Page 44 of Their Christmas Miracle

“Sir.” The waiter set Sam’s drink down, hesitated, and then added, “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He didn’t mention whether it was for their order, or to bring them their check. He probably realized, judging from the tension in the air, that it would be the latter.

Sam took a slug of his drink. It was the perfect moment for her to open her damn mouth and just set him straight. Belt out line after line of that script she’d been working on for the past few hours.

Okay, for the past few weeks.

“I’m not cheating on you,” was all that came out.

Yes, because that had been in the script, Elle. Right under the line where you lose your cool and slap him.

“Didn’t think you had it in you, babe. Fortunately, I put precautions in place for exactly this scenario.” Sam leaned in, for all the world as if she hadn’t just refuted his ridiculous claims. “Remember that prenup?”

“Prenup?”

“I’ll have my lawyer send it to your hotel room later tonight.”

“Hotel room?”

Why the hell was she just repeating things?

“Yeah. The one I went to the trouble of booking for you. It’s just a block or two down from here, so you should find it easily enough, despite your navigational issues.”

He was dangling a key from his finger. When in the hell he’d taken it out, lifted it, she didn’t know.

A slow, brutal snow storm enveloped her. White noise rose and fell around her, everything other than that single, golden key blurring into obscurity.

“Take the night, have a good cry. You can come fetch your things in the morning.” Sam downed the rest of his drink, grimaced, and gave her that same, easy smile as before.

It was that smile that had made her slide into bed with him. His eyes, too. They’d been kind, back then. A lifetime ago. They weren’t anymore. And she’d watched them change — as slowly and irrevocably as a tree grew — over the years. Watched them grow hard and lifeless.

He was still speaking, but she couldn’t hear him over the ringing in her ears. She watched her hand reach for her wine glass, grip it, bring it to her lips. She felt the cool rim touch her lips as she tipped it back. Cool, sweet-sour liquid rushed over her tongue.

He was standing now, getting to his feet. The glitter of the key caught her eye, held it. He’d set it down beside the vase holding a single rose in the center of the table. And then he was walking away, pausing to tap the key, to murmur something unintelligible in her ear before he left.

I know you’ve been cheating, Sam. I saw the text on your phone. I wasn’t snooping, it just popped up. You were in the shower, I think. I asked you about her, even mentioned her name. Just lies. Lies and more lies. Not the first, either, right? Because I know, Sam. I know you can have children. That you just don’t want to have them with—

“Excuse me?” The waiter paused, in the act of placing the bill folder on the table.

Elle stared at it, then up at him. “I didn’t ask for the bill.” The waiter glanced at the folder, began to lift it. Elle slammed her hand down on the leather, making a nearby table turn to her in surprise. “Oh no, it’s obvious you want me out of here.”

She felt heat, pressure, building behind her eyes.

The waiter tried to slide the bill folder out from under her hand, but she turned her hand into a fist and kept it in place.

“Leave it.” She hardly recognized her own voice, stiff and throttled as it was.

“Ma’m, if there was—”

“Leave it!” Elle tossed back the rest of her wine. “Your food is terrible, anyway. I wouldn’t eat here if my life depended on it.”

Her stomach grew tight. It was a horrible statement to make, but if she didn’t lash out at something — anything — that pressure building inside her felt liable to rupture her organs. She dug in her handbag and slapped her credit card on the bill folder.

The waiter retreated, returning a few seconds later with a card machine. Elle tapped against the credit card, trying to urge the furious blush warming her cheeks to subside. She failed. The man hesitated, fingers hovering over the card until Elle withdrew her hand.

“Pin.”

Elle punched it in. Her fingers trembled hard enough to make the card machine waver over the table. She brought it down, watching the incongruous messages of something connecting to something else as a new wave of tears began pricking for release.

He thought she was cheating on him? With their twenty-six-year-old neighbor? She’d maybe waved at him like once. Twice, maybe.

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