Chapter Thirteen
Donovan
“Happy Christmas.” Later that same day, I greeted Tulya as she made her way out of her room in a red dress, fitted on top and a bit flowy on the bottom. I didn’t know what it was called other than perfect. This woman had been tantalizing me in a new and bold way since the holiday party.
“Merry Christmas to you.” As she spoke, her eyes practically sparkled with lightness.
For a hurried moment, I worried about what was to come, but then I shut it down because we had now. I hoped. Pausing, I took a sip of my bourbon, silencing the rush of anxiety, need, and want coursing through me at the quick flash of her strappy silver stilettos.
“Cheers,” she said, taking note of my beverage.
“I ordered a bottle of red,” I said, waving my palm toward the bar.
“Thank you.” I watched her walk toward the counter with glasses and the vino, and the need to touch her hit me like a thunderbolt in the chest, not that I knew what it felt like other than seeing it in the movies. Lord, I was a heap of hormones and errant thoughts when it came to Tulya.
“We can have a glass here or…take it downstairs with us?” I finally gathered myself and asked. My tone came out like a question—I wanted her to know this night was about her.
“I’d love to have a glass on the balcony.” She turned to look at me. “Is that okay? Will we still be on time for dinner?”
“We can eat at any time. They’re holding our table.”
She tilted the already opened bottle and poured into the wide-mouthed glass. Taking a sniff, she swallowed a taste. I watched, like the voyeur I’d become.
“Come on,” she said, strolling by me, taking my hand in hers and leading the way to the sliding glass door.
My feet obeyed. A smitten soldier I was.
“One thing Rubia doesn’t have…a warm Christmas,” Tulya rambled, her voice tender.
“You look beautiful,” I whispered, walking to her side, my free hand coming to rest on her hip.
We stood there staring at one another.
“I bought this in the store downstairs. I was holding out hope of being home for the holiday when packing.” A small laugh escaped her as she admitted this, and I wished she giggled more. Tulya tended to be serious, but I imagined that growing up with her mother, there was no other way to be.
“It’s made for you. The dress.” I stumbled over my words.
“I guess somewhere deep inside I knew we would still be here, and the holiday with my family wasn’t happening. Anyway, a good excuse to shop.” Despite her laughing off the circumstances, I felt her sadness at being away.
A small wisp of her hair came free from the tight bun she wore at the nape of her neck, and my hand didn’t wait for direction—my fingers reached out of their own volition and brushed it away from her face.
“I’m sorry you’re not home either,” I whispered, but it was a lie.
“Thank you for making it special. Dinner, the wine, time by the pool.”
“Tulya.” Her name came out on a breath. “You are the one making it special because you’re you. Please don’t forget that, no matter what happens.”
A sudden sense of doom ran through me. It could be because of how much I wanted this woman. And there was no scenario where that worked long term. Or it might be what lay ahead of us. Or both.
“I don’t want to disappoint you…or my mom…or your mom.” With each person she didn’t want to let down, her voice became softer.
“You won’t,” I said before my hand left her hip and gathered her close by the nape of her neck and gathered her in for a kiss. My mouth melded to hers and she kissed me back as fervently as my lips were savoring her.
We stayed like that for a while, our mouths leading the way, hopefully setting an example for other parts, until a brisk wind pushed by us. I felt a chill run through Tulya and pulled back from her body, placing my forehead on hers. “You’re cold,” I stated.
She leaned into me in rebuttal, stealing my body heat without any words.
“May be my happiest Christmas ever,” I admitted. I didn’t give a shit anymore. I wanted Tulya in my bed—even if it was for only one night. I knew that made me some kind of selfish prick, but she wasn’t immune to me, and she also knew the standards set by our mothers.
Again, my brain was a jumbled mess, thinking like a teenager on a dead-end path. Why do I fear my mother?
“Dinner?” Tulya put me out of misery after taking the final swig of her wine.
I nodded and this time I took her hand in mine and led the way.
“Wait!” She stopped in her tracks inside the room and tugged me to the mirror. Swiping her hand over my mouth, she removed the smear of lipstick taking up residence there. “One quick second. Let me fix mine,” she said before disappearing into her room.
If she only knew how much I missed her already.
“Well, right now my mother is likely sipping a brandy, while Dad is carving the roast. I have to say this shrimp cocktail suits me better,” Tulya said at dinner.
I nodded. “I think all of this suits you better.”
“We always have a hulking roast and potatoes au gratin on Christmas Eve. It’s the one time of year Ezza allows herself to be a glutton.”
“Ezza,” I laughed while saying.
“There’s only so much I can say. My mother this and my mother that… She’s certainly overpowering even when speaking about her.”
“True, I’m sorry to agree. Tell me more,” I requested. Something about Tulya rambling set me at peace; it squashed all the anxiety coursing through my veins. I plucked a shrimp and dipped it in the cocktail sauce and waited for my date to speak.
“After we stuff ourselves silly on red meat, we go to sleep heavy and full before waking on Christmas Day, when we start all over again with a huge brunch.”
“Brunch may be the most underrated meal. It can be anything you want—breakfast food, dinner stuff, cocktails or coffee.”
Tulya smiled. “Well, now I know the way to get you to bend. A mimosa, a bagel, and perhaps some roast beef?”
I’d fallen for the easy way we joked with one another. It was simple and natural, how relationships were intended to be—not forced. “I’m a sucker for a mimosa,” I admitted with a wink.
“Our brunch is mostly breakfast foods. We always have a French toast casserole and eggs with a side of turkey bacon. There is always an offering of muffins and rolls, sweet and savory. And of course, mimosas. Then, it somewhat turns into an all-day thing, where we nibble on all the leftovers from the night before and the morning throughout the day. We don’t do a formal dinner, only graze until bedtime. ”
“Sounds fun,” I said, taking a sip of sparkling water, thinking what it would be like to celebrate with Tulya and her family.
“It’s also the only day Ezza is easygoing. We don’t expect company, and her brother goes with his wife, so we are not concerned with the Minister or his kids.”
“It makes me understand why you didn’t want to miss it. It’s the only twenty-four hours of relaxation in your house. But I’m sorry if that was overstepping…”
“No, you’re not. It’s okay,” she said quietly.
“We are from the same mold. Your mom appears to be as controlling and daunting as mine.”
“You are not wrong.”
The server saved us from going down a potentially dark and serious rabbit hole, delivering salads and replenishing our drinks.
“Gorgeous,” Tulya commented at her plate.
“If only I made you smile like a plate of greens,” I teased.
She served back the humor. “It’s the pomegranate seeds and roasted pears that do it for me.”
In another life, I could get used to this banter. Tulya made me want to forget Rubia and the expectations that went along with living there.
“What about you? What is Christmas Day like for the Malachites?”
I ran a hand through my hair, sweat forming at my neck. Between all the want and need for this woman taking up residence in my cells, coupled with the tasks in front of us, I was feeling the heat of it all.
“Honestly, the holidays are not a huge deal. My father never liked them very much and my mother gave in to his every whim. We’d do a small dinner on Christmas Eve, usually a seafood-type pasta, garlic bread, wine, and open a gift.
Growing up, Mag and I would usually play all Christmas Day with whatever was under the tree, and later video games when we were teens. That’s about it.”
“I had no idea.” Her words were soft and filled with care.
If I pressed, I bet Tulya would invite me to be with her the following year.
The promise of it did things to me I didn’t care to admit.
“My grandmother passed away on Christmas when my dad was young, and he never got over it. My mom did her best, but her loyalty always went to my father,” I tried to explain.
Tulya’s hand reached across the table and took mine in hers. I looked up at her, our gazes meeting. A fission of energy toggled us to one another in a way neither of us fully understood.
“I’m glad we’re having our own little tradition, even if it’s only for one year,” she added, squeezing my fingers. “This is setting a new bar. I may not want to do the roast and brunch next year.”
I swallowed every emotion lodged in my throat. How I wished this could be a forever tradition. I was liking this too much—Tulya, Florida, the dress, cocktails, the holiday chatter, every fucking thing.
“Actually, I was somewhat surprised Magnum wanted to come see Blake for the holiday, but it’s nice. Maybe he is more invested than I give him credit for. I don’t know, but this is all so new. Mag, a daughter, excitement over the holidays, you name it.”
She set down her fork; she’d been devouring her salad in a way I wished she reserved for me. She took my hand again, and the current was now electric between us.
“Um, excuse me, you’re the one who last-minute ordered and delivered half of Neiman’s to Blake’s house.”
“That’s because if I was a kid, I’d want someone to spoil me for the holidays. Speaking of,” I said, reaching into my pocket, “I had a small trick up my sleeve when it came to all my ordering and delivering, as you say.”
I pulled out a petite pouch and slid it across the table with my free hand, not even daring to remove my fingers tangled with Tulya’s.
“What? When? We didn’t say we were doing this.”
“I know, but I know this wasn’t how you hoped to spend the occasion. Or quite frankly, you hadn’t wanted to be here at all. So, I tried to do something to cheer you up.” It was already more than I liked to admit aloud, but Tulya unnerved me.
“Thank you. I wish you’d said something. I was out shopping and didn’t even think to do gifts—”
“Open it,” I interrupted, not breathing any more life into her worry over me.
The only negative part was her taking her hand from mine so she could untie the pouch. I watched her slip out the heart-shaped earrings, a myriad of red rubies and pink sapphires, and her mouth opened to a small O.
“Donovan! No one has ever… What? These are too much.”
It was the type of reaction I’d wanted but never would admit—even on my deathbed.
“They’re… I mean, they’re… I don’t have the words.” She held the earrings and stared at them for a beat.
We’d spent the evening chatting freely, relishing one another’s company, and this was dessert for me. If I could make her this happy again and again, I would. “Put them on.”
“I feel so awful. I didn’t get you anything. I didn’t realize we were exchanging, and they’re so extravagant.”
“Stop feeling awful, I want to see them.”
Her hand shook while removing the backing of one. I admired her lithe fingers and pale pink painted nails.
Clearing my throat, I spoke again. “I know this is out of the ordinary, you being here, doing this for my family, and I wanted you to know I care. Period.” I was trying to make it seem like a thank-you gift. The words I didn’t share were how much I was beginning to care about her as a person.
Rather than go on, I watched as Tulya slid her hand up the nape of her neck and removed the stud she was wearing and placed the heart I’d selected on her ear.
“Perfect,” I murmured, and it was.
After arranging the second one on her other lobe, she put her diamond studs in the pouch and slipped it into her purse. “Thank you so much. I don’t even know what else to say,” she said, staring at me, her eyes beckoning orbs of gray.
They were my personal airstrip—I wanted to land a plane there and never leave.
She brought her wine to her lips as the server made his way back, explaining there was either a buffet or an à la carte option.
“Do you like sea bass?” Tulya quickly asked me, and I nodded.
“The sea bass for two is incredible,” our waiter interjected.
“Then we will have that and any sides you think may go well with it.” I appreciated the server’s attentiveness but didn’t want to waste my precious time with Tulya, so I hoped he understood my curtness.
“Some more sparkling water?”
This time I nodded and added, “Thanks,” before eyeing the beautiful woman across from me.
He got the message and smiled, only popping by briefly when delivering the aforementioned items.
We filled our bellies on fish, a departure from Tulya’s usual holiday fare, and allowed the alcohol to calm our nerves. So by the time we walked toward the elevator, Tulya leaned into my side, fully showing some sort of affection for me.
“What’s with the happy Christmas and not merry, by the way?” A laugh ran through her words as we waited for the elevator.
“Honestly?”
She looked at me. “Yes.”
The answer came out in a breath; it felt as if I was revealing the freaky part of my soul. “Well, in the UK, where I do increasingly more work, Happy Christmas means have a content holiday, and I really like the feeling behind that.”
She took my hand in hers and squeezed. I guess she liked it too.