hour drive.”
“Holy shit.”
“Tomorrow’s the twenty-third. And he has to sleep.”
“Stupid strike,” Moira said, a sentiment with which I heartily agreed.
“He’ll be here the day after Christmas. The plantation he’s doing the shoot for owns a plane. It’s in South America right now, but the pilot’s due back with it late Christmas Day.”
“That’s something,” Sylvia says. She’d moved from Jackson’s side to mine while Damien was talking, and now she takes my hand. “You’ll at least see him over the holiday, and he should be home for New Years, right?”
“Absolutely,” I say, forcing myself to sound more upbeat than I feel. “I’m just disappointed.” I sit up straighter and conjure a smile. “I promise I’ll be fine by the time we get to The Domino. A winter wonderland is no place to be melancholy.”
“Especially this one,” Syl says. As a manager at Stark Real Estate, she was on the committee that put together the weekend event for charity. Remembering that, I double my efforts to be cheerful. Because honestly, it’s bad news, yes. But it shouldn’t destroy my day. And what holiday isn’t without some snafu? I’ll call this mine and expect smooth sailing until at least Christmas morning.
“I’m going to go help Jackson with the kids,” I say, then kiss Damien’s cheek. “I’m fine,” I whisper as I pull away.
“Hey,” he says, tugging me back. He holds me still, his eyes locked on mine. And then slowly—so deliciously slowly—he bends forward to kiss me. It’s soft and sensual and fills me all the way down to my toes.
When I feel as if I’ll float away, he breaks the kiss, then pulls back, the corner of his mouth twitching as he says, very simply, “You know I’d fix this if I could.”
“I know,” I say.
But we both know that he can’t.
Chapter 6
“Look, Mama! Snow!”
I turn to find Lara pointing at snowflakes falling around Santa’s Workshop, leaving the surrounding area covered in a blanket of white. It’s fake snow, of course, but it’s actually sticking, thanks to the engineering marvel that is the platform upon which the workshop was built.
“It’s not real,” Ronnie says, in her most imperious voice. “It hardly never snows in Los Angeles.”
“Hardly ever,” Sylvia corrects gently. “And just because it doesn’t come from the sky doesn’t mean it’s not fun.” She shoots me a quick, amused glance. “Now why don’t you take Jeffery and your cousins and go get in line. Aunt Nikki and I will be along in a sec.”
Ronnie nods, her dark curls bouncing, then reaches for her little brother’s hand. “You can be my assistant,” she says to Lara. “You hold on to Anne.”
Lara stands tall, then thrusts her hand out to take Anne’s, relishing this responsibility bestowed by the older cousin she adores.
I watch until they’re safely in the line, guarded over by a slew of Santa’s elves. Then I glance at Syl. “No Santa for us?”
She glances across the open area to where Jackson and Damien stand at a drink cart, waiting for cider. “I already got my Christmas wish. Didn’t you?”
I feel the quick stab in my heart about Frank, but I nod. Because she’s right. I did. I have. Damien. Then, now, always.
I sigh as I think about our girls. “Yeah,” I tell her. “I did. My wish—and so much more.”
As I’m watching, he catches my eye, then holds up one of the two cups that the stand’s attendant has handed to him. I smile in anticipation, both of him coming over and of the warm mug of cider.
“Perfect,” I tell Damien. “Especially in this chill.”
“Funny,” he says, because it’s particularly warm today, even by Los Angeles standards. But anyone flying over the scene wouldn’t know it. The Domino’s entire octagonal courtyard has been transformed as advertised, and now it’s a full-blown Winter Wonderland.
Even the little stream that runs though the courtyard is part of the fun, with “icebergs” floating the serpentine path, each topped with an animated character—elves, ice skaters, angels, reindeer, and the like.
The surface area is full of craft and food vendors, but also dotted with a performance area where a local high school choir is singing Christmas carols, several craft tents where kids can make ornaments or work on a variety of presents to give to friends or family, and lots of other areas. There are bouncy houses and games—Lara is desperate to try Toss the Ring on the Reindeer—as well as toddler friendly areas with inflatables and stuffed snowmen for the kids to take home.
“Santa’s workshop next?” I ask him. “I want to get some pictures of the girls with Santa other than the official portraits they’re selling.”
“Absolutely,” he says, as we fall in step behind Jackson and Sylvia.
We’ve just joined the kids in line when I see Ryan waving at Damien from the far side of the fence that surrounds the makeshift North Pole.
Damien’s in the process of swinging Anne up onto his shoulders when he sees Ryan, too, and he flashes a wry smile at me. “Be right back,” he says, then gallops toward Ryan as Anne squeals and cries, “Horsey, Daddy! More horsey!”
I watch the men long enough to see that both their expressions are serious, but then Lara tugs at my arm to tell me that Ronnie just got a candy cane from a passing elf, and it wouldn’t be fair if she didn’t get to have one, too. “So can I, please? Pretty please?”
“Yes, you can. And thank you for asking.”
Lara beams, and the elf in q
uestion holds out a wicker basket full of candy canes.
“Tis the season,” Sylvia says, then taps Ronnie’s nose. “But not for cavities. What are you going to do when we get home?”
“Brush my teeth. Mommy, I know.”
Sylvia meets my gaze. “Parenting. It’s not for the faint of heart.”
“It’s really not,” I agree, right before I hop nimbly over the rope that marks the line. Not because I’m feeling particularly energetic, but so that I can retrieve Anne, who’s shimmied down Damien and is making a break for it across the snowy field.
“Gotcha,” I say, scooping her up and tickling her as Damien aims a grateful smile my direction. “Come on. We’re almost to Santa.”
“No,” she mumbles then tucks her head on my shoulder and holds on tight.
“No?”
She just shakes her head.
“It’s okay. You can stay out here with Mommy.” Ashley used to tell me that I was scared of Santa when I was little, too. “In fact, why don’t we stay just long enough to take some pictures of your big sister, then you and I will go ride the train while Lara and Ronnie do the big girl stuff?”
“She’s not a big girl,” Ronnie protests.
“She is by comparison,” Sylvia says. “Besides, you two will have a blast, and you know it.”
“Okay?” I ask Lara, though I needn’t bother. She worships Ronnie.
She nods vigorously, and Anne and I stay until both girls have seen Santa and we’ve taken so many pictures our phones are probably going to explode. “Is Jeffery going to sit on Santa’s lap?”
“He didn’t even get as far as Anne. We tried earlier, then gave up. He’s off somewhere with Jackson. I’d find him and take him on the train with you two, but I’m going to be a selfish mommy, go find a stand selling wine, and browse some of the vendor booths while the girls are in the craft tents.”
As part of the event, all the children’s craft tents double as childcare, allowing for much-needed parental recovery time.
“No judgment,” I assure her.
I glance toward where Ryan and Damien had been talking, but they’re gone, and an unpleasant knot of worry settles in my stomach.
“Nikki?”
I shake it off. “Sorry. Mind wandering. Listen, if you see Evelyn or Ollie, tell them I’ve been looking for both of them. Jamie, too,” I add, even though we had time to talk earlier at brunch and in the limo.
“Will do. I saw Kelsey. I told her that Lara and Ronnie are here and that we’re all excited about the show.”
A prominent dancer and choreographer, Kelsey Draper also runs a dance studio for children and adults. More than that, she’s both a friend and the wife of Wyatt Royce, a photographer who occasionally gives lessons to both me and Sylvia. Kelsey volunteered to choreograph and direct the show, and from what little I know about herding groups of children, I think that qualifies her for sainthood.
“Mommy!” Ronnie runs up to us, Lara right behind her. “Can we go do crafts now? Please, please?”
“Absolutely,” she says as I kiss Lara goodbye and elicit a promise to be good for her aunt and the teachers in the tent.
Then Anne and I head off to find the train, and as a bonus find Ollie.
“There’s my favorite girl,” he says, bending down to pick up Anne without breaking stride as he falls in step beside me.
I hook my arm through his free one as Anne balances on his opposite hip. “I’m so glad to see you.”
“Where’s your other half? And the other quarter for that matter?”
“Damien’s talking business with Ryan.” I make a face.
“Crisis at Christmas?” he asks as he buys three tickets for the little train.
“I don’t know.”
He pauses long enough to take a long, hard look at me. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s not that big a deal. Well, not the part with Damien. He was a little absent at brunch, but I get it. Things happen. But Frank won’t be here for the recital or the party or even Christmas morning. He says he’s stuck in Mexico. So I’m just … I don’t know, selfish I guess. I mean, like I said, things happen. I know he’s bummed about it, too.”
“Do you?”
I sigh as we step into the tiny metal rail car, facing each other. It was made for toddlers, so Ollie holds Anne on his lap.
“And that’s why we’ve stayed friends for so long,” I tell him. “You know me so well.” Ollie and I grew up together, so he knows me better than anyone except Jamie. And Damien, of course.
“You think that since he left when you were a kid, then didn’t offer you a shoulder during the kidnapping, that he’s disappearing on you again. Telling himself he doesn’t know how to be a dad.”
Once again, I shrug.
“He might be. But there is a strike in Mexico, and it’s not like he has superpowers. Just because he can’t get here doesn’t mean that he doesn’t want to be here.”
“I know all that,” I admit. “But I can’t help feeling melancholy.”
“I get that. But try and cut the guy some slack.”
“Fair enough,” I say, then reach to take my little girl. “You’re lucky,” I tell her. “Your Uncle Ollie is a pretty smart guy.”
Anne grins and accepts Ollie’s high-five with a giggle. She’s delighted enough with the train that we end up riding it twice. I don’t mind. With his new job at the FBI, Ollie is busier than usual, and with my own business and two little girls, my limited free time is mostly earmarked for Damien. So this is a nice escape for us.
Even so, I’m happy to see Damien waiting for us as we step off the train. He crouches down, then scoops up Anne when she throws herself into his arms.
“Damien. Good to see you.”
“Ollie.”
I frown, surprised by the tension in Damien’s voice. Ollie and Damien have never been buds—I’m the point of contention between them—but Ollie was a huge help during and after the kidnapping, and the frost between them had mostly melted.
At least, I thought it had.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Sorry, Ollie,” Damien says. “Do you mind if I speak to my wife alone?”
“Of course,” he says, but his eyes look to me for confirmation. I nod, and he leaves, his hands shoved into his pockets and his posture tense.
“What is it?” I ask, moving toward him. “Is this to do with the security breach? Jamie said something about a plant in Asia?”
He hesitates only a moment, then says, “I’m going to need to leave in a couple of hours. I’m so sorry, baby. It can’t be helped.”
Chapter 7
“Seriously?” I snap the moment we’re alone again. It’s been over an hour since Damien dropped his bombshell, and no way was I going to explode in front of the kids. But now that they’re in the kitchen with Gregory getting a quick dinner before an early bedtime, I’m picking up exactly where we let off.
“Nikki, baby. Calm down.”
“Do not tell me to calm down.”
We’re in our bedroom, the doors closed, and Damien is already opening drawers and pulling things out to pack.
“It’s Christmas, Damien. December twenty-second. Little girls. Hot chocolate. Cookies for Santa. It’s a Wonderful Life. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
He slams down his toiletry kit, frustration rolling off him in waves. He takes a deep breath, then turns to clutch my shoulders. “Mean anything? Baby it means everything. Don’t you know that?”
“How can I when you’re leaving?”
He closes his eyes, looking more miserable than I’ve seen him since Anne was taken.
“Nikki, please. I’ll be home in time for the recital. I promise. But there are people—” He hesitates, as if he just can’t find the words. “My people,” he continues. “And I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try to make it right for them for Christmas.”
I swallow, my eyes brimming. I imagine assembly-line workers who need whatever crisis this is fixed.
Teams gathered to try to avert a crisis, but not able to make it happen without Damien there to make the absolute final call.
And, yes, I know he has people under him. People with power whom he trusts. But at the end of the day, Stark International and all its subsidiaries are his, and that’s a responsibility he takes seriously.
More than that, his passion for his work and his skill at building his empire are at the core of who he is, and I can’t separate those traits from the man I love.
So, yes, I understand it.
But, dammit, I don’t have to like it.
I sniff, then wipe away a runaway tear. “I understand, I do. But how can you say you’re going to be back in time? Asia is a really long way away.”
He shakes his head. “No, there’s a problem in Asia, but it’s not the one I have to deal with.” He reaches out and cups my cheek, his eyes as soft as his touch. “Sweetheart, this is a fast turn-around. I leave now, I should be home by tomorrow evening. An entire day before Christmas Eve. I know I’m missing out on family time, but you have to trust me. I wouldn’t go if it weren’t important.”
I nod, still feeling miserable, and I watch as he shuts his eyes with relief. When he opens them, I see the fire burning in the amber and black of his irises. Without warning, he pulls me to him, then spins us around so that my back is against the dresser. His mouth crushes mine as my hands find his shoulders. As I open to him. Needing and craving him. Wanting to fix with our bodies whatever has gotten off-kilter between us tonight.
“Nikki,” he murmurs, breaking the kiss. His fingers go to the buttons on my blouse, but I push them away, with a shake of my head.
“No,” I whisper. Because as much as I want him now, I want him back in time more.
He studies me, his brow furrowed in question. “You’re mad,” he says, even though I’m certain he knows that’s not the truth. Not anymore.