Page 82 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

I know that you arranged for me to have the puppy. I’ve named him Jester after the name you used the night we met. I know you got him for me because you know how alone I feel in this house. Thank you.Thank you. Both he and the tree have been such a comfort. I turn on the lights every night. You’ll be happy to know that he’s already peed on Jonah’s leg twice. They say dogs can sense evil, but I’m convinced this one can sense BS.

I’m not angry with you anymore. You shouldn’t have turned me orange (obviously), but I understand why you did. Your grandmother’s not a nice person, and she’s made life hell for you and your sisters for years. I don’t blame you for wanting to stop her. You didn’t know me personally then, so even though you knew why I wanted to do the show, I get why you didn’t ditch your plan. Still, I want to share a little more about Leto’s Hands with you, so you can see how special their mission is. I’ve enclosed a pamphlet I wrote for them before coming here.

I hope you’ll come see me again, Rowan. I miss you. I want you. I know why I’m here. I know I’m supposed to pretend to be happy with one of these guys, but I don’t want to do that anymore. I still want to help Leto’s Hands, but maybe I can figure out a different way. If you come to see me, maybe we can do that together.

Love, Princess

“I’m an asshole,” I say, glancing up at Harry.

“I mean, I’m not going to tell you no,” he says, though he has the grace to look a bit sorry about it. “Are you going to look at the pamphlet?”

I do, and by the end I have tears in my eyes. Again.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” I say out loud.

Harry looks at me with something like fondness. “I think you’re falling in love.”

“I need to go to her.”

He pulls a face. “Yeah, there’s just one problem with that. The house is on lockdown. Jonah’s fault. He bribed one of the PAs to use his phone and ordered stuff from five stores downtown. Delivery. Obviously not the kind of attention we want. No one in or out at night.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

KENNEDY

I’m restless.

My tree is glowing with muted light in its place by the window, and Jester is at my feet, following me as I pace the room, back and forth, back and forth. Has Rowan read the letter? Will he respond?

I hate being cooped up in this house. It’s Monday night. On Friday, after I eliminate one more bachelor, I’ll be leaving for the ski cabin with the three remaining guys and the PAs, but that thought doesn’t comfort me because it means I definitely won’t be seeinghim.Of course, even if Rowan did try to visit me here, one of the PAs would turn him away. It’s Jonah’s fault, and I can’t help feeling bitter toward him—and the necessity of letting him stay. It was the right choice because now Harry has a chance to stage his coup, but I still don’t like it. I definitely didn’t like the smug look on his face while he gave a five-minute speech on purity at dinner last night. It was him, me, and Colton, and none of us had much to say afterward. I mean, what is there to say after a man who’s obviously not a virgin has told you, at length, why everyone should be one?

Jester gives my ankle a sloppy kiss, and I pause in my pacing and pick him up, feeling a surge of joy from the sight of hisadorable, crinkly face. His short fur is like soft velvet under my fingers.

“I’d be lost without you, buddy,” I tell him, and he licks my nose, wildly shaking his little nub of a tail.

He needs to go out several times a night, but with the new lockdown, I’m told that I can only let him use his puppy pads. I can’t help but wonder if Nana Mayberry did this purposefully—not just to keep Jonah where she can control him but also to keepall of usin assigned spaces and firmly under her control.

I set Jester down and sit on the bed. Maybe I’ll read my holiday romance again. Maybe I’ll give the Labelles’ Mary-Kate and Ashley collection a go. Heck, maybe I’m bored enough that I’ll read Jonah Highbury the First’s biography in full. Last time, I stopped after he divorced his first wife for gaining weight.

She was pregnant.

Jester gives a little yelp, his version of a bark, and wags his nub of a tail as he approaches the window where I have the Christmas tree displayed.

“You like Christmas as much as I do, bud?” I ask.

His response is to whimper.

That’s when I hear a tapping on the window.

Fear spikes through my blood. I live in Chicago, and even though it’s in a nice building—the kind with a doorman—I know it’s not good news when someone shows up at your window in the middle of the night.

There’s that slight tapping again.

Is an intruder trying to break in?

I glance around wildly, looking for anything I can use as a weapon, but there’s nothing. Then my eyes alight on the star on the little tree. It’s small but spiked, and it certainly wouldn’t feel good if I jammed it into someone’s eyes.

“Get back, Jester,” I tell him, then pluck the star and move the tree. The sound is coming from just behind it.

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