Page 19 of The Mistletoe Mystery

Once yesterday, and twice today.

#2.Is he tired all the time? Cheating takes energy!

The dark circles under his eyes, the sleeping in when he’s never done so before.

#3.Does he give you gifts out of guilt?

Every single day. The Advent calendar, each drawer filled with a new and exquisite treasure. I thought it was generosity, but what if it’s something else entirely?

The floor beneath my feet starts to tilt again. I push Cheryl’s magazine back into her hands and grip the maid’s trolley in an effort to remain upright.

“Most princes turn out to be frogs in really good costumes,” Cheryl says, her lips curling into a smile bereft of all joy.

“It’s time for lunch,” I say. “I need a break.”

“Good idea,” says Cheryl. “Let’s take a load off.”

She ambles over to the chair by the king-sized bed and flops down on it, licking her finger and turning the pages of her trashy magazine. For the first time ever, I don’t have the strength to do anything about it.

—

Somewhere deep in my chest, my heart protests. I hear it pulsing all the way to my ears, feel it pounding against my rib cage—an empty cup clanging against iron bars. Dear heart, there is no escape—that’s what I tell it, but the message isn’t getting through. The futile protest continues.

I always believed this: that love was a safe haven, a refuge forthose lucky enough to find it. But what if I was wrong? What if love is actually a prison with no escape?

Love is the greatest gift of all.

I head downstairs to the housekeeping quarters, where I grab my coat from my locker, ignoring the paper bag lunch, which Juan made me in the hotel kitchen. He does this every day, makes me lunch, then slips the bag onto the shelf in my locker while I’m cleaning rooms upstairs.

I can’t eat, and I don’t even want to think about the contents of that paper bag, with a note tucked inside as usual:

Sweets for my sweet. Love Juan

You are the butter on my bread, the cheese in my sandwich. Love Juan

Just a few days away from a Molly Jolly Christmas! Love Juan

I put on my coat, then tromp up the stairs to the lobby. Cinnamon spice assaults my nostrils the second I ascend the final tread. The Christmas tree, so majestic just a few hours ago, suddenly looks sinister. It’s only a matter of time until its needles drop and it’s hauled to the curb—used up, discarded forever. Does this same fate await me?

Think the best, not the worst.

I’m doing it again, jumping to conclusions, rushing ahead before I really understand what it is that’s happening. Juan deserves the benefit of the doubt. I must speak to him as soon aspossible, once we’re done with our shifts for the day. I must tell him what I’ve witnessed, ask him directly what he’s been up to. Surely there’s some explanation, some obvious facts I’ve managed to misinterpret.

Keep calm and carry on.

I march through the lobby and the cliques of jubilant guests vibrating with Christmas cheer and make my way out the revolving front doors. I rush down the red-carpeted steps before my gran-dad can stop me. I have an errand to run, and the fresh air will clear my head.

It takes eighteen minutes of brisk walking until I’m standing in front of the jewelry store that Juan and I walked by just yesterday. I pull open the door and walk in.

A pretty shopkeeper wearing a festive, form-fitting dress recognizes me right away.

“Oh, you’re back to pick up your custom piece, right?”

“I am,” I reply. “Is it ready?”

“It is,” she answers.

She retrieves a small box from inside a cabinet, then opens it for me on the glass countertop. “Here it is. It was a simple adjustment—just a matter of changing the clasp to a T-bar.”

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