Chapter 41
Chapter Forty-One
EMMA
Christmas Day
My mom, dad, and I gather around the tree to exchange presents like we do every Christmas morning, whenever we aren’t in London or Aspen.
It’s one of the first winters where I’m not in the UK or Colorado, but that’s the last thing I wanted for more reasons than one. I begged my parents not to make me go. They barely hesitated before agreeing to stay and were more than happy to host a small gathering with close family friends instead.
My grandparents tried to nag me on the phone, and for the first time in my life, I hung up on them.
My phone vibrates, and I pick it up, thinking it might be someone from the gang, particularly Jake, who’s in Aspen.
It was odd that he and his family ended up there rather than somewhere tropical, but when I pick up my phone, my grandma’s name flashes on the screen.
I hit the red button, not ready to talk to her just yet.
Maybe not for a long time. I’m twenty-one and have no reason to depend on them for anything, nor do I need their approval of my life, and I honestly have no idea why I let them treat me the way they did for so long.
I guess part of it is that I got used to going to their place for the holidays because my father’s parents passed away when I was younger, but enough is enough. It’s almost a new year and time for a fresh start. But the only person I want to start fresh with isn’t here and still hasn’t called.
It’s been three days, and although his last gift was thoughtful, my anxiety is at an all-time high as I wonder what he might be doing today.
My attention shifts back to my dad, who’s unwrapping the vinyl records I bought him at a music shop Levi and Stevie took me to last month.
They had a great selection of old rock, including a signed vinyl by an indie eighties band my dad loves.
He carefully unwraps the box I had put in protective packaging and smiles when he realizes what it is.
Dad hugs me and gazes at the vinyl as if it’s something as precious as Mom or me, making me stifle a laugh.
Mom then opens the vintage Chanel pumps I found online that look exactly like the ones she’s wearing in a picture from when she was a teenager.
Whenever she flips through a family album, she points at the shoes, and says, “Those were the first pair of heels your grandma let me choose, and I loved them for that.”
To me, it meant that it was the first time she ever had control over her life. After she was able to feed herself, she was practically raised by nannies here before going to high school in London and then returning to New York for college.
Mom yelps when she takes the shoes out. “Oh my God.” Her eyes widen. “These are the ugliest shoes I’ve ever seen.” She smiles. “And I absolutely adore them!”
The three of us laugh. When I received them back in Driscoll, I couldn’t help but think about how terrible they looked until I remembered her story, and the look on her face was completely worth the days of searching it took to find them.
As soon as my parents hand me my present, the doorbell rings.
We all turn to each other, wondering who that might be at this hour on a holiday. Our party isn’t starting until six.
“I’ll get it,” Dad says, and walks out of the living room.
Taking a sip of my latte, I wait for him to return to open my presents when he calls me over.
“Emma, it’s for you.”
My mom raises a brow at me, and my stomach turns into knots, knowing that whatever is waiting for me is from the man I’ve been waiting to hear from again.
When I reach the door, there’s a carrier with a gift box waiting for me to sign off on the package.
Yep, definitely Grayson.
As soon as the man leaves, I stare at the red, white, and green gift box. For some reason, I’m scared of what might be waiting for me.
Someone grabs my shoulder, and I lift my eyes to the ones that match mine. My father’s eyes.
“You okay, Pumpkin?”
Nodding, I tell him the truth. “I think it’s a gift from Grayson.” His face tightens a bit. “He’s been sending me gifts with little notes, and it’s his way of communicating with me for now. He said he had to sort some things out before talking to me again.”
My dad takes a deep breath, trying to remain patient at the mention of the guy who I’m semi-seeing. He hates the way things have gone down between us, and I don’t blame him.
Dad places both hands on his hips and shakes his head. “I can tell you want to open it alone, so I’ll let you be, but so help me God, Emma. If that man hurts you in any way, I’ll kill him and make it look like an accident.”
My mouth falls open. “Jesus Christ, Dad!” I tilt my head. “Wait, is that something you can do?”
The frown he was wearing turns upside down. He laughs and walks away without answering my question.
“That is extremely disturbing,” I mutter to myself.
Reaching the kitchen counter, I unwrap the large bow on top of the gift box and open it to find another top.
Taking that top off, I find some padding around the box and two rectangular objects wrapped in Bubble Wrap.
Taking both items out, I see the card at the bottom.
Setting the gifts down, I read the note first.
Merry Christmas, Princess.
I’ll see you soon.
Wait for me.
I flip the card over. “That’s it?” I whisper. “He’ll see me soon?” I say a little too loudly and quickly cover my mouth, not wanting my mom to walk in.
Oh, this better be a good gift. My patience is running extremely thin.
Unwrapping the first gift, my movements grow slower as I recognize a familiar color and design.
He didn’t.
Slowly lifting the remainder of the Bubble Wrap, I ever so carefully place the plastic-wrapped book down and take a small step back. My eyes examine the dark green cover with intricate gold designs and gold-edged pages.
Happy, shocked tears blur my vision as I remember there’s a second one, probably another book. This time, I handle everything with extra care, not knowing what’s to come next, but it can’t possibly be—
“Oh. My. God!” I yelp.
Mom and Dad rush into the kitchen, asking me what’s wrong. I can’t seem to form any words as I point to the red cover.
My mom rounds the counter and studies the book before understanding what it is.
“This is a first edition.”
I nod.
Dad then comes around. “The Princess Bride? Why would he send you a first edition of…” Understanding washes over his features, recalling why the book is so special to me.
“There’s something else,” I say through tears, pointing to the book nearby.
Dad gapes. “If this is a first edition—”
“It’s not, that would’ve been three books.
” He lets out a breath of relief, aware of how much it would’ve cost…
Little does he know. “It’s technically a kind of first edition.
Specifically, the 1894 Illustrated Peacock Edition with illustrations done by Hugh Thomson.
” I let out a deep breath and slowly stroke the still covered book, saying, “He remembered that it was my favorite edition of Pride and Prejudice. It’s different from all the others with plain covers and, although it isn’t as rare as the first edition of the novel, which comes in a set of three volumes, this version sold thousands of copies and helped revitalize Austen’s work.
Hugh Thomson became a prominent book illustrator in the Victorian era—and oh my God, I talked about that months ago.
” My head spins at his impressive memory and the amount of money he must’ve spent on these books.
I would see this as an attempt to buy my love, but anyone who can remember my very specific favorite edition of Pride and Prejudice after months—it’s like my mind is completely turned on.
Almost all my worries disappear, but they won’t fully go away until Grayson is standing in front of me, explaining what all of this means and where he’s been.
“This must have been thousands of dollars,” Mom whispers with a small grin on her face.
“Yeah.” I wring my hands together. “It’s too much.” We haven’t even established what we are yet.
Mom laughs loudly. “Oh, hush. You should’ve seen how much money your dad spent on me when we first started dating.
” My eyes widen, and Dad shrugs, looking mighty proud of himself.
“Not that he needed to, but he had it, and he used it to buy my favorite things because he liked seeing me happy. They were always the things that mattered most to me.” Her gaze travels to mine with a look only a mother can give, and she cups my cheek.
“Just like these books.” Mom nods. “He’s smooth. ”
Chuckling, I wipe a lone tear, one of happiness combined with longing. “Yeah, he really is.”
He knew he didn’t need to leave a note. The books spoke for themselves.