Page 2 of Horns for the Holidays

I muttered my thanks and made a beeline for caffeinated salvation. The sooner I got some coffee in me, the sooner I could start pretending to be a functioning human being again.

Ten minutes and one triple shot later, I finally made it to my room—less suite than upper floor of a private villa. The door swung open, revealing a space that was equal parts luxurious and festive. A massive Christmas tree dominated one corner, its ornaments twinkling in the sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows.

I dropped my bags and moved as if in a trance, throwing open the balcony doors. The sea breeze hit me, carrying the scent of salt and sun-warmed stone. I had to admit, the view was stunning. Azure waves lapped at pristine white sand, and the balcony offered a panoramic vista of the Aegean.

For a brief moment, my exhaustion lifted. I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply, and just... existed.

The breeze kicked up, rustling plastic somewhere behind me. I turned to scan the rest of the room, and that’s when I noticed it—an enormous gift basket perched on the coffee table.

I approached warily, half-expecting it to sprout tinsel and start singing carols.

It was, if possible, even worse up close. Overflowing with tacky holiday-themed items, including a stuffed bear wearing a “Santa Baby” t-shirt. I picked through it gingerly, finding a few redeeming items—expensive wine with unpronounceable names, fancy chocolates in several flavors, and a rather nice notebook and pen set.

A card was nestled among the tissue paper. I plucked it out, recognizing the Elysia logo embossed in gold.

Ms. Scanlon,

Welcome to Sunrise at Elysia! We are thrilled to have you as our guest and look forward to discussing the exciting possibilities of our partnership with MythMatch. Please accept this small token of our appreciation. I eagerly await our meeting this evening.

Warmest regards,

Andreas Vasilakis

I tossed the card aside, scowling. A “small token,” my ass. This thing probably cost more than my monthly rent.

With a sigh, I retrieved my bag. As much as I wanted to flop into bed and sleep until my meeting, I methodically started transferring clothes to drawers and hangers instead.

“What the...” I muttered, pulling out a lump of red and green fabric.

A Christmas sweater. And not just any Christmas sweater—this monstrosity featured a grinning reindeer with a light-up nose, surrounded by sequined snowflakes. It was hideous. It was tacky.

It was exactly the kind of thing my mother would sneak into my luggage.

I could picture her slipping it into my suitcase, a sly smile on her face as she imagined me embracing the holiday spirit. As if an itchy sweater could melt my Grinch-like heart.

My fingers tightened on the scratchy yarn. Last Christmas flashed through my mind—Ryan down on one knee, a ring glittering in the twinkling lights of our sad little tree. His promises of forever whispered against my skin as we dreamed up a honeymoon frolicking on the beach of some Mediterranean seaside resort.

Then New Year’s Eve. Stumbling home early, sick of the party. Finding him in our bed. Balls-deep in his coworker.

Red-hot anger surged through me. I balled up the sweater and shoved it deep into a drawer. The slam echoed through the suite, matching the throbbing in my temples.

This week was going to be torture.

My phone buzzed. I fished it out of my pocket, grimacing as I saw the name on the screen.

Kotos Mavridis.

Meeting with Andreas tomorrow, 9AM sharp. Don’t be late. Have you arrived, or should I send for someone capable of overcoming routine travel hurdles?

My fingers trembled as I stared at the screen. That arrogant, condescending?—

I bit back a scream of frustration. As if I had any control over freak storms or mechanical failures. But fuck me for keeping him updated on the delays to my arrival.

Work pressure. Unwanted holiday cheer. My boss’s thinly veiled insults. It all swirled together in a toxic cocktail of rage and sleep deprivation.

My gaze landed on the gift basket. Without thinking, I snatched up a perfectly round orange and stormed to the balcony. I drew back my arm and hurled the fruit with every ounce of pent-up fury in my body.

“Merry fucking Christmas!” I shouted as it sailed over the railing.

---