Page 34 of Pining for Christmas

I hate it. Maybe in the summer, if I attended with Saxon, something like that could be almost fun… but on Christmas Eve? All I want to do is curl up and drink hot chocolate, watch movies, and wrap last-minute gifts.

Instead I’m trapped in Hedonism Central.

“Someone’s going to drown,” I mutter, because that’s the fear that haunts me every single year. All those drunk people in the water? I’ve told Dad a million times that it’s dangerous, that something bad will happen sooner or later, but he refuses to do anything about it. Says that people sign waivers to attend, and that’s good enough.

When I was a kid, I used to watch the terrace pool from my bedroom window with binoculars glued to my eyes, my phone by my side in case I needed to call 911. I barely blinked all night, I was so worried—and I saw some stuff that I was definitely too young to see.

But Saxon’s mouth twitches, and he cracks his knuckles idly. “Want to hear a secret?”

Um, yeah. “Obviously.”

“There are undercover lifeguards. I hire them every year, and Charles—your Dad’s always too far gone to notice.”

…Huh. “That’s very sneaky of you.”

Saxon shrugs, unrepentant. “I’d rather risk a leaked photo than an accidental death. Charles may be my employer, but he doesn’t rule my conscience.”

Agreed, and wow, I feel so much lighter already. Like I can breathe properly again, drawing sweet, sweet air into my lungs.

“Dad gave me my swimsuit already.” I try not to sound too bitter, but I can’t help it. Sourness laces my words. Because who wants their own father handing them a bikini and telling them to look nice tonight? Nobody, that’s who.

I tried it on an hour ago. It fits, unfortunately, with red and white stripes like a candy cane. Although at least it’s in that retro style, with high-waisted shorts and a halter top, so every scrap of me won’t be on display.

Saxon says nothing for a long while, his jaw clenched and eyes hard. He doesn’t look at me, keeps staring right at the TV when he finally says, “You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to, Ali Cat. I’ll take care of it. Just say the word.”

And Imelt.Just like that, I turn into a big, gooey puddle on these sofa cushions, because lord, I love this man so much.

Saxon is the only one who looks out for me like this. The only person who protects me, and who cares whatIwant. He takes care of me. Nurtures me.

Loves me.

I dare to reach out and pat Saxon on the shoulder. He’s sculpted under there, sturdier than granite, and is it my imagination, or does he lean into my touch?

“It’s okay. I’ve already decided: I’ll go to the pool party tonight, and then that’s it. I’m done. Even if Dad hates me for it… I can’t do this anymore.”

Our head of security gusts out a long sigh, and when he glances over at me, his eyes are warm. “Can’t pretend I’m not relieved, Ali. If one more asshole tries to corner you, I’ll wind up with blood on my hands.”

Shouldnotfind his bloodthirstiness so sexy, but here I am. I bite my lip, practically wriggling on the sofa cushions. “Oh, yeah? You’d rough up a man just for me?”

“I’d flatten him.”

And we’re grinning at each other like goofballs, drawn toward each other across the sofa cushions, when Saxon’s earpiece crackles, then a tinny voice starts talking in his ear. I sink back, disappointed, as Saxon stands up and strides out.

One day.

I pick at a loose thread on my sleeve, stewing and cranky.

One day, I’ll be able to talk to that man endlessly, without interruption. I’ll be able to smile at him freely, without worrying how it looks to other people, and I’ll kiss him as many times as I like.

I sure hope so, anyway.

Else I’ll go mad.

* * *

The pool party is decadent and wild. Stars pulse high overhead, music throbs through the mansion grounds, and all around is the sound of splashing and laughter. It’s nearly midnight, and already the barely-clothed bodies wandering from hot tub to pool and back again are stumbling, weaving their merry way, slurring as they call out to each other.

Nearly midnight.

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