Page 102 of Christmas with the Elkin Billionaires

“It’s a stone’s throw away, but I’ll wait until it’s safe. Come choose your preference.”

“Okay, give me a second.” She grabbed a couple of pillows and laid them on the floor just in case Scott rolled.

“Good idea.” Jonas nodded and took her by the hand. He led her into a large pantry behind his kitchen, which had shelves full of baking supplies and shelf-stable items and a big wine rack.

“Oooh, there’s a good red.” Rachel pointed, and just like that, Jonas took the bottle, opened it, and poured two glasses. Back in the living room, they each took a seat on either side of the sleeping toddler.

An awkward silence fell. “What do you think of the holidays?” she asked. It was the first thing that came to mind.

Jonas laughed and took a sip of wine. “What do you mean?”

“Do you like them?” She was full of spaghetti, deliciously relaxed, and ready for some not-so-serious conversation. There would be plenty of the serious kind between them. “Given how heavily decorated the resort is, your place is decidedly…spartan.”

Jonas looked around, as if noticing his place for the first time. “My grandparents were always intent on providing a magical experience for the guests here, especially during the holidays. Every holiday required thematic decorations, music, changes to the menu. It would get overwhelming, so I limited the decorations allowed in my office and residences, and well…” He waved at the room. “I might have gone a bit too far to the opposite extreme,” he finished, still chuckling. “What about you?”

“Me? I’m fifty-fifty. I like the traditions, but I don’t like the pressure. When my parents divorced, Christmas lost that magical appeal and it became all about one upping each other.”

“What about Scott?”

Rachel looked down at her son. “We had a tree last year. A small one. Not that he’d remember that and this year, I’d been so busy, I didn’t have time to set one up. Then you called about this job, and I didn’t see the point of setting up a tree in my apartment when we were going to be here.”

Her phone rang and vibrated from the depths of her purse. Rachel jumped up, wine sloshing against the rim of the glass. “Oh! Nobody calls me this late, so it’s probably—”

She rushed to the foyer table and grabbed her phone. Her mother’s name flashed on the screen. Rachel’s stomach sank as she answered the call. “Hello, Mother. Is everything okay?”

“Of course it is,” her mother said in clipped tones. “Why aren’t you here, Rachel? Christmas came and went, and you never bothered to show up.”

Rachel blinked, one hand tight around her wine glass. “We weren’t there last Christmas either, and you already know why.”

A pause. “I don’t see how that’s relevant to this year’s celebration.”

“It’s relevant, Mother. It’s all relevant.” Anger flared, bright and hot. When Rachel had announced her pregnancy, her mother had launched into a high-pressure campaign to convince her daughter to get married to a “suitable” candidate, or really anyone in the vicinity of “acceptable.” The last thing her Senator mother wanted was for her daughter to have a baby out of wedlock. When Rachel refused, she’d been banned from the house. Nothing had changed since then.

Her mother sighed as if it were Rachel who was being pushy. “It’s in your best interests to at least visit for a few days.”

Rachel let out a bitter laugh. “I don’t think it is.”

“Itis,” her mother insisted. “It’s time for you to get over our past disagreements and look to the future. I know of some nice young men who would overlook the baby issue, and you could enter a stable relationship.” The criticism still cut, even though Rachel tried to steel herself against it. “You could have more children, in time. And you could have a more serious job than that photography studio of yours.” Her mother paused, seeming to muse over something. She was more than likely thinking of her political campaigns, during which she ran on family values. Rachel being a stay-at-home mom would work well as a photo-op for that, too. She was surprised her mother hadn’t thought of it before.

“Thanks for sharing your thoughts,” Rachel said, struggling to keep her voice even. “But I’m perfectly happy with my studio.”

“Don’t be naïve, Rachel. Photography isn’t enough to sustain a family, and how are you supposed to care for Scott on such an unpredictable schedule? You can’t juggle it all. Parts of your life will start to slip through the cracks.” She’d heard the lecture before.

“I’m not marrying somebody you’ve hand-picked just to be respectable, and so that I can come back into the family fold and stop being an embarrassment to your senatorial campaign.” It was an old argument, and Rachel was tired of it. Too tired. She pushed away all her arguments and hurt feelings and the old cycles she found herself trapped in so often. “Merry Christmas, Mother.”

She ended the call and tossed the phone back in her purse, her hand trembling on her wine glass.

“Are you okay?”

Rachel turned to find Jonas standing behind her. How long had he been so close? From the expression on his face, he’d heard the entire conversation.

* * *

Jonas

Rachel flushed red as she looked down into her glass to avoid eye contact, her shoulders slumped. Jonas’s heart raced at the sight of her this way—almost resigned. What had she meant about marrying someone respectable? She drew in a deep breath and gazed up at him, forcing a smile to her lips. “I’ll be okay.”

“Your mother seems to have some strong opinions.”

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