Page 370 of The Christmas Wife

Edward clears his throat and I look up. He has strange expression on his face but I’m too exhausted to decode it.

"What time do we leave tomorrow?"

18

Edward

"May I take your coat, Sir? Madam?" Otis, my grandfather’s butler looks between me and my fiancée. I slide my coat off and hand it to him, then ease Mira’s coat from her shoulders. I place it over his arm.

"This way please." He gestures toward the hallway that leads to the dining room.

"I can see myself in, Otis. Thank you."

He seems taken aback, then nods. "Of course, Sir."

I barely slept last night. And when I finally fell asleep, it was to images from my past. I broke my vows, walked away from my calling. I’d searched for that elusive peace, which I’d fooled myself into believing I had when I was part of the church. It’s only after I left, I realized I’d been running all my life.

I’m still running now—except I’ve come up against a woman who threatens to stop me in my tracks. I don’t like it. It’s a feeling I don’t relish. I don’t want to be faced with the proof of my own vulnerability. And all it took was a pair of baby bluesand a lusciously curvy figure on a woman who’s all sunshine and rainbows, despite her own unhappy past. A woman who places the happiness of her father before her own. What kind of person would push her dreams aside and bow to the call of duty? She reminds me of the man I thought I was. The man who put his vocation before anything else; the man who believed in the greater good; the man who wanted to redeem others.

He walks into the cloak room adjoining the hallway, leaving Mira and me alone. She glances up at the ceiling, which is three stories above us. The skylights are dark, but in the mornings, light pours into the entryway. In the center, two staircases curve toward each other to meet on the second-floor landing. Above that, the rooms on the third floor look down on the entryway. A massive chandelier descends from the roof, and the lights shine off the stained glass that adorns the windows on the first floor. The floor is made of marble, and there are satin drapes on the walls, interspersed with paintings of some of the great masters—all originals. The overall effect is that of wealth—the kind that has been in a family for generations. My parents weren’t poor—not materially—but my grandfather’s wealth makes them look like small business owners.

"I forgot it’s almost Christmas." Mira walks toward the Christmas tree set between the two staircases. The focal point of the entranceway, it’s almost as high as the roof and is lit up with Christmas lights and ornaments. The scent of pine is heavy in the air, but as I approach her, I detect her light, apple-blossom perfume below it. I come to a stop behind her, then lower my head and discreetly sniff. She doesn’t notice it, too intent on taking in the decorations.

"It’s gorgeous," she murmurs.

"It is," I murmur, looking at her.

"I loved opening my gift on Christmas morning. It was the one time my father was around, and I knew he’d always have something I loved."

"Gift?"

She turns to me. "Yes, my father would buy me a gift."

"What about your?—"

"Stepmother?" She shrugs. "We always pretended it was from her too, but it was obvious she never gave me much thought. Given a choice, she’d have sent me off to boarding school so I wouldn’t be around, and definitely not for Christmas morning. But it was the one thing my father refused to agree to. He’d promised my mother he’d keep me close. He also knew how much my mother had loved Christmas. And while he never had time for me otherwise, he made sure I knew I was loved during Christmas. What about you? Do you love Christmas?"

"I don’t believe in Christmas."

There was a time when I did, but when I left the priesthood, I also turned my back on the rituals, and that's all Christmas really is.

"What?" She pivots to face me. "Are you serious?" She sees the expression on my face and her jaw drops. "You are serious."

"Always."

"You don’t say?" she says in a droll voice.

"It’s the one time of the year I ensure I’m away from this city."

"Christmas is the best time of the year in London. I arrived in this city last December and found it all lit up. There were decorations up in shop windows, the pubs were festive, people on the tube smiled at each other. I thought it was the most cheerful place on earth. Then came January, and I realized it’s the only time of the year people walk around with smiles. But my first impressions remained. I ended up falling in love with the city anyway. Now I can’t wait for December and the festiveseason. It’s the one time of the year everyone in London seems almost happy."

"Exactly."

"Jeez"—she shakes her head—"should’ve guessed you’re a Grinch."

"He’s a chip off the old block, all right." Arthur's voice reaches us. Then my grandfather draws abreast.

"Edward." He nods at me.

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