Chapter 18
Jules
Iget the notification for the email when I’m walking to the Christmas village, wearing a thick green sweater dress and insulated tights, head bowed against the wind.
At first, I think it’s some sort of generalized rejection message, but something tells me to open it.
SUBJECT: Today, Tomorrow Letters to Santa Contest
To: jharper@
From: publicity@
Happy holidays!
I’m writing to you from the office of Today, Tomorrow—your premiere Chicago morning show.
We’ve received your submission for the Today, Tomorrow Letters to Santa Contest and are delighted to inform you that we’ve selected your son, AUGUSTUS HARPER, to come on our show and tell Chicago what he’s asking for this holiday season.
Please email us back at your earliest convenience to let us know if you’ll be able to make it. We sincerely hope so, as his letter delighted and charmed us all.
With warm regards,
Zoe Smythe
Today, Tomorrow (Chicago)
Guest Coordinator
“Jules!”
I look up just in time to keep from walking right into Sienna, who’s standing outside the booth, her hands up in defense, since I’m about to bowl her over.
“Shit, sorry,” I say, swerving out of her way at the last second.
“What’s on your phone?” she asks, looking past me and to the crosswalk, a dubious expression on her face. “And how did you not get hit by traffic on your way over?”
She’s right—I would not have been a good example of awareness as I walked through the busy city and read that email at the same time.
Rather than relaying the email myself, I just hand my phone over, watching as she drinks it in, a smile spreading over her face. When she hands it back, she offers me a rare smile.
“That’s actually kind of cool. Help me unload some of this stuff?”
Sienna has always been like this. Reserved, a bit flat.
I like to think that I know her well enough to see under the thick layer she keeps between herself and everyone else.
Coincidentally, she and I actually went to high school together back in New York.
As teenagers, we weren’t close. But when we crossed paths at Elemint—me onboarding, Sienna on her way out, resigning to work on her line of home and beauty products—and got coffee.
That was nearly five years ago now, and our friendship has gone on strong and steady, if not littered with laughter and hugs.
We move into the booth together and start lining up candles and salves, all scented with natural oils. They smell like Christmas, like fresh fallen snow, like cinnamon and clove.
“I have no idea what he asked for,” I say, a strange sense of nervousness budding in my chest when I think about someone else reading the letter. Crayons? A gaming console? A new apartment?
I can only hope it’s something I can actually afford.
“Probably a T-Rex,” Sienna says, matter-of-factly, which puts me at ease. She’s right—it was probably something cute like that. That’s why they said delighted and charmed.
We fall into the rhythm of the work, selling and packing up lip balm, perfumes, lotions, and oils. When we hit the first lull of the evening, I remember that there’s something else I need to tell her—something else that was on my mind before I got that email on my walk over.
“Remember that gala I told you about?”
“Yes.” She eyes me while she wraps up an online pre-order like it’s my fault we haven’t already talked about this. “What happened?”
Before getting that email, I’d gone back and forth about whether or not to tell her the whole truth, but once I open my mouth, everything comes tumbling out.
While working at the market, I have a tendency to talk while Sienna listens.
So, she already knew about the arrangement between Russell and me—which is part of why she referenced Pretty Woman when I told her about Ettie and I shopping Gold Coast—but I haven’t had a chance to tell her about the proposal, the cutting remarks from Evony, how Russell defended me and kept me at his side all night, like he didn’t want anyone else to even look at me.
Sienna responds like I knew she would. What a bitch, about Evony. Hmm, about Russell’s hands all over me.
Then, when I get to the part where we went up to the hotel room together, I look up to see her staring at me with an expectant grin.
“Holy shit,” she whispers, her voice low, “you fucked him!”
It’s so surprising coming from her that it makes me laugh, and Sienna laughs too, her hand flying to her mouth like she’s surprised herself.
“Uh, excuse me,” a customer says, his eyes going wide. He clears his throat when Sienna turns to him. “…I was hoping to get a candle for my mom.”
Sienna helps him pick out a candle that’s scented like Christmas Peace, then packs it with glittering tissue paper and hands it over to him. The moment he’s gone, she turns back to me. “Hopefully he doesn’t report me to the organizers.”
“I don’t think he will,” I offer, though I have no idea. They’ve told us to limit profanity, since the market is meant to be child-friendly.
We work in silence for a few minutes, then she asks, “So…were you planning on sharing details?”
I flush—Sienna and I don’t normally talk about this kind of stuff, and her cheeks are just as red as mine. “Do you really want them?”
She shrugs, “Nothing better to do.”
So, I tell her, running through most of it—leaving out the best parts, of course—but saying enough that she gets the idea. Can see that it was really, really good.
“Hmm,” she says, shaking her head, a piece of her hair falling out from under her reindeer headband and onto her forehead.
“Hmm, what?” I prompt, and she shoots me a look and another sly smile.
“Nothing. I mean—when he came here the other day, I kind of thought this might happen. Especially when you told me about the fake relationship. Didn’t think you could spend that much time around a man like that and not want more—”
“Well, not more,” I clarify, something thickening in my throat. We go quiet as another round of customers comes through, and it’s an hour later before we can rest, and I turn back to her, picking up right where we left off. “Like, it’s just platonic. Sexual, not emotion.”
Sienna snorts, “Yeah, sure. Non-emotionally-invested men are definitely in the habit of buying Dior dresses for their girls.”
“I’m not his girl,” I hiss, though technically, I suppose I am his fiancée.
“And he just wants me to look the part. It’s a good thing he thought of it, because his cousin was clearly already suspicious of me.
If I’d come in a borrowed dress that didn’t fit me, I don’t think he would have ever believed Russell and I were together. ”
“I’m just saying—” Sienna starts, but we stop when another customer approaches the stall, this time a tall, handsome man with deep brown skin and a wide, flashing smile.
“Orie,” I say, surprised to see him, my mind catching up to match that previous reality—in which I’m wearing Dior and on Russell’s arm—with this one, in which I’m wearing a sweater dress with tinsel and wrapping up tiny soaps in shining green, red, and gold tissue paper.
“Jules, right?” he asks, his eyes widening in recognition. If he seems confused about me working this booth, he doesn’t show it. “It’s great to see you again. Russ around here?”
“Oh, no, I just—” Sienna has gone completely still at my elbow, her eyes locked on Orie. “This is my friend, Sienna. We’re running this booth together.”
“Can I help you find anything?” Sienna asks, but because of her not-to-warm intonation, it kind of comes out like n buy something or fuck off.
Orie takes it in stride, his grin widening, “I don’t know, what’s going on here?”
“Everything on the displays is handmade,” Sienna says.
Orie picks up a little tin, reading the label, “Sienna’s Soaps. Looks like a lot more than soap, huh?”
“Yes,” Sienna deadpans. “What are you looking for?”
“Well, I feel like I have to go for the original.” I’m watching this exchange with wide eyes. Normally people are scared away by Sienna’s spikey exterior. But Orie seems almost…charmed? “What do you have for soap?”
Sienna helps him select a cedar-spice blend, and while she’s wrapping it up, he looks back to me.
“It was great meeting you,” he says, sticking his hands in the pockets of his olive coat.
“You know, Russ would kill me if he heard me say it, but I’m glad he met you.
Thought the guy was never going to let himself be happy.
But when he proposed to you—I just thought, damn, he’s changed so much after his dad—you know. ”
I’m nodding, but my smile is tight. Orie has no idea that this thing between me and his friend is fake.
Has no idea that the proposal was monetarily motivated.
That already makes me feel shitty, but what’s even worse is that Orie bought the performance, and by his measure, since none of this is real, Russell’s still “never going to let himself be happy.”
Or maybe, after getting his inheritance, he’ll let himself be happy with some other woman.
I push away the kernel of bitter jealousy that lodges in my throat at the thought of that and shake my head, “I was so happy,” I say, because that much is true, and I can’t stomach lying to this man.
Just like at the gala, I have to chant to myself this is not real as Orie packs up his stuff and makes me swear I’ll bring Russell over to his place for dinner one night, when neither of us is busy.
When Orie is gone, I turn to Sienna, “Okay, what was that?”
She glances at me, “What was what?”
“Total—” I point between Sienna and the spot Orie stood just a moment before, “—sparks between you two.”
She splutters, “No. Just a guy who wanted to loiter.”
I stare at her for a moment, grinning, feeling emboldened by how much we’ve shared, and she finally cracks, smiling a bit and admitting, “Okay, fine, yeah—he’s hot. I guess. Do all the doctors at BHC look like that?”
“I don’t think he really works there,” I say, still a bit dazed. “I think he’s just doing, like, a temporary thing—”
A beat passes, then Sienna says, “And he doesn’t know? Russell is hiding it from his friends?”
I shrug one shoulder. Maybe Russell wanted us to keep it quiet. Maybe I shouldn’t have even shared it with Sienna or Ettie. “More people makes it easier to slip, I guess.”
“Hmm,” she says, falling quiet as we serve yet more people. It’s getting late, and the Christmas market is winding down, and it’s been dark for a long time. The smells of cinnamon and hot chocolate, roasted nuts, float through the frigid air to our booth, making me hungry.
The next time Sienna speaks, I’m so engrossed in packing things up that it startles me.
“So, are you going to do it?”
At first, I think she’s talking about Russell. “What?”
“…go on the show,” she clarifies. “Today, Tomorrow. Are you going to let Gus go on TV?”
It’s been a long night. The email comes back to me, and I think about Gus’s little smile. Right now, he’s probably asleep in Ettie’s living room, tucked up against Dawson after popcorn and a movie. When I pick him up, he’ll be warm and loose-limbed, clinging to me in his sleep.
“Maybe,” I say, shrugging, “if Gus wants to, I don’t see why not.”