Page 40 of Single Dad Christmas

Christmas was only a week away, and the knowledge that he’d be going to the outback property to spend it with his family was a wrench. Partly because she didn’t want to be away from him for Christmas, but mainly, because she didn’t want to be away from him at all. Not even for one night.

He’d be gone for four nights. Noah had invited her to go too, but she’d refused. It was way too early to foist herself on his family, and she could imagine how Taylor would resent her for that. Instead, Noah had booked her into the penthouse at the Fox hotel, then told her he’d planned surprises for her each day, so to sit back and enjoy. It was both thoughtful and perfect, given that she couldn’t go home to be with her family, or be with Noah.

Ares had been in touch to advise her that the official engagement announcement would be made on the morning ofChristmas Eve, so there was not much longer to enjoy living under the radar. She knew the storm it would stir up, and in some ways, being in a hotel would make that easier, because there was tighter security and guest protection, particularly somewhere like a Fox hotel.

“Okay, I think we’re ready,” he said, about a half hour later, pouring two glasses of wine and grabbing a bottle of mineral water from the fridge. “I’ll just go get Tay.” He hesitated, lines of tension radiating from his neck. “Make yourself at home.”

Louisa’s own nerves stretched and stretched, almost to breaking point, and finally, she expelled an uneven breath, moving to one of the chairs and curling her fingers around the top of it, holding on as if for dear life.

“Louisa,” Noah’s voice was deep and low, and she felt his own anxieties throbbing towards her. So much so, that she yearned to put him at ease. “This is my daughter, Taylor.”

She smiled at the teen, who wore a pair of oversized jeans and a big t-shirt, her blonde hair scraped back into a messy bun. “Hi,” Taylor said, lifting her hand in a nervous wave, though her voice was the last word in reluctance.

“Hi Taylor, I’m pleased to meet you.”

“You’ve sort of already met me, remember? The other night?”

Louisa’s eyes widened at the teen’s acerbic tone. “Well, I heard you vomit,” she volleyed back, softening her rejoinder with a kindly smile. “That’s not quite the same thing as meeting you.”

She saw Noah’s expression shift from shock to bemusement.

“Kind of,” Taylor said, awkwardly, clearly not prepared to be called on her attitude. “Anyway, whatever. I’m starving, can we eat?”

Noah gestured to the table. “Dinner’s ready.”

Taylor walked towards it, then pulled a face. “I hate pasta.”

Louisa’s heart sank. Not because she cared what Taylor thought of her, but because of how she was speaking to her father. It was so clear to her, in those few moments, that Taylor had been given the world, and was now just seeing how far she could take it. And because Noah felt bad about Amy, bad for moving Taylor halfway around the world, bad for being a Fox and having enough money and renown to be somewhat famous, meaning Taylor couldn’t live a normal, private life. Bad for all of it. So, he’d spoiled Taylor and looked past her rudeness, blaming himself instead of doing what any other parent on earth might have done and grounding her for a while.

Or maybe Louisa just really, really hated seeing Noah vulnerable to attack. Noah Fox, the man who could control a room with a single look, who was fierce and intimidating and admired by all, was being treated like dirt by his own daughter. It stank.

“Well, I love it,” Louisa smiled sweetly at both of them. “There’s garlic bread, too,” she gestured to the loaf in the centre of the table.

“Great. What a well-rounded dinner.”

Louisa’s eyes met Noah’s, and he shrugged, then shook his head a little as he took his seat.

Louisa reached for her glass of wine and took a large sip, glad for the cooling drink.

“Oh, Dad, by the way, Mom said she might be coming over for Christmas. I already told Gramma to make up a bed.”

Noah’s hands tightened visibly on his cutlery but otherwise, he didn’t react, and nor did Louisa. She was far from being jealous or insecure regarding the other woman.

“You don’t tell your grandmother to make up a bed,” Noah said, in a relaxed, conversational tone. “You speak to me, and I ask her if it suits. Gramma is not your servant.”

“Oh, well, she didn’t seem to mind.”

Noah curled some spaghetti around his fork and held Louisa’s eyes as he ate.

“What are you doing for Christmas, Louisa?” Taylor asked, her own voice sugary sweet now.

“I’m going to spend it in the city,” Louisa replied, imitating Noah’s calm, relaxed tone. Refusing to take the bait.

Despite her protestation that she didn’t like pasta, Taylor dug her fork into some spaghetti and twisted it around.

“You’re not going home?”

She thought of the press release that was in the offing and just imagined the fuss that would cause. “Definitely not.”

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