Chapter 2
A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE
Nick
Just because I was a local didn’t mean I indulged in all the regular shit tourists did in New York City this time of year.
Ice skating rinks, historic churches with elaborate nativity scenes, shopping endless window displays…
it was all nice in theory. I liked knowing it was there, but it wasn’t how I’d ever spend my time.
In that way, reality was a lot different.
Just like my marriage.
I had been with Candy for so long I hardly remembered a time when we weren’t together.
Not that I would’ve had it any other way.
Candy was so deeply rooted in my heart that it felt impossible to undo the vines that she’d wrapped firmly around it, choking it in the tightest embrace.
For a while, our marriage had been good.
Never great, but good. More recently, though, it’d taken a turn to downright intolerable.
It felt like someone was pressing their foot down on my trachea, and it pained me to think this, but I wasn’t happy.
More importantly, I was pretty sure Candy had lost all touch with the entire concept.
If I would have asked her if she was happy, I knew she would crinkle her nose and have to think hard.
Unless she was shopping or talking about shopping, then she’d no doubt come up empty.
Neither of us were getting what we needed from the other anymore.
Not that we’d ever go elsewhere for it. Cheating, whether physically or emotionally, would have been torture to the other person, worse than poking them with needles straight to the heart.
Which was exactly why it wasn’t something we’d ever do, let alone consider doing.
The three words I’m divorcing you hung in the air like mistletoe from a doorframe.
Candy had blinked occasionally, her face growing a sickeningly pale color that made me want to eat my words, but it wouldn’t have done either of us any good. Honestly, I couldn’t think of anything worse than being stuck in shackles, which was what it was starting to feel like with this union.
I could’ve minced words, but that wasn’t exactly my style, and even though Candy was my wife, I didn’t give a fuck enough to sugarcoat shit.
Not that she needed that kind of coddling.
I loved Candy, but that didn’t mean I was blind to her flaws, of which she had many.
Candy was an ice queen through and through.
She could be judgmental, aloof, and hard-nosed.
She hadn’t always been that way, but life, this life specifically, had hardened her, I knew.
It wasn’t for the faint of heart, and Candy was no pushover or patsy.
Never had been. She also had steely determination that was unmatched.
But, for as flawed as she was, she also had thick skin and could give as good as she got, especially with me.
When she really felt like it, we could go at it like cats and dogs.
She could also be soft, so soft and warm and loving.
Those moments were rare, though, especially lately when all she could do was be concerned with everything else going on around her.
No, actually she didn’t necessarily care about anything outside of her own world.
What I meant was that she was far too concerned with what others thought about her.
Basically, I was done lying to myself about what there was left between us. Things weren’t the same as they once had been, not that I shouldn’t have suspected they’d evolve. Most things did with time. Especially the things we hoped wouldn’t.
“Taxi, taxi, taxi!” With each repeat of the word, the woman’s voice grew louder and more…desperate. Her arm slacked, falling slightly as the taxi ignored her and drove right by.
That was New York City for you. Filled with self-serving bastards, only concerned about themselves. More often than not, New Yorkers were in a rush, and it was survival of the fittest, so to speak.
With my eyes on my town car, I shook my head. I wasn’t sure what her deal was, but she was a stranger, and I didn’t owe her anything. I had my own pressing matters to tend to. I had a video conference with some guys overseas in a few hours and wanted to get home just like everyone else.
I pulled a cigar out and tucked it into my mouth, heading to the town car where the driver was standing on the curb now, holding a door open for me.
“Hello!” the woman yelled, a grunt escaping her as yet another taxi sped by her.
Poor luck.
Just another step and I would’ve been in the car, enjoying a smoke and a glass of whiskey from the bottle I kept in the back for days like today. Who was I kidding? I worked on Wall Street. All the days were the same—downright dreadful.
“Need a ride?” I asked loudly enough that she whipped her head toward me, her eyes roaming over me.
She was probably trying to glean if I was a murderer or some other hardened criminal.
Unfortunately, there was no telling, but then again, how safe were public modes of transportation anyway?
I was a billionaire with a town car, in a suit that cost more than the rent on most buildings around here, and a leather briefcase filled with work to prove how hard I fucking worked for the money.
She blinked. “Who are you?”
“Does it matter?”
“No,” Candy finally said, and I looked up, meeting the stubborn gleam in her captivating hazel eyes.
No? I drew my brows together and waited for her to elaborate on the one word I didn’t care to hear, especially when it was regarding the rest of my life.
Without another word, she went back to cutting her steak into bite-sized pieces.
I forced my gaze to move from her plate to mine.
Even the distinction in the way we cut our meat was stark.
She craved perfection, each bite perfectly sized to fit on the tines of her fork, leaving enough room for a bite of asparagus.
She’d chew each mouthful no less than the acceptable and suggested twenty times.
Then there was mine, where the food remained whole until I was ready to take a bite.
Only then did I cut it, one piece at a time.
I didn’t aim for any particular size or number of chews.
I just cut my food and ate it. That alone should have been enough of a reason for me to have expected my wife to say nothing more than that simple two-letter, one-syllable word of defiance.
“Pardon?” I took a sip of my red wine and waited for her to elaborate.
Candy reached onto her lap and retrieved her napkin, folding it precisely before dabbing her red lips and setting it on the table. “No to your divorce statement. You can do whatever you want, but not until the second of January.”
My brows beetled. “Any particular reason I have an assigned date?” Surely, she didn’t think she’d be able to change my mind if she kept me tied to her for any longer.
“Yes.” She swallowed, her fingers wrapping around the stem of her wineglass.
“The holidays are coming up. We have Teddy and Irina’s holiday party.
Then of course, there’s our annual Christmas Eve party.
” And why the hell should I care about any of this miscellaneous crap?
“We’re scheduled to take our holiday card photos.
The gala for the foundation is also coming up, and you surely haven’t forgotten about that.
” A mischievous glint crossed her expression as though daring me to see things any other way but hers.
Unfortunately for her, I only saw things my way. She angled her head. “Need I go on?”
Pushing my plate aside, I leaned back. “I think you might need to tell me what the hell all of that has to do with me divorcing you.” If only she’d say the one thing I wanted to hear, the one thing I knew as well as my own name that she’d never say—that she wanted time to fight for us.
It was funny, but I knew quite a bit.
Like most everything about my wife.
How when she let her hair down, her blonde locks would gently cascade down her back like a golden waterfall.
How she had a refined cheekbone structure that most women likely would have killed to have been blessed with.
But, most definitely, how she had a petite frame and subtle curves.
She wasn’t endowed with large tits or a big ass.
Instead, she was modest even in her form.
Her tits were the perfect size in the way that they filled my hands but didn’t spill over.
And her ass was a heart shape that got accentuated by nearly every article of clothing she wore.
“Perception is everything, Nick,” she said, jolting me from my thoughts.
Her voice was soft and delicate as she spoke with conviction that only those in a courthouse for the prosecution would have appreciated.
“We can’t taint ourselves with such an ugly word like divorce this time of year. What will people think?”
She was always more worried about what other people thought than doing what was right for us, me, or even herself. It came as natural as breathing for her. “They’ll think our marriage is dead. Which it is. So, bingo for them. Maybe I’ll pass out cigars.”
“Don’t be disgusting.” She shook her head, her ponytail swaying with the movement. “You’ve waited this long. You can wait until after the holidays.”
I could do a lot of things, but it didn’t mean I was going to. Take jumping out of an airplane, for instance. I could do that, but my brain cells were still working, so I’d have to pass on possibly spraining an ankle, or worse, plummeting to my death.
But she wanted this. Bad. So bad, in fact, that she’d do whatever it took.
I’d bet my last dollar on that fact alone.
“Fine,” I lamented. I’d give her what she wanted, but she was going to give me something in return.
“I’ll tell my lawyer to wait until January.
But if we’re going to put on a show outside this house for our friends, then I want you to put on a show inside this house too. I want you to try.”
She swallowed.
“Try to make this holiday season what it once was, maybe even better,” I declared.
Clearing her throat, she pushed her chair out. Carefully. Slowly. It barely made a sound on the white oak hardwood flooring. “Don’t be ridiculous, Nick.”
She was going to get up and leave, putting an end to this conversation just because she didn’t like the direction it was taking. But she underestimated me. Either that, or it slipped her mind that I could almost always anticipate her next move.
Beating her to the punch, I stood up and leaned forward, placing my hands firmly on the table with enough force to drive it into the ground. “Say you agree, Candy, or I don’t wait.”
Releasing an exasperated sigh, she stood so we were staring each other straight in the eyes.
She leaned forward, and the smell of her perfume intoxicated me.
She still wore the first scent I’d bought her for our wedding.
I’d described Candy to a salesgirl in the store, and she’d picked the perfect combination of notes, something as soft and feminine as the woman who I’d chosen to be my bride.
Over the years, that woman had changed, but the perfume hadn’t.
Finally, Candy narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips, lips that I would give anything to feel against my own again.
I wasn’t one to keep a calendar or remember things like this, so I couldn’t pinpoint exactly how long it had been since we’d last kissed, but even a day was too damn long, in my opinion.
“I agree. I’ll call the decorators tomorrow and make sure they decorate early.
The whole place will be as festive as ever. ”
A few inches. That was all I’d need to lean in and claim her lips. Not that I’d do it. With the passion she had been able to muster lately, it would have been like kissing a fish. “I’m not just talking about materialistic shit, Candy.”
She nodded and backed up, prepared to leave, turning those few inches into what felt like miles. Remaining dignified, she replied, “I know that, but I need the materialistic shit, Nick, if you want me to act like I’m in the spirit of the season.”
Interesting. She could turn it on like a faucet for all of our friends anytime we went anywhere, but inside the walls of our penthouse, she needed more.
I only hoped that she was going to take this seriously because it was but a small request for all the years we’d shared together. In truth, though, it felt like there’d have to be a Christmas miracle for that to happen.