Page 11 of Filthy Rich Santas

VIVIAN: I’m looking forward to it.

Not overflowing with sisterly love, but I’ll take it. I’m even feeling a bit of a warm glow as I pocket my phone, gather up my lunch, and start to head back inside.

So of course my mother has to call and ruin it.

I almost don’t answer, but good manners and familial expectations are too deeply ingrained in me. Besides, I’ve technically still got ten minutes of my lunch break left.

I sigh, then paste a smile on my face and turn back to face the gorgeous view as I answer. I read once that it’s possible to hear a smile in your voice, so I figure I might as well stack the deck.

“Hi, Mom,” I say brightly.

“Lana,” she says, already sounding impatient. If I had to guess, she’s definitelynotsmiling. “I know you’ll be leaving soon, but I hope you haven’t finished packing.”

I make a non-committal sound and just let her talk. She just told me she hopes I haven’t finished packing, and yet if I were to admit that I haven’t, I’m sure she’d find something wrong with my procrastination.

“You need to find something presentable to wear in red,” she goes on. “We’ll have a photographer here for the annual Christmas party, and it’s important that the whole family coordinate.”

“I know, Mom. I’ve already got it covered.”

She sniffs. “Do you?Carminered, Lana. I don’t want to have to pay extra to have the photos touched up. Although, if you’ve fallen off your diet?—”

“Vivian just messaged me with a reminder,” I cut in quickly, not sure I’m up to hearing where she’s bound to go with that comment. “I’ll be ready for the party.”

“And Wade?” she asks, making me wince. “He should have something subtle, but it should tie in with the family theme. A tie in carmine would be too garish. But maybe a festive silk pocket square?”

I clear my throat. “Actually, remember when I told you that he probably wouldn’t be able to make it this year?”

“No,” she says sharply, and I can tell by the tone of her voice that she’s not denying that she remembers, but refuting what she can tell I’m about to say. “Hemustjoin us. What would it look like if you were abandoned on Christmas by your beau?”

She titters out a laugh, and my stomach ties itself into a knot.

“Sorry, Mom,” I murmur, clutching the phone a little too tightly as I stare at the horizon. “He really won’t be able to make it, though.”

It’s smoggy today, because L.A. always is, but I can still see the ocean out there, which always uplifts my spirits. Maybe because it’s an ocean that’s three thousand miles away from everything my family expects of me.

“Well, you’ll just have to talk to him,” my mother says firmly. “Or maybe I should give his parents a call? I just ran into them at the country club last weekend. If I’d known he was thinking of changing his holiday plans, I would have brought it up then.”

“No, Mom, really,” I say quickly. “Please don’t get involved. This is between Wade and me.”

“Well, see that you don’t embarrass us,” she says after a slight pause. “Now, have you forwarded your flight itinerary to your father and me?”

I take a deep breath. Then another. “You know I plan on driving out.”

She makes a disgruntled sound, annoyed as she always is when reality doesn’t match her expectations or dares to inconvenience her. “It would be faster to fly, darling. Safer as well. It may be perpetual summer over there, but winter roads in the northeast are nothing to trifle with.”

“I’ll be fine. I learned to drive on those northeastern roads,” I remind her.

“But you might be delayed,” she says sharply. Then, after a beat, “You know we’d all hate for you to miss out on the festivities due to poor road conditions.”

“I’ll be there in time for Christmas, I promise.”

“Well, we’ll need you here a bit earlier than that,” she huffs. “The party is, as always, on Christmas Eve, and we have several other social engagements we’d like you to be present for before then.”

My chest feels constricted, like I can’t draw a full breath. I rub it absently, silently reminding myself that it’s only a few weeks. Well, really much less than that, if I count the time I’ll actually have to stay under my parents’ roof, with the drive time both ways.

“I’ve mapped it out and I’ll stick to the main highways, Mom,” I reassure her. “They’ll be kept clear enough, and I’m already planning on leaving a few days early so I’ll have buffer days of travel, just in case, okay?”

“Well, I suppose it has to be,” she says, sounding exasperated but also a little distracted, like she’s already mentally moving on to whatever is next on her agenda after this conversation. “But if you come to your senses, we’d be happy to book a flight for you, even if it means paying last minute prices.”

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