Page 34 of Babies for the Christmas Grump
“Well, it does matter,” she snaps, her eyes flashing now as she finally looks at me, her expression hardened. “You’re a damn Christmas Prince to some people. And yet you act like Christmas is the worst thing in the world.”
I don’t know what to say to that. I never imagined this would come up, let alone in front of her. This is just weird.
“I wasn’t hiding it from you,” I say, but the words fall flat.
“Then why does it feel like you are?” she retorts, strained. “You’re always holding back, keeping things close to your chest. We’re supposed to be working together. But you can’t even trust me with the little stuff?”
I flinch, the truth in her words cutting deeper than I want to admit. But how could I tell her when she’s so Christmas-obsessed? It would have only become athing.
And now, with her staring at me, waiting for me to explain, I realize just how much damage that’s done.
“I wasn’t trying to shut you out,” I say, trying to smooth over the tension between us. “It’s just, this whole thing with the hotel, with everything going on, and that’s in the past. I was a child. I don’t see why it matters at all.”
She offers me a one-shouldered shrug as a smirk plays on her lips. “Well, now I need to find out more about who the Christmas Prince is.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Sunny
December 5th
So,I guess Ryder was a Christmas movie star.
The guy I’ve been dealing with, acting like he’s all spreadsheets and business meetings, was once the Christmas Prince fromSnowed in With Santa.
As in, the guy who wore a crown and flirted with snowflakes on the TV every December.
This is happening, right?
I spent the whole morning trying to wrap my head around it. Ryder, the grumpy CFO with abs of doom, was some Christmas Prince?
How does that even happen? Was he born with a golden retriever smile, or did the studio slap him into a red velvet suit and call it a day?
I’m still mad about it. Not just at him, but at myself. At how I’ve let him under my skin.
He’s been an enigma wrapped in a suit, and now I know he’s also wrapped in some seriously weird nostalgia that everyone knows about except me.
Does he get fan mail? Is there a Christmas ornament of him somewhere?
But no, I’m not going to waste time getting stuck in his weird Christmas Prince world. This hotel needs saving. I’ve got way too many things on my plate to fall down that rabbit hole.
Which brings me to the lockbox from Aunt Evie’s attic. It’s been sitting on my desk all morning, just staring at me. It knows I’m getting nowhere.
Inside are receipts, ledgers, and a mysterious letter to someone named Vincent. All of it makes me want to scream, but I force myself to stay calm.
I flip through the pages again, squinting at the numbers that seem to play hide and seek with me. There’s a pattern to this mess, but I might as well be trying to solve a Rubik’s Cube blindfolded.
Some things are missing—mostly money, or at least the explanation of where it went.
I grab the letter to Vincent, the one that seems to be a confession, and reread it. It’s odd. A little rambling. Why did Aunt Evie keep this letter? Why didn’t she send it?
I can’t stop thinking about her warning to someone she apparently no longer trusted. I feel a cold knot twist in my stomach when I read the line:Ryder… he’s the only one I trust to keep this place safe.
What did she mean by that?
I slam the letter down and lean back in my chair, rubbing my eyes. What was Aunt Evie protecting the hotel from? And why didn’t Ryder tell me about it?
Why does it feel like I’m the last one to know everything?
