Page 9 of Sebastian

“Hey there, sweetheart, don’t be scared. Come on over.”

She lingers along the fencing, her parents encouraging her forward from the other side until she stands before me. Her eyes darted to her brother, who was obliviously unloading his Christmas list onto Santa, not noticing her hesitation.

I make room for her next to her brother, who casually glances at me and comments that she’s shy before returning his attention to the big man in the red suit. Sebastian watches with curious eyes as I set her on the bench. She cautiously reaches out to touch my triple diamond drop necklace. She plays with the sparkling jewels with a soft giggle, her fear slowly melting away.

I catch Sebastian’s eye, and with a playful grin, I remark, “What can I say? The girl has good taste.”

Sebastian chuckles softly, his eyes never leaving us. Her fingers dance across the diamonds, and I can’t help but share her innocent joy. As Santa listens to her brother’s wish list, I lean closer to the little girl.

“They’re sparkly, huh?” I murmur, and she nods her head. “Do you want something sparkly for Christmas?”

Her eyes linger on Santa, debating whether to trust him. She mumbles something so softly that I can barely hear it.

I lower my head to her level and ask, “What was that, sweetheart?”

In a voice just a touch louder, she whispers, “I want a puppy.”

Sebastian, still in character as Santa, overhears and nods with a wink.

“A puppy it is, my dear. I’ll make sure you get a very special one.”

The little girl’s face lights up joyfully as they snap our Mr. and Mrs. Claus pictures. Then I frown when the elves come to collect the kids and return them to their parents before ushering up the next set.

“Santa, you can’t promise kids things like that. It’s too much for the parents to explain when they don’t get the things they wished for.”

Surely, he knows that’s how this works. Telling a fat man in a Santa suit that I wanted a real dad, a real house, and a real Christmas never worked for me. I know how disappointing it will be for these children when they don’t get what they want. Sebastian, still in his Santa persona, gives me an apologetic look.

“Didn’t Santa bring you what you wanted as a kid, Chloe?”

I look away, unwilling to meet the inquiry in his eyes and gentle tone when asking me.

“Just don’t do it, okay Santa?”

5

SEBASTIAN

As the kids tell me what they want, my attention drifts back to Chloe. The way she answered my question lingers in my mind. I can’t help but notice the subtle signs of disappointment beneath her perfect facade. Her gaze drops to the approaching kids, and her hand absentmindedly brushes her necklace as a faint frown creases her brow.

I glimpse something beneath her polished exterior, a vulnerability she conceals exceptionally well. It stirs something in me, an inkling that perhaps Chloe doesn’t have it all together as she portrays. The haunted look that briefly flickered behind her practiced smile resonates with the hollow ache I carry in my chest.

She’s a trooper, holding her own in the shenanigans I thrust upon her with very little complaint. Her nurturing side comes out as she deals with the timid kids while I portray a cheerful, happy Father Christmas, much like Papa always did. Occasionally, she touches my coat sleeve, urging me to tone it down when a sensitive or frightened child approaches. We make a better team than I initially thought we would. I didn’t think shewould do it, and if she could have squeezed by the singing elves, she would have been long gone.

At some point, I spot Paolo in the crowd, raising a glass to me in a salute, his curious gaze shifting between Chloe and me. I shake my head slightly, unwilling to admit that there’s a certain allure to these older women, something I hadn’t expected. I can see the appeal, but Chloe is a different breed entirely.

She wouldn’t chase after me even if I were on fire, and she held the bucket. In fact, she’d probably watch me burn and blame it on me for getting too close to the flames in the first place. As for my money, my name, or my connections? Chloe couldn’t care less about any of that. She’s made it abundantly clear inside the house and outside on the terrace. As we chip away at the line of kids, and it gets shorter and shorter, I notice Chloe stretching her back.

“You doing okay?” I ask as a long exhalation accompanies her stretching.

“I’m hanging in there, but I could definitely use a drink,” she murmurs while the parents argue over a child unwilling to come to us. “I don’t know how you’re doing it. You’re picking them up, chatting non-stop, and keeping up that Santa facade. I feel like I’ve been through one spin class too many.”

Ah, that’s how her ass and legs look so good in the red thing she’s wearing—spin classes. Those things thump with bass the entire time I’m at the gym on Saturday mornings. I rarely go to the side of the building, but if chicks like Chloe go, then I’ve been missing out on some possible fun.

“Nah, it’s easy when you see how excited they get. Maybe it’s because I’m basically a kid myself.”

I lean over, intentionally bumping her shoulder with my arm, and she frowns.

“That’s certainly true.”

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