I plant a fake smile on my face when I arrive back at the Barrons’, telling Elizabeth I’ve ordered a custom-made watch for her son, with a personal engraving I designed, and it’ll take a few weeks to be delivered. I remind her to keep it a secret, and she promises Charlie won’t know I was gone these past two days.
Charlie is in great form when he arrives back, grabbing me into his arms and kissing me thoroughly. I panic for a minute, hoping he can’t taste or smell Kai on me, and all that does is exacerbate my guilt.
I feel sick kissing Charlie, and I can’t do it for much longer.
The following morning, it’s as if a switch has flipped, and he’s cold and dismissive at the breakfast table.
I see little of him the next couple of days as he leaves each day, only returning in the early hours of the morning.
I’m bored out of my skull and practically climbing the walls in frustration. The ballet studio is closed for Christmas, and I don’t have any space to dance here. I pound the treadmill in their home gym for a couple hours each day, but that’s the height of my excitement, because I’ve already smoked the joint Jackson gave me. I can’t concentrate long enough to watch a movie or read a book because I’m nervous about dinner at my father’s tomorrow, especially with Charlie’s fluctuating mood swings.
When Christmas morning dawns, I try my best to enter into the spirit of things, but it’s hard to remain cheery when I’m dreading dinner and I’m pissed because Kai didn’t answer my call last night. I know he’s in New York, at the Hunt residence, by now, and Sawyer mentioned they host a lavish Christmas Eve party, but surely, he could’ve found five minutes to call me.
I’ve decided Charlie has the male equivalent of PMS because he’s floating on cloud nine this morning, and all seems to be forgiven. He hasn’t let me out of his arms, and he lavished me with ridiculous presents I didn’t need, including a fabulous deep-red dress that swings out from the waist and rests just above my knee. He begs me to wear it to dinner, and I’m guessing he’s trying to one-up Trent, because he’s never bought me a dress with matching shoes and jewelry, and he wouldn’t have picked out something I’d like. The dress has a high neckline which covers my bigger bust and slim straps. It’s elegant but understated, and it’s something I would have chosen for myself.
I’m happy to wear it if it keeps Charlie happy. And if he wants to rub Trent’s nose in it, who am I to stand in his way? I welcome any opportunity to stick it to my ex.
I both hate and love seeing glimpses of the old Charlie, because it reminds me of the boy who was one of my best friends, and guilt assuages me for faking things with him while I’m sneaking around behind his back.
But I remind myself I have no choice.
The first big surprise lands the minute we walk into the formal dining room at Chez Manning when my father introduces me to his fiancée.
I blink several times, and tug on my ears, sure I must be mistaken as I look over the willowy blonde draped across his arm. She’s younger than him but not too young, which is surprising given what I now know about the elite’s penchant for younger girls. Charlie squeezes my waist, and I snap out of it.
“I apologize for my rudeness,” I say, extending my hand toward her. “But I’m a little taken aback. My father has never mentioned you.”
Drew does a slicing motion across his throat behind the bastard’s back, and I know I shouldn’t push his buttons, but I’m on edge today, and that’s when my snarky side usually comes out to play.
“Well, I’ve heard all about you,” Patrice says, smiling broadly, revealing a set of perfect teeth. “And I’m looking forward to getting to know you better. I know I can’t replace your mother, but I’m hoping we can be friends.” Her green eyes sparkle with expectation as my stomach flips over.
“You can’t replace my mother,” I say with a tight smile. “And you shouldn’t want to.” I take a sip of my champagne, eyeing her over the rim. “Not if you value your life.”
Father almost chokes on his whiskey, and Patrice fusses over him. Charlie steers me away over to the other side of the room. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he asks in a low voice so only I can hear.
“If he wants me to act polite, he could at least give me some warning!”
“You know everything you do reflects on me,” he says, twirling a lock of my hair and subtly pulling on it. “So be on your best behavior. Today is important.”
“Why?” I eye him suspiciously.
“It just is.” He tucks me in under his arm as Sylvia, Trent, and Christian arrive. Sylvia and I exchange knowing looks and purposely avoid conversing too much as we wait to be called for dinner. I’m surprised Shandra isn’t here, but I’m guessing she had plans with her family. Trent glares at me and Charlie, and I snuggle into Charlie’s side, pawing at him and somehow resisting the urge to flip Trent the bird.
Dinner is a tense affair, and I’m fed up being bored, so I decide to liven it up a little. “So, Patrice. How did you and my father meet?” I ask, as we are waiting for our dessert to be served. Charlie tenses on my left while Drew tenses on my right.
“Oh, we work together.”
“You work at Manning Motors?”
She shakes her head, and her blonde hair sways with the motion. “I work in the legal department at Parkhurst.”
Figures. She must be a blue blood.
And it’s clear she’s the perfect trophy wife.
This must be another box he needs to tick.
“How lovely,” I drawl, lifting my glass to have it refilled.
“She’ll have a water,” Charlie says, placing his hand over the glass before the waitress can top it up.
“You don’t get to decide that for me!” I eyeball the waitress. “More champagne, please.”
Drew pinches my thigh hard, and I count to ten in my head. I smile at the confused waitress. “Actually, I’ll just have water. Thank you.”
Father sends a proud smile in Charlie’s direction while Trent loudly chuckles. “You poor bastard.” He points at Charlie. “You’ve no idea what you’re in for. You sure you still want to go through with it?”
“Trent.” Christian sends a warning to his son, and Sylvia and I lock eyes at the same moment with the same inner thought. What is he implying?
“I know it’s a foreign concept to a cold, ruthless bastard like you, but I love Abby and she loves me. There is nothing to reconsider.”
Although I’m fucking furious with Charlie, I press my body into his, smiling as he kisses my temple.
After dinner, Father ushers us all into the burgundy living room. I frown as I spot the projector and screen that’s set up in the room. The drapes are closed, and the only light in the room is from a few lamps scattered around the vast space.
“What is this?” Charlie asks, and I notice the tick pulsing in his jaw.
“What would Christmas be without a few choice home movies?”
All the color drains from Charlie’s face. “No,” he barks out. “I didn’t agree—”
“You sure you want to continue that sentence, son?” Dad puffs out his chest, challenging Charlie.