Page 7 of Snowbound with the Santas

“Are you sure?” The staffer tilts his head and his kindly smile wavers. “Do you need me to get you anything? An ice pack, perhaps?”

I’m burning so hot that an ice pack suddenly sounds terrific. Then, behind me, a door slams. I look over my shoulder and lock eyes with Ashton. His face is twisted with fury and he adjusts his tie without breaking eye contact.

Fuck.

With so many people around, there’s not a lot he can do, but that certainly doesn’t mean I’m safe.

“Actually.” I grab the staffer's arm. “That man over there. He’s not on the guest list. I think he’s someone else staying at the lodge who’s trying to sneak in.”

The staffer follows my nod toward Ashton, then nods himself.

“Not a problem, Ma’am. I’ll take care of it.”

As he heads toward Ashton, I turn around and flee into the crowd. I need to find Mom. Given that she invited Phoebe, I highly doubt she will enjoy hearing that Ashton is here. My mother hasn’t done much for me over the years, but I can count on her hatred of Ashton to get him the fuck out of here.

At least long enough for me to think up an excuse and get out of here myself.

Barely recognizable faces swim past me as I hurry through the crowd searching for Mom. Some people smile at me, others touch my sweaty shoulder, and some even say my name as I pass. Family members or distant relatives I barely know. Something inside me shifts, and the old training from my mother rises as I search for her.

I smile and nod, forcing a calm appearance as I move from group to group seeking out my mother’s familiar face.

I come up empty.

As the host, I expected her to be neck-deep in greeting everyone while bragging about how much this party cost and how much better she is because of it.

She’s nowhere to be found.

I search from the dancers to the buffet table but continue to come up empty. The only moment of relief I get is when I glimpse Ashton through the crowd being escorted up the stairs by the staffer. At least he’s no longer in my immediate vicinity.

My searching takes me past the bar, and that trips me up.

For years I used alcohol as a crutch, and as I stand a few feet away from the bar listening to the clink of glasses and the skittering of ice, a deep, familiar yearning pulls in my gut. My racing heart slows to deep, powerful thumps and dryness sweeps down my throat.

One drink couldn’t hurt.

I deserve it after being assaulted by that bastard.

Just one drink. Something small.

Something sweet.

I need it. To calm my nerves. To keep me steady.

The urge is powerful, and I take a half-step toward the bar. Given how frayed my nerves are, it's a losing battle, and the urge to cry is raising pressure behind my eyes.

As I take another half-step forward, a dancing couple sweeps past me and lightly bumps into my shoulder. They laugh outtheir apologies and continue on their way, but the contact is enough to shock me out of my battle. I tear my gaze away from the bar and force down the incredible thirst that rose.

I need to find Mom.

It takes every drop of my willpower to leave the bar behind, but I manage it and head up the stairs. Stopping halfway, I glance back at the ballroom, but a quick scan confirms what I already knew. Mom is not here.

Maybe she’s in her room?

It’s the only place I can think of looking. Forcing a deep breath that presses every inch of the unforgiving bodice into my ribs, I hurry up the stairs and head for the elevator.

Each step sends my heart racing faster and faster, and by the time I reach the elevator, my chest is ready to explode. My dress is too tight, my skin is too hot, and even the teardrop earrings feel too heavy.

I need my mom.

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