Christmas Duet: A Big City, Small Town Christmas Romance Bundle Page 8

  Our wedding records would not be published as part of the public record. Even so, I was getting twitchy with worry that somehow news would slip out. Thanks a lot for that, Harry. The thing was, I didn't need a fancy wedding so much as I just wanted to get married. Was that so much to ask? Apparently, it was.

  I would have married Jus at the airport, if that had been at all feasible.

  At one point, I even panicked, and looked up whether an airline captain could marry us. So what if we just flew over New York airspace, got married, and flew right back to Seattle? Would that count as legal?

  Unfortunately, the main answer I found seemed to be "no." Airline pilots could not. Not unless they were also a licensed celebrant of New York. Ha! I liked that word, used on many wedding websites, way better than officiant. Much happier and joyful. And even then, I wondered if just being in New York airspace would be enough.

  The last thing I wanted, or needed, was another questionably legal marriage. And just try to find a private business jet pilot licensed to perform marriages in New York and who required a second license before he or she would perform the ceremony. If that didn't raise a few eyebrows, what would? And, who, exactly, would be flying the plane during the ceremony? Would the pilot conduct it from the cockpit?

  Plus there was still the little matter of applying for the license. We couldn't do that from the air. Too bad. Online wedding applications, the wave of the future?

  Add to all this planning a wedding on top of all the Christmas parties I was responsible for. But I finally had those under control. Delegate. That was the key. Let go of any, and all, control-freak tendencies. Let the professionals handle it. Crap, I was becoming a pampered princess.

  I'd handed the children's hospital party off to a professional party planner along with a fat check and instructions to hire a genuinely kind, highly authentic Santa with a real white beard. Riggins would thank me.

  Justin's assistant Danielle had been swamped since the port closure. So now, thanks to me, the party for the employees was also in the competent hands of the same professional planner. Who'd come highly recommended, and was insanely busy and in demand. But money really does talk. And gobs of money practically screams. Which was so nice when you really need it to.

  With Magda's help—she'd helped Jus with the parties before I'd come on the scene—the party at our home for the upper management team was well in hand. The caterers were hired. The menu planned. The decorating done. The invitations out.

  And so were the myriad of holiday cards, which my assistant Andrea and I had spent the better part of two days doing.

  Now, with advent half over, my charm bracelet was laden with charms. The seemingly odd and random selection of beads Jus was giving me had puzzled me at first. But with enough beads now, a theme was emerging. Snowflakes, rosebuds, flowers, a fairy, a toy soldier, a glass bead from Spain, a color-changing alexandrite bead from Russia, a queen's crown, a mouse, and a flute. Unless I missed my guess, he would give me a nutcracker bead on Christmas Eve.

  I got tears thinking about him sweetly planning this advent bracelet while being crazy busy with peak. Jus was like that, always spoiling me. I didn't really deserve him.

  I loved The Nutcracker and the music that accompanied it. The story was so romantic. A nutcracker becoming a prince. Fairies and candy and magic!

  When I was little, my parents played the music for me while I danced around in my nightgown pretending to be Clara. I played the DVD of the ballet at least half a dozen times each Christmas season.

  I took ballet lessons through elementary school. At one point I'd dreamed of joining the Pacific Northwest Ballet and getting the lead part. Sadly, I was neither good enough nor dedicated enough. Then junior high hit and other things had occupied my mind. Like boys.

  I wondered how Jus knew. He must have asked Britt.

  Jus was such a romantic! For a guy who'd never dated anyone but me, and not even really me when you got down to it, he was so sweetly thoughtful. It was a skill I wanted to learn. Hard as I tried, I never seemed to find a way to outdo him. Not that it was a competition. But I wanted him to know that I loved him as much as he loved me. I was willing to spend a lifetime showing him. I wanted to spoil him as much as he spoiled me. He had the upper hand—way more resources. I vowed to use what I had to give him all those intangible things. Things money couldn't buy.

  When you were wealthy, it was never a given that people were truly your friends. Or that your spouse genuinely loved you. What if they were just pretending to get to your money and influence?

  I was going to give Jus love, trust, security, loyalty, and friendship until my dying breath. I wanted him to know that I was the one person in this world that would love him if he were broke.

  Riggins' awful threats to back out of covering for Jus on Christmas Eve if I didn't spring my surprise on Jus before this coming Monday, December 15th, had gotten me thinking. Since I couldn't surprise Jus the way I'd originally planned, I would have to do something else romantic. And then the obvious had occurred to me—I would ask Jus to marry me. Yes, issue a real marriage proposal. While we were out on a special Christmas season date.

  Time was ticking. Each new advent bead Jus gave me for my bracelet marked another day down. The pressure of being as romantic as Jus was mounting. And Jus was so busy, I was having a hard time getting any time with him at all.

  So…when Jus suddenly announced he was taking Saturday off to take me downtown to see the annual gingerbread house display that supported juvenile diabetes research, I realized I was going to have to seize my chance. Jus went every year and quietly made a generous donation. Jus loved children, and, having been bullied himself when he was growing up, was especially sympathetic to children who had special needs or circumstances.

  Actually, this was perfect! I went every year, too. Usually with Britt and our group of friends. We were always in awe of the elaborate concoctions sponsored by local architecture and design firms and made by local master bakers and pastry chefs from the top restaurants around the area. Seeing the displays brought back the holiday excitement of being a girl again.

  Time alone with Jus was precious this holiday season, a gift in itself. I was going to make it something we'd always remember.

  Every year the gingerbread display had a different theme. I looked this year's theme up—classic Christmas music. Each gingerbread "house" had to represent a popular Christmas song or piece of music. And what do you know? One of the groups had done "Winter Wonderland"!

  Perfect. It couldn't have played into my hands better if I had planned it. I would propose, quietly, a mere whisper in his ear, at the gingerbread display! Maybe not even a whisper. Maybe I should give him a card?

  The pressure to make a beautiful, romantic proposal was astounding. How did guys do it? How did they handle it? Plus keeping it a secret? I was already about to burst.

  The thought of a public proposal was thrilling, adventurous, and daring. There wasn't much chance of me getting down on one knee. In my current preggo state, I would be lucky to get back up again. My center of gravity had shifted and I lost my balance easily. Just another hazard of bringing a new life into the world. And I couldn't give our secret away.

  But on one knee or not, it wasn't so much about the proposal as the gift and the thought behind it. Jus was going to be so surprised and happy! It was going to be a beautiful thing.

  Saturday, December 13th

  Justin

  It was hard to say what was up with Riggins. Or why he'd been so insistent I tell Kay about The Nutcracker. He brought it up again on Monday when I got into work. Before I'd even opened my first can of energy drink. Don't get me before I've had at least one can, or several cups of coffee. When I pushed back, telling him to butt the hell out, he'd laughed. And given me a knowing look, as if he knew something I didn't.

  "Surprises have a way of biting the giver in the butt," he said. "Personally, I don't like surprises. I have it on good authority that this wouldn't be t
he best time to spring one on Kayla." He gave me a wink-wink-nod-nod kind of look.

  I'd frowned at him. "What the hell are you talking about? What do you know that I don't?"

  He'd grabbed my energy drink, popped it open, and handed it to me. "You're really slow before your first round of sugar and caffeine in the morning. A word to the wise is all."

  I'd been hinting about The Nutcracker to Kay through the bracelet and round beads I'd been giving her for advent. My original plan had been to give her the nutcracker bead on the 23rd, and on Christmas Eve a diamond tiara for her to wear to the show.

  I didn't see the harm in surprising her. I mean, hell, who else was she going to spend Christmas Eve with? I'd gotten my family's buy-in and hers. They were all keeping it from her. So what was the problem? Who was going to upset my plans?

  Riggins thought he knew women so much better than I did. But who was the guy who had the hot blond way out of his league for his wife? Yeah, right, Riggs.

  Riggins slapped me on the back. "Women like to know about these kinds of plans ahead of time. So they can make an appointment to have their hair and makeup done. Get a manicure. Find shoes to go with the dress.

  "Part of the fun for women is all the pampering and preparation leading up to the event," Riggins had argued. "Do you want to deprive her of that part of the fun? Don't you want her to feel like she looks her best?

  "What happens if you surprise her in the middle of a bad hair day? Or right after she comes home sweaty from the gym and needs hours to get ready, not minutes? Whenever you go out, Kayla is going to be in the spotlight and under scrutiny. The public wants a fashion icon. Kayla is now as much the face of Flash as you are. And with an extra dose of pressure to look the part. No, bad plan, my boy.

  "Happy women are horny women," he'd said with a grin. "If you don't tell her soon, her hair stylist will be booked. And all the money in the world won't get her an appointment. Just saying."

  Damn him. He made a decent point. Maybe a surprise wasn't in my best interest. Maybe the anticipation was part of the fun. So I'd looked around for a romantic, holiday way of springing the surprise on her. And gotten lucky. The annual gingerbread display downtown featured a Nutcracker-themed house. Her mom had told me Kay loved that display. She'd gone almost every year since she was little. First with her parents, then with her friends. And it was time to make my annual appearance, anyway.

  I made time to take Saturday off and take her. I would spring my surprise in front of The Nutcracker display.

  Kayla

  Was proposing on the 13th unlucky? I didn't know. But my heart beat out of control as I held Justin's hand and waited in line to get into the gingerbread village. The display was in a hotel lobby, set up so visitors could walk completely around it and see both front and back of the impressive gingerbread buildings. These weren’t your run-of-the-mill gingerbread houses. These were massive constructions, some five or six feet tall and half that wide. Lighted, with motors animating parts of the scenes that wrapped around all sides.

  More than a display, it was a competition. Each of the eight to ten entries vied for votes, which you texted in. I had never quite figured out what the winner got. All the money raised went to fund juvenile diabetes research. Prestige, maybe? Bragging rights?

  A large, clear glass donation box sat at the entrance to the cordoned-off village. You could drop money in or text in your donation. There was no required entry fee, but donations were encouraged. Every year I thought the same thing—you had to see the sense of humor, or irony, or whatever you wanted to call it in concoctions made of sugar and candy raising money for diabetes research.

  The hotel lobby sparkled with Christmas decorations and crystal chandeliers. It was a high-end hotel with granite countertops and gold fixtures. The staff dressed in suits. Christmas music played quietly in the background.

  While we waited in line, a volunteer came by and passed out candy canes to the children and five-dollar gift cards to a local coffee shop to the adults.

  Jus quietly stuffed a hundred-dollar bill in the donation box. If I knew Jus, he hadn't done it to be showy. He'd done it to encourage others to be generous. He had his cellphone in his hand. He turned away for a second. I was sure he'd texted in his generous annual donation.

  Our turn came up as the line moved and we inched in front of the display. I smiled as the gingerbread village came into view. Who could be uncheered by the sight of cookie and candy buildings? Every year I felt the same sense of wonder. It was like being a child again, full of candy-cane dreams and magic.

  The line moved slowly, as people paused to take pictures and bend down and peer into tiny hard-candy windows. The first house was based on "Santa Claus is Comin' to Town."

  "Look, Jus!" I squeezed his hand. "Look at Santa going down the chimney. Do you think he's going to make it?"

  Jus grinned. "He's pretty jolly and fat. My bet is not without a hefty dose of Christmas magic."

  I bent down to look inside. As well as I could, anyway. It was hard when you had to bend around a baby person at your waist. "There's even soot on the hearth and cookies waiting for him."

  Jus leaned beside me, his warm hand on my back.

  "Next year you'll get to play Santa," I whispered to him.

  "I better start eating cookies now." His eyes twinkled. How merry!

  I shook my head and put my hand on his rock-hard abs. "Don't even think about it. I like these the way they are."

  So far, we had managed to avoid the paparazzi. Seattle was tolerant of her billionaires, giving them their space and privacy. At least when they were in their regular neighborhood hangouts. But this was a public event that Jus attended every year. An event that would welcome media coverage. Though we hadn't announced our visit ahead of time, we were still fair game. Which added to the thrill, and danger, of proposing to Jus.

  I crossed my fingers, hoping to avoid the press entirely.

  Jus and I made our way slowly along the row of gingerbread buildings, laughing and commenting on each. Jus tended to comment more on the structural aspects of the designs, marveling at getting a four- or five-story building made out of cookie to stand.

  I was in agreement, but for a different reason. "They must control the climate in here. Otherwise, how do these creations not get soggy and collapse? Every gingerbread house I've ever built, even ones made of graham crackers, has gotten soggy and collapsed within days. No matter how crisp it is at first."

  I was running off at the mouth, talking about anything to cover my nerves and the pounding of my heart in my ears as we approached the Winter Wonderland display. I hoped Jus didn't notice my anxiety and excitement. Or the way I was trying not to be obvious as I kept an eye out for reporters.

  The line started on the backside of the village and wound around to end the tour on the front side of the display. Winter Wonderland was the next-to-last display in the village, giving me time to screw up my courage. But I could hardly wait!

  My breath caught when I saw the gingerbread creation. My heart squeezed. It was truly a winter wonderland. A forest of trees on a hill, sparkling with sugary snow and frost. Birds, rabbits, deer, and all manner of forest animals. A quaint cabin in the woods with a roaring fire that actually crackled and lit up. A couple cuddling in front of it. A Christmas tree in the corner. Santa on the roof.

  And best of all, a snowman in the yard wearing a clerical collar and a parson's hat. A happy couple kissing in front of him, the bride with a lacy veil made of frost. The groom with rosy cheeks.

  "Look!" I said to Jus. "Parson Brown. Isn't that romantic? They've really captured the theme of the song. I always wanted a winter wedding."

  He lifted an eyebrow comically. "You did? I thought our summer wedding was perfect." He had that teasing look on his face.

  Our "wedding" was an inside joke. Because, of course, I hadn't even been at it. And he didn't remember it.

  I rolled my eyes and kissed him lightly. "That was nice. But a winter wedding has always
been my secret fantasy. I think this one has my vote. Jus—"

  I was just reaching into my purse to hand him my handcrafted, written marriage proposal card, when he grabbed my hand and pulled me forward toward the next display, nearly causing me to topple into him. Being off center and off balance was hell.

  "Not so fast!" he said. "You can't vote until you've seen them all." He gave me a crooked, almost boyishly excited grin.

  What was going on?

  "Wait! I haven't finished looking at this one yet. There's a lot more detail to take in."

  "I'm not a fan of that song." He continued pulling me along. "Is it just me or is it dumb to pretend a snowman is a preacher? Who makes a clergyman snowman in the first place? Soldiers, fireman, police, regular old snowmen, the headless snowman—that's a personal favorite—but pastor? Pretend he could marry me to someone?" He shook his head. "Crazy."

  "It's romantic and whimsical in its way." I tried to resist moving on, but Jus was too strong and insistent.

  "Look at this! Now this is a classic." He squeezed my hand. "Huh? Good, isn't it? Fairies. Pink spun sugar. Dancing peacocks. Princes. Soldiers. Christmas trees. Representatives from nations of the world?" He glanced at me for confirmation.

  I thought he was overselling it. Then I took a closer look. "The Nutcracker! Oh, it is nice. I love The Nutcracker."

  I forgot myself, and my mission, as I took in the intricate detail of this entry in the competition.

  It was good. It was better than good. It was beautiful. Complicated. Evocative.

  "Oh, look! There's the Sugar Plum Fairy! And there!" I pointed. "Clara in front of the Christmas tree." I leaned in for a closer look. "Is this based on the new Ian Falconer set?"

  Justin's eyes danced. "It is. Kay, how would—"

  Just then, a little boy, no more than four, pushed between us, squealing at an earsplitting volume as he tried to get away from his dad.

  "Get back here, tiger." His dad broke between us. "Sorry." He looked harried as he flashed us an apologetic smile. "He's a fast one. You turn your head for one second and they run away." He looked at my belly and laughed. "You'll find out soon enough."