She was his sister’s best friend. Celeste would never forgive him if he seduced Rachel, not even if she wanted to be seduced. Not when he had nothing to offer her beyond a few nights in bed together.
Rachel deserved more than that. He’d known that much since he’d first met her, and only had it cemented when he’d spent a whole night talking with her. Rachel was special. Anyone who could put up with Celeste as a best friend deserved a medal, at the very least. But more than that, she deserved love.
And Damon couldn’t give her that. So...
‘I thought you’d like it.’ He stepped back, letting go of her waist. It seemed harder, this time, than it had when he was eighteen.
That night, he’d known that if he’d kissed her, she’d have fallen into his arms. But he’d also known that one night with her wouldn’t have been enough—for either of them. And he didn’t do more than one night. So he’d pulled away, just like now.
If she was disappointed, she didn’t show it. Instead, she nodded vigorously. ‘I do. Not just the hidden animals...the whole arcade. I can already see how magical it could be—will be, I hope.’
‘So you’ll help Lady Cressingham and me with the project?’
She met his gaze with her own excited one and something caught in his chest again as she answered. Something somewhere in the vicinity of his heart.
‘I will.’
* * *
Rachel covered a yawn with her hand as she waited for the staff meeting to begin. There was still an hour before the department store opened, which meant it was far too early to be dealing with the crowds of staff pouring in, especially without coffee.
And especially given the late night she’d had the night before.
Her hand hid her smile too, for which she was grateful when she looked up and realised her stepsister Gretchen was watching her, eyes narrowed with curiosity...or mistrust. Probably still smarting after watching Rachel disappear with Damon earlier in the week for the TV studio. And Gretchen had definitely been suspicious when she’d skipped out early on the end of her shift the day before. Rachel had merely said she needed to meet someone—not that she was having afternoon tea at the Ritz, of all places—but even that was unusual enough to raise Gretchen’s curiosity.
Her family weren’t used to Rachel going places or seeing people. To be honest, Rachel wasn’t used to it either. But it looked as if they might all have to grow accustomed to it.
She yawned again and saw Gretchen turn to whisper something to Maisie. Neither of the girls really worked on the shop floor, exactly, but both offered their skills as personal shoppers, and were especially popular at this time of year, when everyone was looking for Christmas party outfits. Rachel knew they were only at the meeting because Hannah insisted on it. She liked to emphasise the family nature of the business as much as possible—and loved it when Rachel showcased the girls in her social media posts for just that reason.
It was also why she took at least one of the staff meetings each week herself, to remind her employees—long term or seasonal—that they were all one big happy family. A family that was expected to work overtime without extra pay, but still family.
At the front of the room, Hannah clapped her hands together and called the meeting to order. The last of the errant staff members edged into the room, letting the door bang closed behind them as she began to speak.
‘Good morning, everyone, and thank you for another week’s hard work!’ She threw a meaningful look at her daughters and the two of them started applauding, the rest of the staff following suit after a few moments. ‘Now, the rota for next week’s shifts is already up on the system, and I have a printout on the wall over there.’ She waved a hand at a spot of wall just behind Rachel.
Gosh, she must have been tired not to notice it there. Usually Rachel relied on the electronic schedule to tell her when she needed to be on the shop floor since she was usually in the building most days anyway, doing the other parts of her job. But after the late night with Damon she’d forgotten to check it since the new rota went up. Now she craned her neck backwards to find her name—and almost let her chair tip over backwards.
What had happened? Normally she only put in occasional shifts on the shop floor, but this week she’d been put down to work there every day. How on earth was she supposed to work at the Cressingham Arcade, do all her social media work for Hartbury’s and put in so much time behind a till? It simply wasn’t going to work.
She had to make a choice.
Did she continue life as normal, here at Hartbury’s, and give up on the arcade? Or did she speak out and ask for something different?
When was the last time she had asked her family for something, rather than the other way round? She couldn’t remember. And wasn’t that kind of sad, now she thought about it?
She’d always tried to keep the peace. Even when it became clear that the Big Family Experiment her father had signed them up for wasn’t the happy families scenario he’d hoped for. He tried so hard to keep all of them on the same page, all getting along, that she’d always felt she had to do the same too. For him.
For her mum, who’d made them promise to look after each other, as she lay dying. Leaving them.
For the dad she remembered from before, when she was little and life was magical.
For herself, even, because it was easier to keep her head down and fade into the background than stretch her head above the parapet and get it chopped off. Metaphorically speaking.
Keeping the peace had become the default—even more so since Dad’s health problems had started. The mild heart attack he’d experienced had been the culmination of years of him ‘just not feeling right’. The same way her mum had felt ‘off’ for months before the diagnosis that had changed their lives and stolen her away.
Rachel had been so focussed on making sure her dad was okay that she’d forgotten to even think about what she needed. She’d put off all her own plans—moving out, changing careers—out of fear that he might go downhill as rapidly as her mum had.
But he hadn’t. She’d started to think about moving on-until last summer’s heart attack had sent her spiralling back again. So now, years after she started worrying about his health, she was still in the same holding pattern, waiting for the next set of test results before she made a move.
Sitting there in another staff meeting, just like all the others, Rachel admitted the truth to herself: there’d be another round of tests after this one. Another reason to be worried about leaving her dad. Another excuse to put off spreading her wings and chasing her own dreams—if she could even decide what they were.
There would always be an excuse.
But there might not be another opportunity like the one Damon was offering her. If she wanted it, she had to change things to take it. She had to risk disturbing the hard-earned family peace for once.
She wasn’t even asking for much. Just to have a life, and a career, away from the family business. That wasn’t unreasonable, was it? Given all the unpaid extra time she put in at Hartbury’s anyway, surely she’d earned some time off this festive season.
She just had to gather her courage and ask for it.
The worst they can say is no, right?
‘As ever, if you have any questions or issues with the rota—’ Hannah started, and Rachel suddenly made her decision, thrusting her hand up into the air before she could change her mind. ‘Rachel?’
‘I, uh...’ And now she was remembering all the other worse things than them saying no. The pitying looks her stepsisters were giving her, the assumption that she was about to make a fool of herself somehow in front of everybody. How, she had no idea, and probably they didn’t either. But it was the same look they’d given her every time she’d ventured an opinion or tried to change something about her little life, ever since she was a teenager.
The same look she’d seen in everyone’s eyes
last summer when Gretchen’s friend Tobias had laughed and told their group that he’d only ever shown interest in her as a joke, or out of pity. Even though she’d known the truth—and also known that he’d never admit it.
‘Yes?’ Hannah said, impatiently. ‘Is this important, or can we discuss it later?’
‘I’m down for a shift every day next week, but I’m afraid I have other commitments.’ The words came out all in a rush, and Rachel could feel the heat in her cheeks. Which was ridiculous. She was merely asking for a change to the rota, not an invitation to a royal ball.
It was interesting how similar Hannah, Gretchen and Maisie all looked when they each raised their eyebrows in that same look of disbelief.
‘“Other commitments”?’ Hannah repeated. ‘Darling, I’m sure whatever else you have planned can’t be more important than our team effort here to make this the best Christmas season Hartbury’s has ever seen.’ There was a desultory sort of cheer from the staff at that, mostly led by Maisie, as far as Rachel could tell. ‘Now, moving on—’
‘I was just wondering if there was anyone who would like to switch shifts with me,’ Rachel interrupted, her voice wavering a little. ‘Someone who might need them more than me.’ That made it sound more like a team effort, right?
‘Actually...’ Across the room, another hand went up. ‘I did ask if I could pick up some extra shifts between now and Christmas, but I’ve only got two shifts next week.’
Rachel spun around to beam at the woman, a seasonal worker, she thought, who had spoken. ‘Perfect, then! We can swap!’
At the front of the room, Hannah was glowering at them both. But she couldn’t very well object without making a scene, Rachel knew.
‘If we’ve all quite finished messing around with my rota?’ she said, her voice sharp. ‘Let’s get on.’
Smiling to herself, Rachel settled back down in her chair. She’d asked for what she wanted, and she’d got it.
She just hoped her family didn’t show too much interest in exactly what her other commitments were.
* * *
Damon looked up the few steps to the familiar door of the London town house and sighed.
‘Once a month,’ he muttered to himself. ‘It’s only once a month. How bad can it be?’
The black door opened and his sister stuck her head out. ‘Are you coming in? Or are you abandoning me to suffer the disappointment and disapproval of our parents alone this month?’
She sounded cheerful enough despite her words so Damon could only assume that the drinks trolley was out at least.
‘I’m coming.’ Reluctantly, he climbed the steps and shut the door behind him. Shrugging off his coat, he hung it in the small cupboard at the bottom of the stairs, the action firing his memories of doing the same thing a thousand times before—stretching up to try and reach the hooks as a small child, Celeste laughing at him as she reached them easily.
The house was full of memories. A whole childhood’s full.
And how he hated reliving any of them.
‘Damon. You’re late.’ His mother pressed a distracted kiss to his cheek as he entered the kitchen.
Handing over the two bottles of wine he’d brought, one white and one red, Damon apologised. ‘Sorry. What delights await us at the table today?’
Diana Hunter rolled her eyes. ‘Your father is in charge of the main course this month, so he’s banished me from the kitchen for most of the day. I’ve only just been allowed in to check on my dessert. I had to make it yesterday, and of course your sister has brought her starter from home. She’s made some sort of salmon terrine, I believe. And I’ve been experimenting with a walnut and stilton cheesecake—a sort of amalgam of pudding and cheese course in one.’
It sounded foul, although Damon didn’t share the thought. And Celeste knew he hated salmon. Which made him wonder why she’d picked it; normally it was the two of them against the older generation at these events. If she’d taken against him he was doomed.
He had a horrible suspicion that she must have been talking to Rachel.
‘None of them will hold a candle to my pièce de résistance!’ Jacob Hunter, broad-chested and booming, emerged from the dining room looking triumphant. ‘I am most certain to take the crown, not just this month, but for the whole year, with my main course.’
Because naturally, the monthly family Sunday lunch was a competition, just like everything else in their lives. A chance to prove that they were brighter, better, than each other. At the university, his parents competed academically, Celeste striving to keep up, to surpass them, to show them that she was as clever, as accomplished, as they were. His sister had never realised, in her twenty-eight years, that their parents were simply too busy focussing on their own achievements to ever really appreciate those of their children.
Damon, on the other hand, had realised young that he’d never be the academic genius they expected, or even the sort of person who could focus his talent into a lifelong goal or project. So he’d stopped trying to compete altogether.
He followed his own path instead, one that twisted and splintered as he followed every passing interest, using his entrepreneurial brain to take on varied projects that kept his interest and his bank balance high.
And every month he brought the wine to family dinner, rather than succumbing to the ongoing contest to produce the most interesting dish of the month. Never even the tastiest, just the most interesting.
Salmon terrine was as boring as it got. He was definitely in trouble with Celeste.
His sister reappeared from the dining room also, giving him a knowing look as he passed her. The table, decorated by Celeste as the person in charge of starters this month, was festooned with candles and golden platters, while what sounded like harp music played through the speaker in the corner.
Damon frowned, trying to put his finger on the theme.
‘I was going for Tudor,’ Celeste said, eyeing her handiwork. ‘But I got distracted at the last minute by a call from Rachel and didn’t have time to pick up all the trimmings I wanted.’
A call from Rachel. Well, that wasn’t going to be good.
Fortunately, Celeste didn’t have time to press the point because at that moment their parents arrived, both in period costume—different periods, but still—and their dad rang the gong to begin dinner.
Damon pushed his salmon terrine around his plate, shredding it into smaller and smaller pieces to hide under the toast crumbs and token salad Celeste had provided, while the rest of the family talked about research papers they’d read, who was in line for the head of faculty position at the university, which professors had already lined up students for their summer archaeological digs, who had got the coveted funding for their latest research... Damon tuned it all out. It was another world to him, one he’d never wanted to belong to.
In the Hunter family, like any family, love was supposed to be unconditional. If asked if they loved their children equally, Damon was pretty sure his parents would look surprised at the very question, and say that of course they did. And maybe, in the abstract, that was true. But in practice...
Love wasn’t an abstract emotion, that was what his childhood had taught him. It wasn’t something a person said they felt and that was enough to make it true. Love was what a person did, every day. It was attention given, it was focus. Love was when a person cared more about another person than whatever had previously been important in their own life.
He’d seen it with friends, acquaintances. The moment they had a child, or met the love of their life, their previous existence just fell away. Especially when it came to kids. What they’d wanted before suddenly wasn’t as important as what their child needed.
Somehow, Diana and Jacob Hunter must have missed that memo.
They’d ticked ‘getting married’ and ‘having children’ off their to-do lists early, then gone back to focussing on
what they really cared about: their research and their academic careers. And when Celeste had followed in their footsteps they’d been thrilled, totting the child genius around archaeological sites, or to lectures at the British Museum. They’d guided her career and, as long as her path matched the one they thought she should be taking, all had been well.
Damon, meanwhile, had always known he couldn’t match up. So he hadn’t even tried.
Starters over, they all marked their meal scorecard with their score—Damon gave it a two, because at least the toast had been nice—then sat back to wait for Jacob to return with the main course.
‘I saw some of that festive TV show you were associated with, Celeste,’ Diana said, her frown disapproving over the fluttering of what he assumed was an authentic replica of a regency fan, to match her dress.
‘Uh...really? Where did you see that?’ Because of course their parents didn’t have anything as pedestrian as a television in their house. Celeste reached across the table for the wine bottle and refilled her mother’s glass, as well as her own. Clearly stalling for time. Damon stretched out his legs under the table, crossed his arms over his chest, and waited to see how his sister would talk her way out of this one.
‘A colleague sent me a web link to a clip from it.’ Diana’s fan fluttered a little faster, even as Damon’s smile grew. Finding out that Celeste was taking part in a low-brow, populist TV quiz was one thing. Finding out from a colleague was far worse, because that meant that Other People Knew. People who mattered to his parents.
No matter that the colleague probably thought it was a bit of festive fun. The Professors Hunter didn’t do fun—at least, not when it came to things that mattered, like history or archaeology, their respective specialist subjects.
‘Um, which part?’ Celeste asked, desperately.
‘You, arguing with some gameshow host about how Christmas trees came to be a British tradition.’
Damon couldn’t hold in his laughter any more. The argument had been awkward to watch in filming, but through some genius editing the show that had aired two nights before had made it far more entertaining. The whole half-hour quiz show had basically dissolved into Theo and Celeste bickering about festive traditions, and it seemed that social media had lapped it up—in the usual, hypercritical way.
Awakening His Shy Cinderella Page 8