Page 1 of Matchmaking Under the Mistletoe

CHAPTER 1

MILLIE

Iknow people always say the holidays are the most wonderful time of the year, but as I drive away from the life I’ve spent the last ten years building, I have to admit I’m not feeling too holly jolly. I’m usually all about the holiday cheer, but something about discovering my husband—or I guess as of yesterday afternoon, my now ex-husband—was sleeping with not only one, but three of his assistants, makes me start to understand why the Grinch stole Christmas.

I flip through the radio stations, trying to find something fitting for the frustration flowing through my veins, only to be met with staticky renditions of “Santa Baby” and “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” coming through the speakers of my old Honda Civic. Really? Where’s the “Should’ve Said No” and “Goodbye Earl” energy when I need it? I curse myself for never pestering Allen to buy me a new car with Bluetooth over the years, but since he kept a private driver for both of us, he never saw the need.

Frustrated with the lack of options on the radio, I click the sound off and drive in silence until I hear my phone ring. Seeing my sister’s name flash across the caller ID, I tap the green button to accept her call.

“Hey, sis. I just saw your text to call you. What’s up? I haven’t heard from you in forever. Are you okay?” my sister, Lizzie, asks without taking a breath or giving me time to answer any of her previous questions. That’s Lizzie though. She’s two years younger than me, and she always runs ten thousand miles a minute. I feel a pang in my chest when I think about how long it’s been since I heard her voice, considering we were always close before I married Allen.

“Hey, Liz. I’m fine. Or at least physically, I guess,” I say, blowing out a breath, not even sure where to start explaining all the shit that went down over the last few weeks.

“What’s wrong? I swear to God if Allen the Asshole hurt you, I’ll…” she starts, and I know I need to stop her or I’ll never get it out.

“I found out last month he was screwing all three of his assistants,” I explode and wait to see how she’ll respond. The line is oddly quiet, and I’m about to check to see if my phone lost service before I hear her scream.

“HE DID WHAT? I swear to God, Mills, you have to be joking. You’re joking right? What the actual hell was he thinking?” she asks, her fury palpable even through the phone.

“Definitely not kidding. I don’t know what he was thinking other than being sure none of us would ever find out about the others. Obviously, they all knew he was married, but I don’t blame them for falling for his act. You and I both know how charming he can be when he wants to. He told them I was leaving him. He even said I was cheating on him with the pool boy. Lizzie, we didn't even have a pool. Anyway, like I said, this one’s all on him. It’s not their fault I married a cheating asshole. Apparently, they realized he was sneaking around with all three of them, because they all filed sexual harassment charges against him. That’s how I found out. Even his millions won’t be able to get him out of this one,” I mutter bitterly.

“Oh my God. That no good, cheating, man-whore! The little, slimy prick better hope I don’t ever see his greasy headed self ever again or it’s game on. Wait, Mills, what the hell do you mean this happened a month ago? Why didn’t you call me sooner?” my sister asks, and I don’t miss the hurt in her voice.

“I’m sorry, Lizzie. I picked up my phone to call you probably a hundred times over the last month, but I just feel so stupid. It was like talking about it made it real, and I just wasn’t ready to deal with it. But Allen threw his money around to ensure it was fast. He didn’t even fight for me. He just walked in the door the day I found out, took one look at me, and told me he’d get the paperwork drawn up. I mean, I was leaving his ass anyway, but it was like the last ten years meant nothing to him. I guess I just needed time to process,” I admit, trying to ignore the hurt in my chest at the admission.

“Mills, you’re so much better than that man deserves. You better have taken every dime he’s ever made. I can’t believe the nerve of that…” My sister continues calling Allen every name she can think of, and I find myself smiling a bit despite all the shit that’s happened over the last month.

“I know you’re right. I’ll be okay. I’ve been suspicious for the last year or so. I’ve barely seen the man, other than at the charity events he’s had me hosting for him. I just didn’t expect it to blow up like this,” I admit.

“Listen, Mills, I’ve held back over the last few years because I wanted you to be happy, but my God, the nerve of that bastard. First, he whisks you away from me and the rest of your friends, then he doesn’t let you work just to put you in charge of his social events so he can show you off like some bullshit trophy wife. And that would have been fine if it’s what you wanted, but you and I both know that wasn’t the case. And then he pulls this? I think the fuck not,” she says angrily.

As much as I hate to admit it, she’s right. I met Allen when I was a junior in college, and I fell head over heels. He was a few years older and in town for a fundraising event at the university. He’d already started his successful real estate company, and he was recently named inForbesThirty under Thirty. Lizzie and I had just lost our mom, and I was craving security and stability after it felt like our lives had been torn apart. By our fourth date, Allen was talking about getting married, and six months after I met him I dropped out of classes to move to D.C. with him.

At first, I thought he was being sweet by telling me I didn’t need to worry about working, but as the years went on, he made it clear that he believed a woman’s place is at home taking care of her family. It wasn’t until years later that I realized what a narcissistic, misogynistic bastard I married. But by that time, it was too late. In the span of a few months, I’d allowed him to completely alter the course of my life, and if I’m really honest, I’ve been floundering ever since.

“I know, I know. I still can’t believe I didn’t see it earlier. But as horrible as the whole thing might have been, I think it was the wake up call I needed. We may have been married on paper for the last few years, but I think it ended a long time ago. Anyway, I’m finally leaving the city now that we’re done with the lawyers,” I say, hoping I don’t sound as defeated as I feel.

“Where are you going to go?” my sister asks curiously.

“Honestly, I have no idea. If you were in the States I’d come visit you, but even though we signed the papers last night to finalize everything, there are some details with the bank we’re waiting to get worked out. Gosh, I wish Paris wasn’t a ten-hour flight,” I groan, honking my horn when an eighteen wheeler swaps lanes in front of me without warning.

“Gosh, tell me about it. But you know you’re welcome here whenever. Once you start to get everything figured out, you haveto come see me. But that doesn’t answer the question of where you’re heading.”

“Honestly, I don’t care where I end up. I just knew I had to get the hell out of D.C. If I had to spend one more day looking at that damned apartment, I was going to lose my mind. Plus, all of my so-called friends took Allen’s side in the divorce, so there’s nothing left there for me anymore. I packed up everything the minute we signed the papers, and I got the heck out. I just started driving south, and I spent the night in a hotel somewhere in the Carolinas. Pretty sure I’m coming through Alabama right now. I’ve always wanted to be by the water. Maybe I’ll make it to Florida,” I tell her, glancing at the GPS, trying to get a better idea of where I am.

“I understand. Just let me know where you end up. You know, I’ve missed you, sis. I just hate that you’re hurting. I wish I had just a minute alone in a room with that son of a bitch. He would deserve every bit of what’s coming to him,” she fumes, and I can’t help the laughter that bubbles out of me.

“Anyway, I need to focus on something else right now. How’s your fancy new job? I can’t believe you’re working for Becky Moreau! Her gowns are incredible,” I continue, trying to infuse my voice with as much enthusiasm as I can muster.

“Oh my gosh, the new job has been amazing. I was worried that working for Becky would be like a scene out ofThe Devil Wears Prada,but she and the team have been so kind and helpful. I can’t believe I actually get to work on designs that will be on the runway for Fashion Week. It just doesn’t even feel real,” Lizzie exclaims, and relief swells in my chest that at least one of us decided to chase our dreams.

For as long as I can remember, my sister has wanted to work with a major fashion corporation. It seemed like a pretty unattainable goal when we were growing up being raised by a single mom in Atlanta, but like she always does, Lizzie founda way to make it work. She’s like our mom in that way; when there was something she really wanted, there was nothing and no one that would stand in her way. She spent years developing an incredible portfolio along with a substantial social media following, which eventually led to her getting the opportunity to work for one of the biggest fashion designers in the world. I feel a pang in my chest thinking about the fact that a career is just another thing I allowed Allen to take away from me. What other thirty-one-year-old woman do you know who hasn’t worked since she was in college? When I think about the last ten years after everything I’ve learned about my ex-husband recently, I start to feel sick to my stomach.

Lizzie is still rambling about her new job when I blink myself back into the present. One thing about Lizzie is she can talk for hours. “We have this design for next season, and oh my goodness, Millie, it’s insane. It’s the most beautiful purple gown and it’s covered with millions of lavender jewels, and I know it sounds tacky, but my word, it’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen. Becky told me last week that she’s so impressed, and I have a real chance at being first in line for the Head of Design position whenever she decides to retire,” she gushes.

“Gosh, Lizzie, I’m so damn proud of you! That’s absolutely incredible,” I tell her honestly, when I hear my phone beep, warning me that my phone battery is low.

“Shit, Lizzie, I’m so sorry. My phone’s on ten percent, and I have no clue where my charger is. I don’t want to let it go completely dead, so I need to go,” I say, sighing in frustration.

---