Chapter 16 Gideon
Gideon
When I wake with my arms wrapped around Valencia and her hair in my face, it’s the most rested I’ve felt in a long time.
We eat gingerbread cookies for breakfast and add a splash of coquito to our coffee and tea.
Then we engage in a little midmorning sensual massage, which culminates in easy, languid lovemaking.
It’s different from yesterday, but just as perfect. I hold her for a long time afterward.
After we clean up, I pull out two pairs of matching red and green plaid pajamas—necessary attire for a lazy morning watching classic Christmas movies. I don’t think I imagine that Valencia is a little misty-eyed when we put them on.
We can’t decide what to watch, so we write movie titles on slips of paper and toss them into a mixing bowl. Valencia selects one with a flourish.
Home Alone.
We snuggle on my big leather sofa with our feet resting on the coffee table and the fireplace flickering merrily under the wall-mounted flat-screen TV.
Valencia falls asleep halfway through the movie with her head on my shoulder, drooling a little on my pajama shirt.
I’m hit with a pang of contentment so pervasive it makes my chest ache.
I look around my apartment, taking in the massive tree decorated with blinking white lights, a mixed assortment of garlands, and glass ornaments.
There’s a red velvet runner across the coffee table, a wreath hanging on the apartment door, and a sprig of mistletoe over the kitchen doorway.
Every time we pass under it, we stop and kiss.
Valencia’s brought so much into my life.
Color and sparkle, sweetness and spice, companionship and cuddles.
She’s brightened my world, the way the trappings of the holiday season, commercial though they may be, enliven the darkest and coldest time of the year.
What the hell am I going to do without her, when all I have left in front of me are the cold gray days of winter in New York?
The truth is, I’ve never wanted anything more than I want to be with her. To have her here, in my arms and in my home, for the rest of this month and all the months—years?—that come after.
But what does she want?
Does she want me ?
My phone buzzes with an incoming call. It’s my mother. She’s arriving in two days, so I should answer.
Carefully, I slide out from under the blanket and position Valencia so she’s lying down. She makes an adorable hum and curls up in the warm spot I’ve vacated. I smile down at her for a second, then stride into my bedroom to accept the call.
“Mom?”
“Bonjour, mon amour.”
I switch to French. “Tout va bien?”
“Oui, oui,” she says airily, and then her tone changes. “However, there is a change of plans. You will come here for Christmas. To Paris.”
I halt my pacing. “But you’re supposed to come to New York.”
“Ah, Gideon. It’s so much better here. Take a flight tomorrow and come join me.”
Tomorrow? I have two days left with Valencia. “Mom, I can’t leave yet.”
“Are you working?”
“No, but—”
“Then come to Paris.” She says it as if it’s as simple as running to the store for a carton of milk.
“I have plans,” I blurt out. “On Christmas Eve.”
Her tone sharpens ever so slightly. “Well, cancel them and come see your mother.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I have to go, Mom. I’ll call you later.”
“Send me your flight information.”
There’s no mistaking the snap of command in her words. I say goodbye and hang up.
I let out a long sigh and trudge back to the living room. I hear Valencia’s voice, and when I round the corner, I see she’s on the phone.
“That’s so nice of you, Heather. I would love to see you and Patrick, and, of course, Fern, but ...”
At the mention of Fern, I realize what’s happening. If Heather and Patrick are Fern’s parents, that also makes them ...
No fucking way.
I stalk over, letting my stockinged feet slam on the floor so Valencia hears me coming. She sends me a weary look but continues speaking to Heather Mulholland.
“Yes, I always enjoyed spending Christmas morning with you, but I don’t think it would be ... All right, maybe Christmas Eve dinner ...”
My jaw tightens and I shake my head.
Valencia gives a helpless shrug. “Well, if you think it’ll be okay, maybe I can stop by for a little bit.”
I run my hands through my hair and fight back a growl.
“Sure, Heather. Thank you. See you then. Bye.”
When she hangs up, I let loose. “What the hell was that?” Lingering frustration from the call with my own mother makes my voice harsher than I intend.
“Gideon, please.” Valencia doesn’t meet my eyes as she pulls the blanket around her.
“Should I guess? Because it sounded like you were letting Mulholland’s mother steamroll you into spending Christmas with your ex-fiancé .”
Her eyes squeeze shut, and my heart sinks. Shit, I’ve gone too far. But when she opens her eyes again, they’re blazing with dark fire.
“Do you think I don’t realize that?” she hisses. “But that woman is the closest thing I’ve had to a parent for years . I miss her. And besides that, she’s not easy to say no to. She wanted me to come over for Christmas Day, and this is the compromise.”
I glare at her. “You and I already have plans.”
“It gets dark at four o’clock. We can go see the lights before dinner, and then your obligation to me will be over and you’ll be free to spend the rest of the day with your mom.”
The word obligation pings my radar. This isn’t the first time she’s said it. But I don’t want to tell her my mother is staying in Paris, so I ignore it and try a different tack.
“I’ll go with you.”
She chokes out a disbelieving laugh. “Are you kidding? You and Everett, in the same room? With me ? I don’t think so.”
It does sound like a recipe for disaster, but the thought of her being around him makes my blood boil.
I don’t know what happened between them, only that Valencia broke off the engagement, but I wouldn’t put it past that dickhead to try to cajole his way back into her life.
That’s how he was in school, always worming his way into and out of trouble.
I don’t know what the hell she ever saw in him, but then, I don’t know what she sees in me , either.
I press the issue. “You shouldn’t have to go alone. That was our deal, right? To keep each other company leading up to Christmas.”
She tries to shrug that off, but I can see it gets to her. “Fern will be there, and her parents. And probably some of their friends and relatives.”
“That’s not going to be weird for you? With everyone knowing you’re his ex?”
“Of course it’ll be weird!” The words burst out of her, tinged with exasperation, and— shit —sadness. “But they’re the closest thing to family I have left.”
What about me? I think, but it’s ridiculous. I have no right to say that.
Her shoulders slump and she rubs the back of her neck. “Look, can we just give it a rest and finish the movie? We were having a really nice day before this call.”
I don’t want to give it a rest. I love arguing, and I love winning arguments even more. But this isn’t a case, and Valencia isn’t the opposing counsel. I can tell this conversation is hurting her, and that’s the last thing I want to do.
So I sink onto the couch beside her, and I don’t mention my mother’s directive that I drop everything and fly to Paris.
Because I’ve already decided. There’s no way I’m abandoning Valencia. Not now. Not ever, if I can help it.
I cup her face in my hands, kissing her with lazy strokes of my tongue until the tension seeps out of her and she melts against my chest.
With our foreheads touching, I whisper into the scant space between us. “Better?”
“Much. Thank you.”
“Anytime.” I mean it with every fiber of my being.
We finish the movie and put on the sequel, and eat so much gingerbread we feel sick.
But in the back of my mind, I can’t stop thinking about how our twelve-day adventure is coming to an end.
And how desperate I am for it to continue.
So I come to another conclusion. I am not going to Paris, but I am accompanying Valencia to the Mulhollands’ for Christmas Eve.
Whether she likes it or not.