Ewan (THE BARD DYNASTY #2)

Chapter 1

S CARLETT

I pull the door closed and lock it before lifting up my hemline, pulling down my panties and sheer tights, and crouching in the restroom stall, going over everything in my head while taking care of business.

The theme, music, food, and decorations.

The invitations, the guests, and the first graders with their parents have started to arrive. The photographer and the man playing Santa, who is scheduled to pop up a little later.

Everything on my list has been checked off.

The theme is perfect as Classical Christmas carols stream over the speakers.

The venue is the best in our small, albeit well-off, Long Island town. Tucked inside a secluded community with manicured lawns and a large wooded area next to the water, this is the perfect place to get married, celebrate an anniversary, or meet Santa if you’re a six-year-old.

We’ve hired the most popular catering company in the area and have a variety of delicious food for the children and their parents.

The mayor will attend along with a few councilmen and their wives. The invitations have been sent and confirmed, and the main room will be packed in about two hours.

It has taken some consistent effort, plenty of volunteers, and a committee I have gladly run to organize the event and offer the kids and their parents a few memorable moments.

The donations have been generous, and many moms have been involved.

One of them has used her connections to book this place instead of a smaller, less glamorous building located five miles down the road.

The decorations and Christmas tree towering over the entrance make the place look like a dream.

Coming from a family with limited resources myself has taught me to be more aware of these little details and ensure everything looks fabulous.

Things run smoothly, and everything has been handled, I keep telling myself before fixing my clothes, running a smooth hand over my pencil skirt, and pulling upright.

The bathroom is luminous, spotless, and quiet, except for the mellow music drifting through the air.

A few beads of sweat have popped up along my hairline, so I exit the stall, wash my hands, and inspect my appearance in the mirror.

I’m hot despite the pleasant temperature and the air flowing through the ventilation system, and a blush pinches my cheeks.

There's no reason to blush, but for sure, I’m nervous.

Not having to dwell on the particularities of my life for once, I run my fingers through my hair. Lazy rings of smooth ink frame my oval face, making the obsidian eyeliner pop.

It’s too dark, perhaps. Or maybe I used too much. Maybe I overdid my lashes. My eyes look like violet orbs under the ceiling lights.

Naturally, their color is close to dark blue, think ripe blueberries––but for some reason, they’re picking up the hue from my necklace.

My fingers move tenderly over the pendant.

It’s a cheap knockoff, although I have to give it to them––whoever crafted this piece––it looks like something someone would pick up at one of the more expensive jewelry stores in Long Island.

What can I say? I’m good at pretending I belong.

No one has a problem with my modest means as long as I’m doing a great job as a teacher.

And I surely am. Kids love me, and I throughly enjoy working with them.

My other life?

My secret life?

Well, it’s complicated.

The white button down fitted dress shirt is tucked neatly inside my skirt.

I picked up both pieces at a garage sale here on Long Island a couple of months back, along with a few other things like an antique mirror and a hand-knitted shawl with matching gloves in perfect condition that the intended recipient apparently had never gotten the chance to wear.

I thought it was nice that someone had gone to all that trouble to knit a gift like that for someone else.

Along with the clothing came a stack of old books, a painting of a woman sitting in front of a mirror, and a vintage radio that still works.

My eyes move to the shoes.

The heels are too much for an evening like this, but for some reason––other than killing my feet––they make me feel extra confident.

Plus, they match the color of the pendant and my eyes.

I thought a crisp white shirt, a deep crimson skirt, and dark purple shoes would make for a nice combination, and they do.

Despite being solid, the colors add a touch of sophistication to my look, not too much to make it all about me, yet not too little to look like I don’t care.

Frantic noises precede the sharp knock on the door.

I spin around, my eyebrows lifted just as Kailey, one of my helpers, bursts into the bathroom, her cheeks aflame.

“Good. You’re here…” she says, panting, although relieved.

That can’t be good.

“What happened?” I ask, cocking an eyebrow at her.

The woman with cheeks in need of a fire hose lets the door drop and closes it quickly, her arm extended, her phone squeezed in her hand.

“We have a problem,” she says, flicking her chin toward her phone.

A shiver of dread moves through my bones.

“Santa got himself arrested,” she drones on.

“And the woman from the agency has no one available for tonight. Please, talk to her,” she says in a softer voice, which makes me suspect the woman from the agency is on the line.

I palm her phone and press it against my chest to mute the microphone before asking her under my breath. “What exactly happened to him?”

“He drove under the influence. And they also found some drugs on him,” she reports briskly.

My heckles rise.

“What??” I push out forcefully. “What?” I ask again, my jaw more relaxed this time. “I thought he was vetted thoroughly. They ran a background check on him, didn’t they?”

“They did. But these things happen. They’ll refund our money, but they can’t find a replacement so quickly. That’s what Melissa said.”

I have no idea who Melissa is, and it must show on my face since she points her forefinger to her phone.

I suck in a puff of air and talk again, this time in a contrived voice.

“Melissa, hi. Yes. This is a big problem for us.”

The woman at the other end of the phone line lives in the blazing pits of hell for the next few moments as she excuses herself profusely––although it’s not her fault––and explains to me that she has done her due diligence and something like that has never happened to her.

The more I listen to her, the more I realize we’re in deep shit. And it’s mostly me.

Where do I find a new Santa now? Only a couple of hours away from when he was supposed to meet the children?

Cold sweat turns into sticky, warm perspiration before morphing into cold sweat again as I go through every possible scenario.

Should I call someone else and offer them the job?

Who am I supposed to call? I don’t know anyone personally.

A substitute teacher, perhaps?

We’re mostly women.

The principal?

He’d never be a good fit.

The janitor?

He wouldn’t be a good choice either.

There is a substitute teacher about my age––twenty-eight––but he’s on vacation.

Fuck me.

I don’t have any close friends who are men. No one I could ask to do this for me. And that says a lot. I don’t have a circle to begin with. I can’t afford to have one.

Splitting my time between my teaching career and side hustles to make ends meet, I can’t afford to have more people in my life. Especially men.

I've already had a slew of horrid experiences with them.

The conversation prolongs uselessly before I realize Melissa has no answer to my problem.

And it is my problem.

Everything depends on finding a solution.

It doesn’t matter how beautiful the ornaments are, how delicious the food is, or how creative the games are, we can't have a Christmas party without a credible Santa.

That's why the kids are here.

I wrap up the conversation, tap the screen, and hand the phone back to Kailey, who watches me with worried eyes.

I can’t come up with any wise words right now to alleviate her concerns or mine.

I need to act. I need to do something about it.

But first, I need to get out of the restroom.

My mind is barren as I stare at the beige walls and struggle to come up with a solution.

“Do you know any male who doesn’t drink and drive or carry illicit substances and wants to play Santa this evening?” I ask, moving quickly toward the door with her right behind me.

“Um… No. Not really. My brother fits the profile, but he lives in Connecticut.”

“That’s what I thought…” I mutter, pushing the door open and continuing, irritated.

“Aside from him. Anyone living on Long Island? Anyone who likes kids, and not in a creepy way? I can’t afford to have another Santa arrested tonight…

” I say, the corridor coming into view and me coming to a swift stop while Kailey crashes into me, for sure, dinging one of my heels. “ Oh, hi. ”

The last couple of words leave my lips and float into the hallway, spoken in a soft voice, drenched in the sweet, dripping honey of a smile.

A woman holding the hand of a boy looks at me, terrified.

“Mrs. Rivera,” I chirp, my expression completely changed. “And Colley,” I say, crouching to meet the boy’s eyes. “How is my favorite guy doing?” I singsong, trying to erase the questionable impression left, for sure, on his mother if not him.

I don’t know how much of the pickle I am in she’s gotten from my rant, but I suspect she’s grasped everything.

I pull up.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” I ask, affable.

“We were looking for the bathroom,” Elisa Rivera says.

She wears an elegant blue-gray skirt suit and a silky red blouse with a cute bow at the neckline. I feel so bad that she had to witness my outburst. I also feel like chastising myself even more for losing my grip, but this is not a good time.

“Sure,” I say, showing her to the men’s room.

She nudges her son in that direction, and Colley looks at her before moving his eyes to me.

“Go,” his mother says. “ I need to have a word with Miss Scarlett.”

Colley shoots his mother a concerned look before vanishing inside the bathroom.