For a moment, I pretend nothing exists outside this bed.
Just me and Simon, his steady, sedating pulse lulling me back to sleep.
His arm drapes protectively over my waist, the weight of it exhilarating and soothing, just like him. With a low grumble and a stretch, the bed dips with his weight as he rolls and presses a life-giving kiss to my forehead.
“Morning, princess,” Simon murmurs, his voice roughened from our heavy slumber.
Inside, I’m swooning, a tranquil contentment settling deep in my bones. “Morning. I’ve gotta say, it feels really great waking up next to you.”
He chuckles softly, tracing lazy circles on my skin as I burrow closer. “Get used to it. From now on, this is it, as far as I’m concerned.
Get used to the support, optimism, and comforts he provides? Part of me wonders what’s the catch? But I’m currently suspecting it’s him, and I never want to let him go. “You’re not going to have to twist my arm. I’m in.”
His laugh sends my pulse skittering, and I can’t get over how big he is-between his large frame and all the muscles, I only have a sliver of my mattress left to my name.
He shifts slightly, propping himself up on one elbow and fiddling with one of my curls. After letting them dry half naturally, and half smooshed against my pillow, they’re extra huge and frizzy. Not that he seems to mind, he’s still looking at me with a flattering amount of wonder and awe.
“Hey, so there’s a holiday charity auction tomorrow evening,” he says. “I know it’s Christmas Eve, but you should come with me. It’s a glitzy event with phenomenal food I have to attend, and as fate would have it, you happen to have a few extra dresses to choose from.”
“Fate? I thought it was Santa.”
“Who says it can’t be both,” he says, and I laugh, wondering what he’s up to.
He’s not laughing, though, and maybe I’m just paranoid, but his expression is a hint guarded.
I will my twinge of panic to go away as I peer into his endlessly green eyes, wondering what he’s not telling me. Then again, I suppose a charity auction fits the season, and while I can’t contribute anything, I’m happy to support events like that however I can.
“Don’t worry.” Using his thumb, he soothes the crinkle between my eyebrows and then moves his hand to cup my cheek. “There’s just something important I want to let you know, and the charity auction will be the perfect opportunity to explain everything.”
I suspected there was more to Simon Jones. In theory, I’m relieved he’s finally going to tell me. In reality, I’m praying it won’t change anything.
It’s probably my past relationship rising up to haunt me, but from the very beginning, this has seemed like one of those things that’s almost too perfect to be true.
At least he doesn’t look concerned. He’s also done nothing but show me he plans to stay by my side. Thick or thin. Through ugly conflicts with my bitchy cousin and asshole ex to chopping wood and doing all the handiwork around the house for my mom.
Anyone else would be long gone by now. Honestly, I wouldn’t even blame him, but I’m glad he doesn’t scare easily. Or at all, it would seem, and I love that about him.
Love, love, love.
It’s freeing to admit, to stop holding back for fear I’ll get my heart broken again.
“Where is it? Back in New York?” I ask, my lungs sticky with the idea of leaving my mom and my grandma during the holidays, even if only for one night.
I promised we’d fill the last holiday we’ll likely have with grandma with Christmas cheer and wedding festivities. Plus, plane tickets are expensive, and the wedding will take everything I have left, even with how much my mom’s contributed.
Simon’s lips press into a flat line without any emotion, making him impossible to read. “I actually have several opportunities unfolding right here in Texas, so I’ve coaxed them into throwing it here.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed you’re very good at convincing people to see and do things your way. Must be one of your superpowers.” I tiptoe my fingers up the center of his chest and place a couple of them to the seam of his lips. “Or is it just me?”
Smug as ever, he grins and kisses my fingertips. “What can I say? I can be very persuasive when I want to be.”
“Which I suspect is always,” I tease, and he unabashedly agrees.
“So secretive. Can I get a hint? What is this important information that can only be revealed at a charity event on Christmas Eve?”
Simon shakes his head and taps me on the nose in that affectionate way that sends every thought right out of my brain. “Nope, it’s a surprise. You’ll just have to come along, where everything will be revealed at the event. Trust me, it’ll be worth the wait.”
“How very cryptic,” I say, raising an eyebrow. It’s my warning this surprise better be as good as he says. Perhaps I’m even holding out hope he’ll cave and tell me now rather than keeping me in suspense.
Evidently, my eyebrow game and threats need work, because his response isn’t to spill his guts. “So, what do you say?” he asks instead. “Will you come along and be my date?”
Victoria
After we take showers-separately this time, dang it-and get dressed, Simon and I head into the living room hand in hand.
The air is rich with the comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee, sizzling bacon, and something sweet.
Pancakes, yum!
It’s the kind of smell that takes me back to my childhood. All the way back to Sunday mornings when the hardest decision in life was which cartoons to watch while enjoying homemade maple syrup and pancake heaven.
My mother, wearing a ruffled, red gingham apron she sewed herself, stands at the stove. It only amps up the nostalgic effect, and it’s only when she starts speaking as if in the middle of a conversation that I notice the phone.
She has her cell pinned between her shoulder and ear while she flips pancakes with practiced ease.
“Yes, that’s right,” she says into the receiver, her voice chipper but focused. Noticing us, she pivots the receiver away from her mouth and offers us a cheery, “Good morning. I’m doing wedding stuff! Isn’t that exciting?”
Before I can answer, she replies to whoever’s on the other end of the phone.
Using the spatula, she gestures toward the counter, where coffee and juice sit waiting. She’s even laid out mugs and cups, ever the happy hostess.
Just as she’s about to turn back to her pancakes, she freezes mid-motion. Butter drips off the edge and sizzles on the griddle in front of her. “Uh-uh, that’s not possible,” she says, worry and a hint of irritation creeping into her tone. “No, I made a reservation at the Rose Hotel for the wedding venue with all the windows a couple days ago.”
Mom nods at whatever the other person says, flinging the spatula to her chest, so it’s a good thing she’s wearing the apron. “Oh, phew, you found me. It’s ready now?”
Golden pancake after golden pancake is piled onto a waiting plate. “Great!” She pauses and then speaks with obvious satisfaction, “Yes, I understand. I’ll send my daughter and her fiancé over right away.”
After disconnecting the call, Mom wipes her hands on her apron and turns to us with purpose. “Evidently, a lot of people have their eyes on that venue. I need y’all to hurry over to the hotel after breakfast and meet with the manager, Edward Mueller, to sign the contract.”
I glance at Simon, unable to help the twitterpated grin that spreads across my face. The wedding venue at the Rose Hotel. Go sign the contract. It’s real. We’re getting married in a matter of days.
It no longer feels like a frenzied scheme we have to pull off, either. It feels like the promise of forever with a guy who evokes passion, friendship, and devotion. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before, and he wants me to be his bride.
Sliding a tiny pitcher of freshly-made maple syrup across the counter toward us, my mom urges us to sit and eat. “I’d go myself, but I need to take Grandma to her follow-up appointment.”
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.