Chapter 18

18

Edward

"May I take your coat, Sir? Madam?" Otis, my grandfather’s butler looks between me and my fiancée. I slide my coat off and hand it to him, then ease Mira’s coat from her shoulders. I place it over his arm.

"This way please." He gestures toward the hallway that leads to the dining room.

"I can see myself in, Otis. Thank you."

He seems taken aback, then nods. "Of course, Sir."

I barely slept last night. And when I finally fell asleep, it was to images from my past. I broke my vows, walked away from my calling. I’d searched for that elusive peace, which I’d fooled myself into believing I had when I was part of the church. It’s only after I left, I realized I’d been running all my life.

I’m still running now—except I’ve come up against a woman who threatens to stop me in my tracks. I don’t like it. It’s a feeling I don’t relish. I don’t want to be faced with the proof of my own vulnerability. And all it took was a pair of baby blues and a lusciously curvy figure on a woman who’s all sunshine and rainbows, despite her own unhappy past. A woman who places the happiness of her father before her own. What kind of person would push her dreams aside and bow to the call of duty? She reminds me of the man I thought I was. The man who put his vocation before anything else; the man who believed in the greater good; the man who wanted to redeem others.

He walks into the cloak room adjoining the hallway, leaving Mira and me alone. She glances up at the ceiling, which is three stories above us. The skylights are dark, but in the mornings, light pours into the entryway. In the center, two staircases curve toward each other to meet on the second-floor landing. Above that, the rooms on the third floor look down on the entryway. A massive chandelier descends from the roof, and the lights shine off the stained glass that adorns the windows on the first floor. The floor is made of marble, and there are satin drapes on the walls, interspersed with paintings of some of the great masters—all originals. The overall effect is that of wealth—the kind that has been in a family for generations. My parents weren’t poor—not materially—but my grandfather’s wealth makes them look like small business owners.

"I forgot it’s almost Christmas." Mira walks toward the Christmas tree set between the two staircases. The focal point of the entranceway, it’s almost as high as the roof and is lit up with Christmas lights and ornaments. The scent of pine is heavy in the air, but as I approach her, I detect her light, apple-blossom perfume below it. I come to a stop behind her, then lower my head and discreetly sniff. She doesn’t notice it, too intent on taking in the decorations.

"It’s gorgeous," she murmurs.

"It is," I murmur, looking at her.

"I loved opening my gift on Christmas morning. It was the one time my father was around, and I knew he’d always have something I loved."

"Gift?"

She turns to me. "Yes, my father would buy me a gift."

"What about your?—"

"Stepmother?" She shrugs. "We always pretended it was from her too, but it was obvious she never gave me much thought. Given a choice, she’d have sent me off to boarding school so I wouldn’t be around, and definitely not for Christmas morning. But it was the one thing my father refused to agree to. He’d promised my mother he’d keep me close. He also knew how much my mother had loved Christmas. And while he never had time for me otherwise, he made sure I knew I was loved during Christmas. What about you? Do you love Christmas?"

"I don’t believe in Christmas."

There was a time when I did, but when I left the priesthood, I also turned my back on the rituals, and that's all Christmas really is.

"What?" She pivots to face me. "Are you serious?" She sees the expression on my face and her jaw drops. "You are serious."

"Always."

"You don’t say?" she says in a droll voice.

"It’s the one time of the year I ensure I’m away from this city."

"Christmas is the best time of the year in London. I arrived in this city last December and found it all lit up. There were decorations up in shop windows, the pubs were festive, people on the tube smiled at each other. I thought it was the most cheerful place on earth. Then came January, and I realized it’s the only time of the year people walk around with smiles. But my first impressions remained. I ended up falling in love with the city anyway. Now I can’t wait for December and the festive season. It’s the one time of the year everyone in London seems almost happy."

"Exactly."

"Jeez"—she shakes her head—"should’ve guessed you’re a Grinch."

"He’s a chip off the old block, all right." Arthur's voice reaches us. Then my grandfather draws abreast.

"Edward." He nods at me.

"Arthur." I nod back.

"You made it."

I half smile. You don’t turn the old man down. I haven’t known Arthur Davenport that long, but even if he hadn’t been my grandfather, his authority is writ large in everything he says and does. He’s not the kind of man you say no to easily.

"You must be Mirabelle." He turns to Belle.

"Grandad." She closes the distance to him and throws her arms about his shoulders. "I am so happy to meet you."

Arthur stiffens. His gaze widens, and he gapes at me. If I didn’t know better, I’d say the old man is shocked. And it takes a lot to shock him. I manage to keep the smile off my face, then watch as my grandfather recovers himself. He pats Belle on the shoulder. "It’s nice to meet you, too."

She steps back and beams up at him. "Call me, Mira."

"Hmm." He scans her features. "I can see why Edward fell in love with you."

"Oh, but he’s not—" she begins.

I cut her off. "I hope we didn’t keep you waiting."

"You did"—he shoots me a glance—"but since you were showing Mira around, you're forgiven."

Belle laughs, a happy sound that infuses warmth into my veins.

"When Edward told me he was getting married, I was sure he’d decided to ask the first eligible woman he came across to be his wife. I’m relieved to see he’s been much more discerning."

"Umm—" She shuffle her feet. "I… We…."

"We’re very in love, Grandad. When I saw Mira, there was no question I was going to marry her. Your condition that I get married before I can be confirmed in my role as CEO spurred me to pop the question."

Arthur holds out his right hand, and when Belle places her left palm in it, he raises her fingers and kisses her engagement ring. "You gave her the ring your grandmother left you?”

"This is your grandmother’s ring?" She glances at me in shock.

"It’s the reason I found out about his existence,” Arthur adds.

She tears her gaze away from mine and frowns. "I’m not sure I understand."

Arthur hooks her arm through his, then leads her down the hallway. I bracket her in from the other side.

"When my wife passed away last year, I was gutted."

"I’m so sorry for your loss," she murmurs.

I shoot him a glance in time to see his eyes shadow. "Thank you. I appreciate it. Greta and I were married for fifty-five years."

Her gaze widens until those blue eyes seem to fill her face.

"Seems like a long time, but it went by in a flash." Arthur’s lips curve. Holy shit, the old man smiled? In the little time I’ve known him, I’ve never seen the hint of softness on his face, but a few seconds with her, and he’s already in a better mood. Seems I’m not the only one susceptible to her sunshine nature.

"Time is funny.” I narrow my gaze on him, then continue, “When you’re having fun, it speeds by, and when you’re dreading a deadline, it seems to be roaring toward you.”

Arthur nods. "I'll bet the two of you can’t wait to get married. It must seem like an impossibly long time until the ceremony."

I frown at my grandfather. Did he mean…? Nope, he means we’re in love and can’t wait to get married, and it seems like a long way off in the future, though it’s only a few days.

Belle hesitates, then shakes her head. "You’re wrong."

"I am?" He knits his brows.

I narrow my gaze on her. What the hell is she doing? Before I can say anything, she hooks her free arm through mine, and rubs her cheek against my sleeve. "Every day with Eddie is the best day of my life. He’s so warm, so caring, and he has a great sense of humor.” She beams.

I do? I blink.

"Oh, honeykins, you have a wicked, tongue-in-cheek wit, and your jokes crack me up." She pats my shoulder.

I stare at her, unsure of where she's going with this.

"Oh, Sweetie, you have such a sense of humor. I’ve never laughed so much as when I’m with you. In fact, the amount of tears I've shed?—"

I growl loud enough for only her to hear me.

"—due to finding your jokes funny… Perhaps, I’m the only one who does, but you’ve made me burst out in hysterics until I cry, Eddie." She flicks an imaginary tear from the corner of her eyes.

She called me Eddie, again. I’m aware I’m glowering at her, and in front of Arthur, but what-fucking-ever. No one calls me Eddie and gets away with it. Except her, apparently. Time I put an end to that. I open my mouth to set her straight, but Arthur cuts me off.

"That’s what my Greta used to say."

I manage to tear my gaze from that of my fiancée long enough to take in the wistful look on Arthur’s face.

"She always found my jokes hilarious. Even after all those years of being married, she’d laugh at my jokes. She liked to say she was the only one who found my jokes funny after all that time." He swallows then turns to me. "I’m glad you took my advice to heart."

"Wouldn’t dream of doing otherwise." I can’t stop the note of sarcasm in my tone.

His shoulders tense. There’s a flicker of anger in his eyes before he bats it away. "Then you also won’t dream of turning down an old man’s wish?"

It’s my turn to stiffen. "Depends on the wish. I’ve already agreed to not only take on the role of CEO but also to settle down, as you dictated."

He doesn’t seem satisfied by that. "You were wise to acknowledge when someone gave you good advice. All I ask is you do one more thing for me."

I scowl.

His forehead furrows.

I am only just beginning to get to know this man, but I see the same stubbornness in his expression that I recognize in myself. My footsteps slow; so do his and Belle’s. We come to a stop at the threshold of the library he’s been walking us to—not the dining room, as I’d originally envisaged.

"I think I’ve done enough. I?—"

"G-Pa, can I call you G-Pa?" Belle chimes in.

Arthur shoots me a final look, then glances down at her upturned face. "I would like that very much. And both of you would make me very happy if you agree to my last wish. I don’t have many days left on this earth, after all."

Why that canny so-and-so. The man has a strong enough constitution, he’ll probably outlast all of us. My scowl deepens. I open my mouth to tell him off, but Belle cries out, "Of course, G-Pa." She turns to me. "I’m sure there’s no harm in agreeing to what he wants."

I glare at her. Her color fades, but she firms her lips. The two of us lock gazes. The air between us heats. The pulse at the base of her throats kicks up and moves as she swallows. Another wall I’ve built around my heart crumbles, and a slow beat drums at my temples. If Arthur weren't here, I’d teach her never to defy me. My fingers twitch. I reach down and tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. Her pupils dilate. She sways toward me. I begin to lower my head when Arthur declares,

"I want the two of you to marry right now."