Page 34 of Miles & Mistletoe

“No wonder you’re so surly,” I stated later, as we ate our dinner in front of the fireplace.

I grinned when Ian’s fork paused halfway to his mouth. He angled his head, narrowing his gaze. My nipples pebbled beneath the sweater and lacy bra I wore.

“Surly …” He trailed off as if thinking over the adjective I’d assigned him. “I prefer straight to the point.”

I shook my head. “No. You were surly and mean. I was trying to be polite.”

“Fine. I was an ass. We’ve established that.”

I smiled, satisfied with his admission. “But now that I realize it wasn’t totally your fault, I forgive you.”

I giggled when Ian suddenly pulled me onto his lap, wrapping his arms around me. “You forgave me weeks ago.”

I sighed, but remained silent, not wanting to fully admit that he was correct. Ian was harsh upon first meeting him, but it didn’t take long to realize there was more beneath the surface with him.

“Hmmm,” I moaned, tilting my head backwards when I realized that Ian was massaging small circles into my scalp—something he often did late at night while we were in bed together. In fact, he often found one reason or another to put his fingers in my hair.

“Why do you like playing in my hair so much?” I questioned as my eyes drifted shut.

“I like it. It’s … you.”

I opened my eyes and turned to face him. “What do you mean it’s me?”

“Exactly what I said. When we first met, you were like everyone else. You plastered on a fake smile—”

“It wasn’t fake. I was doing—”

“Your job. I know. And you enjoy your job, so in that sense, yes, it was real. But it wasn’t genuine. It was the smile and presentation you gave everyone else. The same presentation you thought was acceptable given your surroundings and it was fine. For everyone else. But this …” his hand went to my hair again, stroking a few short curls, tenderly, “this is what you wear when you get a chance to just be you. It’s genuine.”

I lowered my lashes, letting his heartfelt words settle. He was right, although I’d never thought of it that way. I wore my hair, makeup, and the uniform of my job a certain way because that was what was expected. I’d been taught to cover up and smile and create a pretty picture to the outside world, even when you didn’t feel like it, at a very young age.

“I was nine when my mother met my stepdad,” I began as I leaned my head against Ian’s shoulder, snuggling into his warmth. The crackling of the fire in front of us was the only sound for a long while.

“Keep going,” he encouraged.

“My mother was young when she had me. Only nineteen. My father was her high school boyfriend. But when she told him she was pregnant, he told her it was her problem, and basically that was that. My mother made the decision to have me on her own and she struggled because of it. She worked as an administrative assistant and was just barely able to make ends meet, but we were okay … for the most part. When she received bonuses is when she would take me on trips into the city. We didn’t have much but we were close. At least, until she met her husband, William. He’s about ten years older than she is. They met at work. He’s a CFO at a major corporation in New York. From there on out, he ran the show. It no longer became okay for me to wear mismatched socks out in public, or sneakers that were old and kind of run down, or for my hair to be out of place because I’d been playing all day. We were the family of a man with power and money and had to look it. Within a year, they were married and a few months later, my mother was pregnant with my younger brother, Raymond. Once he came, my mother became consumed with all of the duties of being a stay-at-home mother, ensuring that her youngest had the best of everything. She didn’t forget about me, per se, but aside from making sure that I always well put together and went to the best schools, she neglected to check-in with me as much. You know? Just to see how I was coping with all of the changes, or normal life changes and growing up. As long as I smiled and looked okay on the outside, it was all good.”

“It’s the nature of the world we come from,” Ian said after a short while. “Look the part. Perform. Achieve. That’s what I was taught since before I can remember. Nothing else mattered but achieving and earning more power. My mother did exactly as my father wanted. Put us in the best schools, dressed us in the best of everything, and made my brother and I available to him for business meetings and lessons whenever he demanded. Theirs wasn’t a marriage so much as it was a business negotiation. She gave him what he wanted and she got to live the life she’d become accustomed to, growing up the heiress of a former luggage company. After a while it becomes difficult to differentiate between the real and the fake. That’s the real reason why I don’t have many friends. Because my father was right, as far as his world was concerned. Most of the people I came in contact with growing up would smile in your face one day and slit your throat, or have someone do it for them, the very next day if it meant they could gain something from it.”

I sighed. “It’s a terrible way to live.”

Ian grunted before pressing his lips to my forehead.

“Thank you for sharing with me, friend.”

I didn’t expect Ian to respond, so I was surprised when he replied with, “Anytime.

“I almost forgot.”

I lifted my head from his shoulder to give him a curious look. A knowing smile passed over Ian’s lips. Out of the corner of my eye I saw his right arm raise. I looked up and smiled when I saw what he held in his hand.

“We’re under the mistletoe.”

“That we are,” I agreed before leaning in and fusing my lips with Ian’s.

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