Page 1 of The Mrs. Clause
Chapter One
Collins
I stood outside the London office of Knight and Del Laurentis Industries shivering in the cold air. I watched the building, my breath misting in front of my face as I hunched my shoulders, hugging my arms around myself, searching for a modicum of warmth. Even dressed in my goose down coat, wool scarf and knit hat, I couldn't seem to warm the ice flowing through my veins.
You can do this, Collins. He's only a man. He can only say no.
But that no would kill me.
I straightened my shoulders, striding through the revolving glass doors. I'd never set foot in this building before, but the signs positioned next to the elevators indicated that my destination was on the top level.
I pressed the button; the doors gliding silently shut behind me. I practiced calming techniques as it rose, taking me closer to my end goal.
At reception, a man in a stylish suit raised an eyebrow at my appearance.
"Can I help you?" His crisp British accent reminded me of just how far I was from home.
Woman up, Collins. You're here to do a job, get it done.
"I have an appointment with Mr. Del Laurentis at five o'clock."
The man typed something into the computer, his face immediately paling. "Mrs. Del Laurentis, of course. My apologies. I should have recognized you." He stood, gesturing for me to follow him to the waiting area. "Your husband is just in with a client at the moment. They won't be long. Can I take your coat? Get you a cup of tea or coffee? Perhaps a water?"
"No, I'm fine." I told him. After a brief battle I allowed him to take my coat, giving the poor boy something to do instead of hovering awkwardly. I settled on an uncomfortable chair in the waiting room; hands clasped tight in my lap.
The giant diamond on my left hand twinkled. I rarely wore my wedding ring, and not just because it was a clunky thing, always catching on fabric. My job as a yoga instructor and mindfulness coach included the occasional massage – a process that didn't allow for jewelry. The world of big diamonds and corporate buildings was as far from my every day as could be.
Hence why you came to London.
A door down the hall opened, and two men walked out. Nick and the man chatted easily, laughing as they walked down to the exit.
"Great to see you, Erik. I'll be in touch about that boat."
"Of course, Nick. Have a great Christmas." The men shook hands and clapped each other's backs before Erik, a fellow American if I picked his accent correctly, exited via the lifts.
I watched Nick turn to his receptionist, a smile still on his lips. "Has my wife arrived, Gareth?"
"Yes, sir. She's in the waiting room."
I watched Nick turn, our eyes meeting for the first time in five years. Nick looked good. No one looking at him could mistake his Italian heritage. His dark hair was stylishly windswept, his molasses eyes still brimming with intelligence and unmistakable secrets. Average height, Nick and I stood nearly eye-to-eye, something I had, once upon a time, enjoyed. But that was before our wedding. Before words were spoken that could never be taken back.
We considered each other for long moments, him expressionless, me attempting to hide my emotions. From the flush on my face, I suspected I didn't quite manage that feat.
"Shall we?" Nick finally asked, his perusal of me having reached its conclusion. I saw no reaction on his face as to whether he approved or not.
"Yes," I finally said, injecting steel into my voice. I stood, and he placed a hand on the small of my back, guiding me to his office. The heat of his palm seared through the material of my dress, sending goosebumps racing across my back.
I took a seat, surprised when he took the chair beside me instead of sitting behind the desk. He didn't touch me, but leaned forward, his hands resting absently on his lap. For some reason the small of my back continued to tingle where he'd touched me. I tried to ignore it.
"What brings you to London, Collins?"
I drew in a breath, knowing this was the moment. "I need your assistance."
He frowned. "And this brought you to London? You know you can call for anything. You're my wife, Collins. You're entitled to everything you want."
Everything except your love.
My heart ached, but I shook it off, pushing those emotions down and locking them away. This was not the time or the place to open that Pandora’s box. I reached down, pulling my handbag onto my lap and removing one of two envelopes nestled inside. I handed it over, noting my trembling hands.
