Eleven Days of Christmas
Dolly Beckett
“I have something for you,” Preston says at dinner the next night. “Actually, I had twelve days of Christmas presents planned, but you already got your closet. I’ll give you the next one tonight. Maybe two or three, since we’re behind.”
I glare down the table at him. I know his cousins are here, even though I haven’t seen Sullivan.
I’ve heard footsteps overhead in the attic room as well as somewhere else in the house.
But for the second night in a row, we’re dining alone.
He should know that presents aren’t going to soften me up or make me want to stay.
He gave me the daisy necklace, and it didn’t keep me here.
No amount of nice things can make me forget that I no longer have my freedom.
Before I can tell him all this, the door swings open, and Mrs. Potter comes bustling in. “It looks perfect, Mr. Darling,” she says, giving Preston an adoring smile as she sets a covered plate in front of me.
“Make sure you and Charlie get a plate, too,” he says. “I made enough for everyone.”
I remove the lid over my plate to see a juicy, sizzling steak with specks of garlic clinging to the meat, a bundle of delicate green asparagus with slivered almonds garnishing the stems, and a fluffy pile of buttery mashed potatoes with tiny flecks of herbs folded in.
My mouth waters, and I have to actively force myself to stay mad.
Watching Preston’s former lover does the trick, though.
She sets his plate in front of him, giving him a secretive smile.
I swear she lets her touch linger on his wrist a moment too long when she asks if he wants her to pour wine.
He nods, his eyes on me. Jealousy flares its ugly head inside me.
It’s bad enough having her serve us, but to have to look at her after last night, when she walked around us like it was nothing unusual to see Preston cum on my face…
Hell, maybe it’s not. He’s certainly had his fair share of conquests, and he’s no stranger to public sex, either. My knees clench involuntarily when I remember how wet I got when she walked in, when I knew she was in the room, probably wishing she was in my position…
Damn it.
I’m supposed to be getting mad, not horny.
Mrs. Potter pours wine into his glass, then approaches me with a soft smile, her expression somewhere between wariness and pity. “And for you?” she asks in her lovely, lilting voice with the accent still prominent.
Do men find accents as sexy as women do?
Of course they do. Of course he wanted her.
Look at the woman. She’s a freaking knock-out.
I study her as she pours me a glass. Every single thing about her is the opposite of me.
Where I’m big and tall, she’s waifish and petite.
Where I’m all curves, her figure is boyish and straight.
While I’m fair-skinned and blonde, she’s tan with a cascade of long, black tresses.
While I’m all dolled up with makeup, fake lashes and nails and hair extensions, her face is bare except for a little lip gloss.
I glance at Preston, wondering if he’s comparing us the way I am. I must look pale and plain next to her.
Even though she’s only a few years older, I feel clumsy and childish when I think of all she’s experienced in her life.
My life’s big risk was going across the country, knowing full well that if I failed, my parents would welcome me back with open arms and every kind of support.
My life’s biggest tragedies haven’t even happened to me—my best friend dying, my other friend disappearing.
My one heartbreak was getting dumped in high school.
I feel both lucky and incredibly guilty for my life of ease.
I can’t even look at Mrs. Potter—a woman who was basically trafficked before turning her life around, getting married again, having a kid, and landing a job that I’m sure pays close to six figures if not more.
I thank her politely and wait for her to leave the room before I speak.
“Remind me again why you’re not with her?” I ask, picking up my knife and fork.
“Because she’s not you,” Preston says, his blue eye fixed on me with unwavering intensity.
“Right,” I mutter, concentrating on my food. “Well, she seems like an incredible woman.”
“You sound surprised.”
“No,” I say. “I’d expect nothing less.” I pop a bite of steak in my mouth, closing my eyes and fighting the urge to moan with pleasure.
“Meaning?” Preston asks.
I open my eyes to find him still watching me with that steadfast gaze. “If you gave her more than one night of your time, she must be pretty special,” I say. “I don’t think you’d do that for just anyone.”
He shrugs. “It was a long time ago, Dolly. I was on a lot of drugs from the hospital and in a bad place. I probably wouldn’t be here if not for her.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, swallowing hard. “I shouldn’t have told you to fire her.”
I think again about that month he was in the hospital.
We were all obsessed with the missing lovers.
I don’t even think his family pressed charges against the Dolces for the attack, and if they did, nothing came of it.
Shame fills my heart when I think of him alone in the hospital, and then alone here, where he came to recover.
I was too busy grieving my own losses and licking my wounds to think of his.
I wasn’t here for him, and even if I had a good reason, I can’t blame someone who was.
“It’s understandable,” he says. “If you want her gone, I can let her go. Just give me some time to help her find something else.”
“No,” I say quickly, slicing across the asparagus. “There’s no reason for that.”
He chews slowly, watching me as if waiting for something. “There’s not?”
I shake my head. “Despite the current situation I find myself in, I know you’re a decent guy underneath it all. I’m sure she appreciates all you’ve done for her.”
“We’ve done a lot for each other.”
I don’t think about that statement and all it implies. “I won’t even be here,” I say lightly. “Why should I get any say in who is?”
Popping a bite into my mouth, I savor the fresh, earthy taste of the vegetable and watch Preston as carefully as he’s watching me.
“But you will be here,” he says. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“You think you’re just going to keep me locked up here forever, and no one’s going to do anything about it? My father knows where I am, Preston. I have a manager. People would notice if I disappeared.”
He flinches, and I realize he thinks I mean as opposed to him.
Of course the other people who live here would notice if he was gone, but would anyone else?
And hell, I don’t even know about those who live here, if they knew where he was when he came to California, if they missed him.
It makes me sad to see such a lovely person be so unloved by everyone around him.
But then, that’s a bed of his own making.
It’s not like he tries to file down his sharp edges.
“Let’s just finish our dinner,” he says. “Then I’ll give you your presents. I thought you might like a few more pursuits to fill your day.”
I finish my food, which is every bit as delicious as it looks. “You made that?” I ask. “Don’t you have a cook?”
“Everyone needs a day off now and then,” he says. “Besides, it gives me a chance to impress you.”
“Mission accomplished,” I say, taking a sip of wine and sitting back with a satisfied sigh. “That was amazing.”
He sips his wine to cover a smile, but I can practically see him puffing up inside, how happy it makes him to get even a well-deserved compliment. It makes my heart hurt for him.
“Come on,” he says, tossing his napkin next to this plate and pushing back from the table.
“We’ve still got eleven days of Christmas gifts to go.
” He holds out a hand to me, and I find myself softening toward him.
I rise and go to him, taking his hand and letting him lead me out of the room.
Something has shifted between us. Despite my annoyance, I’ve accepted the situation for now.
I’m tired of fighting. If he let me go, I’d have to go home to Dad’s, where I’m not exactly welcome right now.
Preston’s been kind to me despite our bickering.
In fact, he’s downright spoiled me. He makes me delicious meals, got me an entire wardrobe of clothes, kept me safe in this part of the house.
He has me waited on hand and foot, sends me fresh flowers each morning, and even got me a massage my first day here.
Magnolia came to dance with me both days, and now that I’ve decided not to be pissed at Mrs. Potter, I’ll have even more company.
Of course it’s not freedom, but it’s hard to complain while being pampered so lavishly.
“I know giving you a room next to Maggie’s dance studio is about as insensitive as Devlin giving you that ballet necklace in high school,” he says as he leads me up the stairs.
“You… Thought the Darling Doll necklace was insensitive?” I ask.
“Well, yeah,” he says. “Obviously.”
“You bought a dozen more of them for all your fangirls,” I point out, remembering the insult I felt at seeing him and Colt pass them out to their conquests like they meant nothing.
“Eleven,” he corrects. “Devlin got the first one. And I was an asshole in high school. Doesn’t mean I couldn’t see that it was insensitive of him to give one to you.”
“I love ballet.”
“Okay,” he says, sounding unconvinced. “I’m sorry that you have to be there next to her studio. That’s the safest room in the house right now, but I’m working on getting another one redone for you.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I say. “And it’s not insensitive to put me in a room there. It gives me motivation to work out. Besides, I like watching her dance. She’s incredible.”