“Oh, I know what you mean, like those houses that professional decorators spend weeks and thousands on for a few magazine shots. No warmth at all.” Dante goes on as if I didn’t speak.
“I know what may help. It’s a long shot, but it’s worth a try.” Ryanne reaches behind the chair and produces a large gift bag. “Popsy, maybe this will bring the grandiose down a few notches.”
I snatch the bag and tip it straight over the couch, dumping the contents without a glance. The loud clank of metal stirs my curiosity and my gaze falls. All the air rushes out in a whoosh and I shove my glass at Dante.
I inspect the personalized stocking holders with pictures of all of us over the months. “These are… they…”
“Perfect for your mantle?”
“Yes, perfect,” I whisper, belatedly noticing the gorgeous Christmas stockings next to them.
A loud slap sounds as they high five in triumph. “We got you,” Dante mocks.
“You did.”
“Come on, this place is fabulous! Do you think the three of us would do anything less?”
I hang them on the mantle and my mind goes to the three stockings in Vegas that hang on the bookshelf every year. “The only things missing are yours.”
“They’ll be here next year.” Dante hands me my glass.
My throat closes and nose stings, nostalgia setting in. “We won’t be together on Christmas.”
“We’ll celebrate on New Year’s.”
“It’s not the same. It’s amazing how much has changed.”
“It’s still changing, gypsy goddess.”
I suck back the tears and smile, bringing my glass in the air. “You are the BEST, best friends a girl could ask for.”
“Damn straight.” Ryanne clinks her glass to ours. “Soon, we’ll all be living in this fabulous southern city.”
“Here’s to years of keeping up traditions,” Dante toasts. “Just think, next year, we’ll have three places to decorate.”
A rush of excitement hits as I’m swallowing and the liquid almost spews out of my mouth. “Are you saying…” It’s almost too much to hope.
“I’m not sure I’ll be here full-time, but we’ll have our studio to decorate,” he clarifies. “It’s already on my mind.”
I push back the tinge of disappointment at the reminder of our agreement. We open the studio with him as a silent partner until he retires from Cirque. It won’t be like we imagined, but we’ll make it work. Plus, I’ll have Ryanne to help.
The week Ryanne spent over Thanksgiving officially solidified her decision to relocate. Her original plan was loose, taking her time to find a job and sell the bungalow. That plan is now fast-tracked. Andrew’s pressuring her to move straight in with him, but she’s holding off to see how things go when she’s in town full-time. She’s crazy about him, but her track record with men makes her cautious.
“This place is tame compared to what we’ll do to the building next year. We’ll outdo all our neighbors on the block,” he continues.
“I can’t wait. We’ll start Thanksgiving weekend.”
“Barring any more babies arriving,” Ryanne pipes in.
“We should be safe there. Darby’s taking a break.”
“I wasn’t referring to Darby.” She wiggles her perfectly arched eyebrows.
“Don’t waggle those at me.”
“That’s right, keep your jinxing to yourself. Cal is meeting with her next Monday, and I’m holding on to hope she’s hitting the stage again.”
I smile at him, knowing my evaluation with Cal is the first step of many that may end my time with Cirque. Dante knows this too but remains positive. “I love your optimism, but it’s truly okay to talk about the inevitable. We all knew it from the moment we heard my prognosis.”
“There’s nothing wrong with praying for a miracle.”
“In my mind, what I’m building here is a miracle.”
“Promise me something, Pips. Promise me. If given the chance, you’ll dance on that stage with me one more time.”
“I’d love nothing more. And then we have years of dancing on other stages, too.”
Ryanne fans her face furiously, sniffling. “Goddammit. You two have to stop.”
I stumble to the side in exaggerated shock. “Are you emotional?”
“It’s this damn city. Something cracks my exterior when I step off the plane. Fucking humidity.”
“It’s snowing outside,” Dante replies caustically.
“Shut up, this is supposed to be a celebration of our tradition. You guys got gooey.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, holding back as long as possible before a snort escapes. The irritation in her eyes lasts a nano-second before she’s smiling.
Both their phones ding with trill sounding alerts, and Ryanne’s smile dies, her expression spooked. Dante’s thumb flies over his screen. The veins in his neck tick, and with each passing second, his demeanor changes. My glee is replaced with dread because whatever has him fuming is about me.
“Ryanne, what’s going on?”
“After Tasha reemerged last week, we didn’t trust her lockdown. I set up internet alerts on your name.”
My heart plunges to the floor. “Dante, what’s it say?”
The doorbell rings and he moves so fast I don’t have time to blink. “Do we know you?” He cracks the door, blocking my view.
“Where’s Poppy?”
“None of your bus—”
The voice registers and I rush over. “Grady? What are you doing here?”
“Let me in.”
I cover Dante’s hand on the knob and squeeze. “He’s okay.”
Grady hurries past us. “Shut the door. Poppy, pack a bag. I’m getting you out of here.”
“Excuse me?”
“There’s been a breach. Natasha’s made her move. I’m taking you somewhere private until we get this under control.”
“Breach? Made her move? Get what under control?”
“Pips, let’s pack you a bag. I agree with Grady,” Dante urges.
“Is it that bad? What has she done?”
“I swear to explain in the car, but right now you have three minutes. The vultures are descending as we speak in Virginia. Your dad has a team in crisis control.”
“What the fuck is happening?” I lose my cool, not even caring he referred to Marco as my dad.
“We covered all angles but she found a weak link.”
“I don’t care about weakest links or covering angles. Quit speaking in coded gibberish. Tasha is in lockdown in a rehab facility with no communication for another week.”
Dante’s listening to something on his phone, his complexion ashen. An eerie sensation tingles through me, and I shake my head in denial. “No. This is my night. Look at my house! Tomorrow, Evin and I will decorate our first tree. Tasha doesn’t get to ruin this!”
Grady glances around, his firm expression softening. “I’m sorry, Poppy. Your house is gorgeous, but this is important. Trust me to explain in the car.”
“I trust him.” Ryanne goes to my room.