Chapter 31
THIRTY-ONE
Avery
Pulling through the private studio gate felt like stepping out of the real world and into a memory I hadn’t experienced yet. God, if I hadn’t believed in Christmas miracles, this would have definitely done the trick.
Frosted pine garland framed the entrance archway where security waved me through, and even in the California sun, there was a distinct shimmer of Christmas magic in the air.
Not the kind found in red-and-green gift bags or store-bought canned snow, but the kind that wrapped around your skin, sank into your bones, and whispered, this night will live in memories forever.
From what I’d seen, this was everything and more than I could have ever imagined.
Waiting near the faux gas lamps at the entrance was Cat.
She was perched in perfection, sitting behind the wheel of a polished, deep-green golf cart trimmed with velvet ribbon and golden bells.
She wore a long camel trench, sunglasses pushed into her hair, clipboard in hand, already looking ten steps ahead and smug as hell about it.
“Well, doll? You asked, and I know I fucking delivered,” she grinned as I slid into the passenger seat beside her. “I hope you love it so far.”
“Good God,” I breathed, already taking in the scale of what she’d created. “I feel like I’ve been transported into Narnia.”
“Just wait until we go in, and here,” she tossed me a red knit blanket, “you’re gonna need that. I had them crank the outdoor mist machines and cold steamers, so you’d feel it in your lungs.”
We zipped through the first stretch of the set, the area Cat referred to as the carriage entry lane.
Sleek black horse-drawn carriages were being polished for guest pickup six days from now, while a canopy of Edison bulbs stretched above the cobblestone path, casting a soft amber glow that somehow made everyone look ten percent more attractive.
Guests would be dropped at what Cat referred to as the drop-off circle, where frosted firs framed the true entrance to our Scrooge-inspired wonderland. A team of staff in Victorian attire moved with flawless timing, rehearsing bows and curtsies with the precision of a Broadway show.
“All guests are set to come in by the carriages, right?” I asked.
“Unless they show up in a helicopter, yes,” Cat chuckled. “They’ll load the carriages at the main entrance and be brought to this one, which reveals Dickens Square once we go through these gates.”
I grinned. “You’ve nailed this vision better than what I even imagined.”
“Oh, honey, you haven’t seen anything yet. The builders and designers were all fantastic to work with and went above and beyond for this project. I’m truly impressed with their efforts and how they followed all my instructions to the last detail.”
She guided us into the main village, and I nearly forgot how to breathe. It was like an entire village from 1840s London emerging from the asphalt as if by magic. Fog machines released gentle swirls of mist that caught the morning light just enough to make the cobblestone paths shimmer.
“My God,” I said, truly speechless and taking all the magic in.
I inhaled the frosty air, tucked further into the blanket, and glanced up at the gaslight lanterns flickering, complemented so artfully by artificial snow drifting throughout the entire area.
The giant hand-painted skyline in the distance looked believable and more realistic than I had ever imagined.
Every building, every stone arch, every crooked roof looked like it had been lifted from a Charles Dickens dream.
“Impressive, right?” she said, still cruising through the area slowly so that I could take it all in.
“Charles Dickens himself, I think, would get a little emotional seeing this,” I teased.
We passed a building with a wooden, carved sign that said “Fezziwig’s Emporium” first. It was a faux general store turned photo booth lounge, featuring antique sleds, nutcracker displays, and a wall of peppermint-colored pillows where couples could stage holiday kisses.
“Inside Fezziwig’s,” Cat started, “we’ve got red and green lighting filters, hot cider dispensers, and three hidden ring lights so no one gets tagged in bad lighting,” she noted with a laugh. “The influencer crowd can’t ruin the aesthetic if they wanted to.”
“Nothing could be twisted on social media to make this all bad, even if they tried to,” I added.
“God knows I considered all of that after Jim went viral everywhere. Did you see what they were saying on Discord?”
“Discord?” I questioned with a laugh. “I don’t use that app. Do you?”
“God knows I have no time for all that,” she answered, smiling at me.
“My tech department filters everything for me and protects my clients’ privacy.
Jim’s PR team shut it all down completely, but I’m not about to let anything go on social media that I don’t want there.
Anything and everything will only boost Jim’s presence, never shame him. ”
“And hopefully make up for the brown tree?” I chuckled.
“Sweetie, the brown tree would be dead and gone as it already is, once social media praises James Mitchell for offering his company guests the most indulgent festive experience they could ever ask for.”
We curved past another perfectly crafted building, a ‘Cratchit’s Bakery’ sign hanging above the door, where Cat explained that fresh bread would be pulled every hour from hidden convection ovens tucked behind the faux brick fronts.
“The smells,” I gasped.
“They’re all custom-scented,” she said. “Like theme parks are known to use, we have mist diffusers scattering notes of gingerbread, vanilla, and cinnamon pecan scattered through the vents.”
“Well, now I’m starving. Any chance they’re making bread yet?” I laughed.
“I have plenty of food prepared for you to sample, darling. It’s the food that will be served throughout the venue, and of course, the dinner menu as well. I must ensure everything meets with your approval.”
“Jim wanted to be here to make the final approvals,” I chuckled.
“Ah, he’s adorable, especially since he was fine signing off on cheese trays and champagne bottles for his company.”
“No shit,” I said, before my attention was pulled to the next attraction.
“This is Tiny Tim’s Tree Lot,” Cat said. “It’s where guests can pick mini potted firs as favors. I assume the children will love this part, and of course, adopting a live tree instead of a dead one, as Jim’s silly prank implied people should do.”
I laughed as I took in the area. Globed lighting was strung throughout, making it look like an authentic tree lot with full-sized Christmas trees; however, true to the spirit of Tiny Tim, they were all adorable miniature trees.
“I love that you came up with this idea,” I said. “You’re a genius.”
“I know,” she scrunched her face up in a cute way.
“Jim can thank me later for that little detail,” she finished with a wink.
“And over here,” she pointed as we slowed to a crawl past a flickering streetlamp, “this is where we will have horse-drawn sleigh rides over freshly packed snow. They will lead the guests through that enchanted forest over there and end with photo ops. We’re also setting up antique wooden benches, fur throws, and a sign that reads ‘May Your Days Be Merry and Bright’ in wrought iron script. ”
“Damn, I’m ready to go on that now.” I couldn’t stop smiling.
“I can drive us through the enchanted forest, but it’s best viewed at night and, of course, by horse-drawn sleigh,” Cat smirked.
“I trust it’s going to be amazing, and I really want to experience that with Jim and the girls the night of the event,” I said.
“Excellent thinking,” she answered.
“Cat, I love you so much right now it’s unhealthy.”
“You just wait till we get to the ballroom.”
We continued down the side alley and into Dickens Square.
A towering Christmas tree dominated the space, draped with cascading lights and framed by carolers warming up beside a mock fire barrel.
Beyond them, the faux cathedral loomed, its stained-glass illusions glowing, and a choir riser ready to hold golden-robed singers tonight.
It looked like a scene straight out of a Thomas Kinkaid Christmas painting.
“Is this where the blessing scene happens?” I asked, motioning toward the faux altar.
“Yep. Nat confirmed that Spencer will give the toast here before the guests are served dinner. We’ll have stringed instruments enhancing the introduction to Spencer and the start of Mr. Scrooge’s evening,” she chuckled.
“And yes, we made sure the fake stained-glass window has a hidden snow blower behind it for a ‘Silent Night’ reveal.”
“Oh my God,” I whispered. “You built the most perfect real-life Scrooge event.”
“That’s what I hoped you’d say,” she said.
“Now, wait until you see Scrooge’s house.
To be clear, you’re entering from the back to make your grand host entrance and watch Jim arrive in that Christmas Vacation RV with the guests.
After that, Jim will be taken from the RV and changed into his Scrooge attire.
Then he will be directed to where he’ll make his official entrance to the event, through the front square in the Scrooge carriage.
I groaned. “Yes, we must have Jim arriving promptly in that RV while most guests are waiting to be loaded into carriages and offloading them,” I said. “It has to be timed perfectly.”
“Oh, this will be perfection once the men are set in motion to retrieve Jim and bring him in that clunky old thing.”
“Have you seen it yet?” I laughed, so disconnected from all this planning that I forgot Jake and Collin bought and shipped the damn thing here.
“Of course,” she laughed. “It’s behind the lot. We hid it here, so the guys will arrive promptly and leave. The engine has been checked, so even though it looks and will probably feel like the damn thing is going to break down, it won’t.”
“Jim will wish it had once he knows where it’s dropping him,” I laughed again.
Cat led us down a narrower cobbled path lined with frosted hedges and glowing lanterns shaped like falling stars.
“We’re almost there,” she said, that signature wicked grin spreading. “I saved the best for last.”
The cart slowed down, and we stopped in front of what looked like a grand brick estate with ivy-covered windows, twin staircases winding up to Juliet balconies, and stained-glass archways glowing from inside.
“Welcome to the ballroom,” Cat announced.
The double doors creaked open as she waved to the crew inside. “You ready?”
I stepped off the cart and nearly gasped as I entered.
The entire space shimmered like a scene from Bridgerton, set within a snow globe.
Hundreds of flickering candlelight bulbs floated in glass orbs from the ceiling, suspended like enchanted snowflakes.
The walls were draped in midnight-blue velvet, with twinkling string lights that resembled a starry sky.
Gold crown molding was added to the beams, while fresh white roses and magnolia garlands spilled from every mantle and chandelier.
But the floor? The floor was everything.
It was a custom ice-inspired epoxy overlay, designed to resemble frozen water with veins of silver and sapphire cracked through it. It reflected overhead light like crystal. And in heels, it probably felt like gliding as guests danced on a frozen lake.
The far wall held a stage, already set with a live string quartet warming up near a gleaming white grand piano.
“They’ve been here practicing since last week,” Cat confirmed as we walked past them.
At the center of the room was a thirty-foot tree, frosted and glowing with soft golden lights, surrounded by stacks of antique gift boxes and ribbon-draped chairs.
“Holy shit,” I whispered, blinking fast.
“You haven’t even seen the place settings,” Cat said smugly, guiding me toward one of the long banquet tables. “Gold-rimmed crystal, hand-calligraphed place cards, and those are real snowflake charger plates that were imported from Austria.”
I looked and saw that there were custom menus at each setting, printed on linen scrolls and sealed with wax stamps bearing the Mitchell and Associates logo.
Cat pointed up, “Overhead are hidden snow vents that are angled to drop micro-flurries in time with the music cue and only during toasts and your personal welcome speech.”
“Shit, I forgot about my speech,” I chuckled.
“Not to worry. I’ll have one prepared as a backup, just in case,” she answered.
“No, I’ll write one. I’m more excited to do it now than before,” I said with cheerfulness.
Cat tapped her clipboard. “Okay, so we have three temperature zones, a shoe valet for anyone who doesn’t want to wear stilettos on cobblestone, and yes, the Mitchell family table is centered under the main chandelier, with full media lighting for those perfect candid shots.”
“This is a masterpiece of perfection,” I whispered, shockingly choked up.
Cat smiled. “I’m delighted you are pleased with it,” she answered. “Now that we’re on wrap-up here, I want to bring you to the hotels to view the suites where guests will be staying after they arrive tomorrow.”
“I forgot about that, too,” I covered my heart. “Oh hell, I’m more excited for this event than I am Christmas.”
“That’s the exact reaction we want, and we most certainly want our guests to have,” she chuckled. “Let’s head over to the first hotel. It’s where we can do the food sampling of everything that will be served here.”
I was so goddamn excited I didn’t even know how to react anymore.
I wished all the ladies were here to join in, but I wanted this to be the perfect Christmas surprise for them, too.
So, for now, I would indulge in the experience, and my stomach, which hadn’t stopped growling since I first smelled the custom-crafted scents filling the air, made me even more eager to sample what I knew would be amazing, delicious food for all our party guests.