Chapter 24
Chapter twenty-four
Ivan
Christmas shopping must be the most soul-destroying experience in life. It’s a task I hate every fucking year. Not that I have many people to buy for, only a few random family members.
Normally, my secretary does it. This year, she refused, telling me that I moan she makes the wrong choices, so I was to do it my bloody self. I’d threatened to fire her, and she laughed. Belly laughed.
“I dare you,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “Let’s see how long you last without me.” She was right; she’s like the wife I’ve never had―without the sex. My world would be in ruins without her keeping me right.
Which is why I’m standing in an enormous shopping center, scratching my head.
People are rushing around, laden with bags, wearing flashing jumpers and garish hats.
They bump into each other, only stopping to laugh, then smile, and wish each other a merry Christmas.
On a normal Saturday, the behavior could cause a fight―today it seems the whole of London is emitting festive cheer. Apart from me.
Great Auntie Meryl is my oldest living relative.
This Christmas Eve, she’s celebrating her ninety-eighth birthday.
She prides herself on still having all her faculties and not looking a day over eighty.
Her exceptional preservation certainly isn’t due to her good diet or exercise routine, which is ironic, considering the business I’m in.
She enjoys copious amounts of alcohol and sweet treats daily. She has done the same for decades, but her body continues to soldier on, regardless of what toxins she adds to it.
I’m outside the jewelers, looking blankly at the array of glistening rocks in the window.
What the fuck do you buy a ninety-eight-year-old?
Feeling completely uninspired by the display in the window, I scan this hellhole for another shop to browse.
Why can there not be a shop for old people: What To Buy Your Granny.
Perhaps there is a business opportunity there, I muse.
As I chuckle to myself, I wander through the congested building.
The shops converge on a central food court. Each kiosk sells a different style of cuisine, but the tables and chairs are a free for all. With my energy and patience flagging, I decide sustenance is needed to continue my ordeal.
I’m in the queue to collect my chicken fried rice when my eyes land on Amy, sitting at the furthest table, hidden away in the corner. The other three seats at her table are covered by bags stuffed full of what I assume are Christmas presents. She must have a lot of people to buy for.
Between her hands, she’s nursing an extra-large coffee cup. Every so often, she lifts it to her lips, taking the smallest sip. Her nose screws up on contact with the liquid, and she winces―steam flutters, and I imagine it burning her tongue.
Even though she’s a distance away, I see her beautiful brown eyes staring into space, completely lost in her own world.
Her blonde hair is tied back into a high ponytail, and it hangs straight down her back.
She’s bundled into a heavy winter coat. Maybe she’s unwell or maybe the world’s just colder.
“Number one–five–six,” a stern female voice barks, and I’m snapped from my staring.
“That’s me,” I say as I hand over my slip to collect my meal. “Thanks.” She grunts, then turns back to the serving hatch to pick up the next customer’s food.
Not able to see an obvious free space, I wander toward the only person I know, unsure whether it is a sensible decision. She may tell me to fuck off after our date a few months ago. I wouldn’t blame her. I was an asshole.
When I’d arranged the evening with her, my sole focus had been on getting on her good side so I could buy her gym and get her on her back.
A personal conquest. But, after spending time talking with her, my attraction to her unsettled me.
She wasn’t like the other women I’m used to dating.
She was feisty and spoke her mind. She didn’t hang off my every word.
It was both arousing and unnerving, like a dangerous dance. She stirred feelings within me that I'd never known before.
I swiftly changed tack, wishing to bring the evening to a close before I did something rash. Women never make me feel out of control, but this one does.
I stand at the end of her table, and she peeps up. Surprise flits across her face, then she drops her gaze to her coffee cup. “Hi,” she mumbles, not looking at me. Her eyes bloodshot. She’s been crying.
“Hi, are you all right?” I ask. The sight of her upset is an unwelcome one. Part of me immediately wants to make it better, whatever it is.
“Yes, I’m fine. This time of year is always difficult. You realize who you miss most,” she replies, distracted. She stands, then leans across the table and lifts a pile of bags from the seat opposite her. “Do you want to sit down?”
“Thanks.” I place the tray on the table and slide into the now clear seat. “Are you finished shopping for the day?”
She nods.
“Are you buying for a whole school?”
She giggles, and a sad smile plays on her lips. “My sister had four children. Well, only one biological one, but there’s another three stepchildren. We treat them all the same, so that means mountains of presents and a high credit card balance.”
“And I thought I had it hard having to buy for my ninety-eight-year-old aunt, who inconsiderately has her birthday on Christmas Eve. Buying a joint present for both days isn’t an option either.”
I scoop a forkful of rice from the cardboard box and pop it into my mouth. It’s barely warm and tastes like pure salt. Typical, even the lunch is joyless today.
Amy gives me a curious look.
“What?”
“After our last meeting, I’m wondering why on earth you’re sitting across the table from me. It didn’t exactly end on a positive note,” she says.
I shrug, trying to feign confidence. This woman is so straight talking, she takes my breath away.
“If my memory serves me right, I called you a fucking asshole.”
“Did you?” I reply, surprised. “I don’t remember that.”
“Definitely, but you may not have heard me because I was storming out of the restaurant at the time.” She gives me a shy smile. “Yes, that was one of the names I called you, anyway.”
“I deserved it,” I admit. “I’m sorry, Amy. My attitude was uncalled for.”
Shocked by my apology, she blinks, her eyes wide.
“It had been a lovely evening until I ruined it by being a jerk.”
Her lips part slightly, a subtle hint of disbelief playing on her face. There’s a flick of warmth in her eyes. It makes me happier than I want to admit. I don’t like needing her approval, but hell, I want it.
“Apology accepted,” she says simply.
We chat, and time slips by without us noticing.
She’s easy to talk to, with a witty sense of humor.
I hear everything about her nieces and nephews, who run rings around their father.
She talks of Christmases past and of her lost sister, recalling memories of happier times for herself as much as for me.
The way she speaks of her sister creates a warmth that fills an emptiness I didn’t know I had. Along with the grief, there’s also love. Pure, unaltered love for a woman gone but not forgotten. And damn it, the idea gives me hope, like a warm feeling spreading through my chest, that I may find that.
“Would you like help picking something for your aunt?” she asks, her eyes wide in question, hopeful even. “We can’t have her complaining about what you’ve bought her. That would be embarrassing for all involved.”
“I’d like that,” I reply, happy for an excuse to spend more time with her. For a woman who used to grate on my nerves, having her in my company is… too easy.
We collect her mountain of bags and head off in search of something suitable. As we walk through the swarm of shoppers, Amy continues to talk.
“I’ve sold the gym,” she tells me, her voice dropping to a whisper. I know this, but I don’t let on. “It was all too much. I needed to draw a line and move on.”
“Sounds like a sensible decision,” I reply. “What are your plans now?”
She shrugs. “My friend, Katie, is living in America with her new partner, so I’m staying in her apartment looking after her dogs. I have a little money put aside; I don’t need to start looking for work until the new year.”
I place my hand on her arm. She turns to face me, looking up at me with a confused expression.
“Everything has changed unrecognizably in recent years. I’m not sure where I’m meant to be.” She half smiles. “Hopefully, I’ll figure it out before I’m fifty. Only a few years to go. Shall we get on with present shopping then?”
Frozen to the spot for a second, I say nothing. Just stare. She’s so real. So human and raw. A danger I don’t need in my life.
Half an hour later, I have three plastic shopping bags filled with goodies for my aunt. She’s going to be delighted.
“Thank you,” I say, as we start our goodbyes. “I really enjoyed this afternoon.”
Her cheeks flush.
Squaring my shoulders, I decide to throw caution to the wind and suggest we see each other again. Before the words can leave my mouth, a shrill female voice interrupts us.
“Ivan,” it calls, and my skin crawls. Shit, it’s her.
I turn to see Virginia Walstead tottering toward us on ankle-breaking heels in an insanely short tweed dress. “Ivan,” she hollers again, screeching to a stop at my shoulder. Amy’s eyes widen as she takes in the woman in front of her.
Virginia is every inch a desperate housewife, dripping in designer clothes and jewelry. Her poor old husband croaked in a sailing accident a few years ago, and since then she’s been living it up on his life insurance payout, but rumor has it that funds are running low.
“How are you, darling?” she trills, leaning toward me and kissing my cheek. “Long time, no see.” She winks at me.
Yes, the last time I saw her was after a local business event. We enjoyed a steamy night together, then I left the next morning before she woke. For the next four weeks, I ignored her calls.
Snubbing her comment, I say, “Lovely to see you, Virginia. How have you been keeping?”
“Oh, the usual. Busy, busy. Always places to be and people to meet.”
I snigger. She’s actively searching for her next paycheck, and I know for a fact she’s been dating every eligible widower and bachelor in the city. I wouldn’t be surprised if she has a spreadsheet she’s ticking off as she goes until she finds the one she wants. It won’t be me.
Her focus moves to Amy, who has been watching the proceedings silently.
“And who is this?” Virginia asks. She drops her gaze to Amy’s toes, then slowly brings it back to her eyes, assessing her as she goes before she turns back to me.
“My girlfriend,” I reply spontaneously, and Amy’s mouth falls open. Virginia screws her nose up in displeasure.
“Girlfriend?” she questions. “I didn’t know you were into long-term relationships, Ivan.”
“Well, it’s early days, isn’t it, sweetheart.” I move to Amy’s side and slide my arm around her waist. “We’ve known each other for years, but only recently started dating. I’m excited to see where it will take us.”
“You’ll be coming to the club on Saturday evening then? For the Charity Christmas Ball?” I gape at her, then reorganize my features. She cocks her head to the side, waiting on an answer to my question.
“Of course,” I respond. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
Great, now I have to magic up two fucking tickets out of thin air and beg the woman standing next to me to go.
Virginia will spread this around the entire country club by nightfall. I don’t want to be rumbled as having a fake girlfriend.
Amy Corrigan is coming with me—even if I have to drag her there.