Chapter 20 Gideon
Gideon
Christmas Day
Valencia wakes me on Christmas morning with a soft kiss. “Feliz Navidad, mi amor.”
Happiness washes through me when I see her sitting up in bed next to me. “Joyeux Noel, mon coeur.” But then I notice her devious expression. She holds up one of my many neckties, pulling it taut in her fists and crumpling the forest green silk beyond repair.
“We skipped Day 12,” she says.
Day 12 was bondage .
I groan and flop back onto the pillows. “How about we start with you?”
“Nope! You didn’t participate in the blindfold prompt, so you’re technically in breach. I suggest you mitigate damages.”
“I love when you use legal jargon in bed.” I reach for her but she rolls away.
“Don’t distract me. I have big plans for you. Get up.”
Valencia insists our plaid pajamas aren’t the right attire, but I loaned my Rudolph harness to Rodrigo and I’m fresh out of additional BDSM gear.
She finally concedes that black underwear will have to do.
I slip into silk boxers, and she puts on her black bra and the satiny panties I’d unpacked into the dresser.
She slicks her curly hair into a high ponytail and completes the ensemble with red lipstick and black ankle boots.
When I see her, I almost swallow my tongue.
“You were right,” I choke out. “This is way better.”
Since we skipped two holiday-related activities on our list, she demands that we incorporate Christmas somehow. She strolls through the living room like an off-duty dominatrix, then snaps her fingers.
“I’ve got it. Come over here.”
She holds a long red ribbon—a leftover from Day 5—and I assume she’s going to tie me to the bed, but she has something else in mind. In short order, I’m lying under the Christmas tree, my wrists secured to the trunk with my green silk tie and the red ribbon wrapped around my neck like a bow.
“I would like to once again express my reservations about this.” If she tickles me, there’s an extremely high chance I’m going to bring this nine-foot tree down on our heads.
“Don’t be a wuss.”
She disappears into the kitchen and I listen hard. Is that the freezer drawer? Sure enough, she returns with an ice cube in her hand.
I clench my fists on the tie. “Valencia—”
“Shh.” She holds a finger to her lips and begins a slow, sultry strut toward me. Despite my misgivings, my cock starts to stir. By the time she reaches me, I’m hard as a fucking rock.
She kneels between my legs and puts her hand to her mouth in faux surprise.
“Santa left me a present under the tree.” She adopts a breathy voice that’s so ridiculous, I don’t know whether to laugh or to beg. “I’d better unwrap it and see what it is.”
Then she slips the ice cube into her mouth and reaches for the waistband of my boxers.
Beg. I’m definitely going to beg.
“Oh, fuck. Vixen, please —”
The sound of my apartment door opening is so unexpected, it takes me a moment to identify it.
“Wait,” I hiss, trying to peer around Valencia. She notices my distress and climbs off me. A horrified squeak emerges from her throat, and I probably make a similar sound, because there, at the other end of the room, stands Andrea Noble.
My mother .
It’s ten in the morning, but she’s runway ready in a long white coat and black stilettos. I’ve always thought she looked like a taller Marion Cotillard with a short, wavy bob. Sharp green eyes, the same ones she passed down to me, sweep over us with an all-knowing gaze.
Me, tied to the fucking Christmas tree. And Valencia in her underwear and boots.
Mom sends us an arch look. “Is this why you couldn’t come to Paris, Gideon? I didn’t realize you were so ... tied up.”
Valencia opens her mouth and the ice cube falls out. It lands on my bare stomach, and I yelp at the sudden cold.
Someone else barges through the open door.
“Feliz Natal!” the stranger calls out, then he stops short, taking in the scene. His handsome—and oddly familiar—face breaks into a huge grin, and he turns to my mom. “You were right, minha vida . I think your son is very surprised.”
Surprised doesn’t even begin to cover it.
“Mom!” I shout, finally finding my voice. It cracks like I’m twelve years old. “What are you doing here?”
“Don’t let me interrupt.” She starts to stroll toward the kitchen, then stops and narrows her eyes.
Next to me, Valencia sucks in a breath. I know why—it looks like my mother is glaring at her, but really, the woman just hates wearing her glasses.
“Torres?” my mother asks, a note of disbelief in her tone. “Valencia Torres? Is that you?”
“Hi, Mrs. Noble,” Valencia says weakly, waving a hand. “Um ... Merry Christmas.”
My mother’s face breaks into a brilliant smile. “Please, my dear. Call me Andrea. Now, shall I let you two finish up?”
Valencia covers her face, and I yell, “You were supposed to be in Paris!”
Five minutes later, Valencia and I are wearing our matching pajamas and standing awkwardly in the kitchen with my mother and her guest.
Mom finally deigns to introduce him.
“This is Caio Pereira. We met during Paris Fashion Week. Caio’s a model and photographer from Brazil.”
That explains why he looks familiar. His tan face is striking, with narrow brown eyes, straight slashing brows, and high cheekbones. His loose brown curls are in desperate need of a cut.
He’s also much younger than my mom. But it’s been almost ten months since my father passed, and I can’t imagine it was easy being Malcolm Noble’s wife. She deserves to be happy.
However, she’s also a wealthy widow, and I’ll be looking this guy up the first chance I get.
Mom and Caio arrived with a ton of food, and she’s busy selecting dishes from the cabinets. Caio makes espresso for all of us.
I’m rummaging in a drawer for tea, because Valencia prefers it, when I see my mother pull her aside. I strain my ears and watch out of the corner of my eye.
My mother takes Valencia’s hand. “I heard about your parents, dear. I’m very sorry.”
“Thank you. My condolences to you as well.”
“Holidays are more difficult than other days, aren’t they?” Mom says lightly. “It’s more obvious that someone is missing.”
My mother pats Valencia’s shoulder, then carries a box of pastries to the dining table. Caio follows, balancing a tray of espresso cups.
The second they’re gone, I stride over to Valencia. Her mouth is pink and swollen from scrubbing off the lipstick. I want to kiss her, but I’m worried about getting caught again.
“Are you all right?” I ask her.
She gives me a penetrating look. “Are you ?”
“I guess.” I glance over my shoulder at the doorway. “I just can’t believe my mother is dating someone—”
“Younger?”
“Who doesn’t brush his hair.”
“Oh, stop.”
“I’m serious. Why do you think I’m such a tyrant about mine?”
She grins and ruffles my hair, which I combed before she tied me to the tree. “Is that why you teased me for having messy hair when we were kids?”
I think about that for a moment. “I’ll mention it to Ralph. It’s possible I subconsciously equated wild hair with freedom, and secretly envied yours.”
Her mouth twists wryly. “Mine is pretty wild.”
“I like it. And I especially like it like this.” I twine my fingers in her hair now. She’s taken it down from the ponytail, and because she washed it last night, it’s a long, alluring mass of dark curls instead of the straight, shiny curtain she prefers these days.
But even Valencia’s hair can’t distract me from the current situation, and I ask, “Do you think he’s younger than we are?”
“I’m thirty-four.”
I spin around, and Caio is standing right there, a wan smile on his face.
“I moisturize obsessively,” he says. “And age is nothing but a number. Where do you want these?” He holds up a few gift bags and sends me a shit-eating grin. “Since it seems like the space under the tree is reserved for something else.”
Valencia groans, but I can’t help laughing. I like this guy.
We spend a surprisingly nice Christmas with my mother and Caio. Valencia calls her grandparents in Florida, and Rodrigo sends me an all-caps text, demanding updates. I forbid Valencia from telling him anything.
She raises her eyebrows. “Is your work husband the jealous type?”
“No, but I gave him shit when Bailey moved in after a week, and he’ll never let me live this down.”
She pats my chest. “We’ll hold off on the press release.”
After breakfast, I join Valencia for her volunteer shift at a food kitchen, then we swing by her apartment to pick up Archimedes. In a move that shocks everyone, my mother scoops Archie into her arms and smothers him with kisses. Even more shocking? Archie allows it.
By the time Mom and Caio leave, it’s 10:00 p.m. and Valencia is yawning.
“One last thing,” I tell her. “Then you can sleep.”
“I’m fine.” She immediately yawns again. “Okay, maybe I’m a little tired. What’s the one last thing?”
Taking her hand, I draw her over to the mantel. On the day we decorated, Valencia hung two stockings there, as I did in her apartment. These are mint green satin with embroidered white snowflakes, and she said they reminded her of my eyes.
“This one is yours.” I hand her the one on the left.
“And this one is yours.” She gives me the second stocking.
I frown as I pull out a sealed red envelope. “When did you put this in here?”
“Monday.” She smiles. “Open it.”
“We’ll open them together.”
We sit on the sofa, and as he did that first night, Archimedes lumbers into the room and wedges himself between us. He immediately flexes his claws into the leather, and I sigh.
So it begins.
Valencia pulls out a small, square origami box.
“Did you make this?” When I nod, she gazes at it like it’s something precious. “On the count of three? One, two ...”
“Three.” I slit open the envelope.
Inside, there’s a card that reads, “All I want for Christmas is you ... naked!” Smiling, I open it and find a sheet of paper ripped from a spiral notebook—the same one, I’m sure, that we wrote our list in. I unfold it and read Valencia’s spiky script.
Dear Gideon,
I forgive you. But more importantly, please know that you’re allowed to forgive yourself. You learned from your mistakes and you changed, which is more than most people ever do.
The truth is, you’re a good man. (And extremely hot.) I wish we could’ve been friends in school, but I’m happy we found each other now.
Have a nice life. I hope I get to be part of it.
Love,
Valencia
P.S. Any interest in a Valentine’s Day list?
The breath catches in my lungs. I read the letter three times before focusing on the first sentence.
I forgive you.
I’m not sure I realized how much I needed to hear this. From her .
Except ... she’s right. Her forgiveness doesn’t relieve the weight of my past completely. All this time, I’ve been afraid of becoming like my father, but that very fear ensured that I wouldn’t. So the burden I’ve carried about whether or not to forgive him ...
Has actually been about forgiving myself .
The simplicity of that strikes me like a blow. What if I am allowed to forgive myself? What would the rest of my life look like if I did?
I lift my gaze to Valencia sitting beside me with a cranky cat tucked between us. This, right here, is what I could have.
If I just let the past go and spend the rest of my life being the person she sees in me.
She appears to be equally speechless, staring open-mouthed at the set of keys I’ve gifted her. She rubs her thumb over the cutesy acrylic key chain.
“Is this a Scottish fold cat?”
“That’s what he is, right?” I scratch my fingers down Archie’s back and direct my next words to him. “Would’ve been a lot easier if you were an orange tabby. I had to beg an Etsy seller in Iowa to express ship it.”
Valencia puts down the keys and buries her face in her hands. I glance up in alarm.
“What’s wrong?” After this roller coaster of a day, I can’t decipher her reaction.
Her voice is muffled as she speaks into her palms. “Gideon, ever since my parents died, I’ve worried about being a burden to the people around me.
This year, especially, I felt like I didn’t belong anywhere.
With anyone. To anyone.” She raises her head, and even though her eyes are glassy with tears, she’s smiling.
The warmth of it lights up my soul. “But since the moment I saw you, I haven’t felt alone. ”
“Because you do belong. Here, with me.” I say it seriously so she knows I mean it. “Call it coincidence or Christmas magic, but when I saw you at that club, I knew we were being given a second chance. I’ll never take that, or you, for granted. You’re not a burden, Valencia Torres. You’re a gift .”
She lets out a choked sob and pulls me into a hug. The cat gives a loud, annoyed meow but doesn’t move. We both laugh and settle for sharing a kiss over his head.
Easing back, I add, “That’s a yes, by the way. To being part of my life, and to making a Valentine’s Day list.”
Her eyes hold a wicked gleam, and I can’t wait for whatever genius ideas she has in store for us.
Valencia and Gideon’s Naughty and Nice List might be over, but our life together is just beginning.