2. Zane

TWO

ZANE

T he glass of red wine sits comfortably in my palm, its stem resting delicately between my fingers. It was handed to me by my fiancé, Caryn, without me even having to ask. In her parents’ lavish house in the Hamptons, it seems like everyone always has a glass of wine or a famous aged scotch or whiskey in hand. Personally, I’m not a fan of either, so I stick with wine.

Ever since I met Caryn, I’ve spent my holidays here. At first, it didn’t bother me. Who wouldn’t want to spend Thanksgiving and Christmas miles away from the city, in a somewhat secluded property with the ocean just steps from our doorstep? It’s an experience everyone should have at least once. But now, it’s become such a routine that I’m not sure how to break it. I’d like to go home to visit my father. It’s been years since I’ve been back, and he hasn’t even met Caryn yet. He should probably get to know his future daughter-in-law before we send out the save the date cards .

Looking outside the large window, the grass appears invitingly green, despite the bitterly cold weather. With such low temperatures, one would expect snow, but there isn’t a hint of Christmas in the air. I tilt my head to the side, studying the grass and wondering if it’s spray-painted to achieve such vibrancy. We haven’t seen the sun in weeks.

Inside the house, a decorating company is diligently transforming it into a Christmas wonderland, while holiday music fills the airwaves, playing one festive tune after another about Santa coming to town or dreaming of a white Christmas.

There’s a themed tree in each room, which changing from year to year. When I first started coming here, I found it charming and festive. But now, it just seems excessive. I let out a heavy sigh and take a sip from my glass. Once they’re finished here, the company will head to our penthouse in the city and repeat the process. It feels like we’ve spent endless hours in Macy’s during the holidays. It’s great for a day, but not every day. I suppose since it’s not technically my place and I’m not footing the bill, I don’t have much say.

Caryn comes up from behind me, and wraps her arms around my waist. My hand covers hers, my palm pressing against the diamond on her fourth finger. Asking her to marry me was a natural progression in our relationship.

We met while I was interning at her father’s office, and we hit it off. We kept in touch while she was back at school, but that was the extent of our relationship until her dad hired me full-time. A month later, we started dating. A year later, I moved into her penthouse. Living together has allowed me to pay off my student loans, for which I am incredibly grateful. But there are times when I feel like we should move because I don’t feel equal in her world. Caryn’s parents cover all our expenses, and sometimes it bothers me. I want to be able to build a life with her, but Caryn doesn’t make any decisions without consulting her parents first. I have a sneaking suspicion that they might even join us on our honeymoon.

“What are you doing staring out the window?” Caryn asks, breaking my reverie.

“Does the gardener spray paint the lawn?” I respond, caught up in my thoughts.

Caryn steps to my side, her bright blue eyes sparkling under the string of lights above us. Her expression changes from adoration to confusion, and I chuckle lightly, leaning down to kiss the tip of her nose. She smiles and snuggles into me.

“It looks like it, doesn’t it?” she muses.

“Yep,” I reply, taking another sip of wine and continue to stare. “How would you feel about spending Christmas with my father?”

Caryn’s eyes light up. “I would love to, Zane. When will he arrive?”

My heart sinks a bit when she doesn’t assume we would go to Vermont to see him. I understand why though. I’ve never asked her to go to Deer Ridge with me or have even gone myself. Pulling her closer, I take in the scent of her beloved Chanel perfume.

“I was thinking we’d go there,” I tell her. My dad would never travel to New York, especially during the holidays. He’s a homebody, and he doesn’t have anyone to run the store while he’s gone.

“But what about my parents?”

I nod, pretending to understand, although I really don’t. We spend every holiday with her family, even the ones where I just want to stay at home and relax on the couch, while watching a game on television. Even the Super Bowl is a party with no actual game-watching.

Caryn must sense my hurt or see it in my expression. She smiles softly. “This seems important to you,” she comments, placing a hand on my chest.

“I’d like to show you where I grew up, and I’d really like to take you home and introduce you to my dad. I haven’t told him we’re engaged yet.”

“Why not?”

I give her an automatic shrug. Taking a moment to really look at her, I realize just how breathtaking she is. A foot shorter than me, with icy blond hair, and a smile that makes my knees weak. Her long hair cascades in continuous waves, reminding me of ripples in the water. I once brushed my hand down her hair, thinking it was funny. It wasn’t. She doesn’t like it when I touch her hair.

Today, she has the sides of her hair pinned back with a red-and-green clip, matching her red sweater dress. I know I’m not using the correct posh names she gives everything, but to me, it’s just a sweater that’s long. Therefore, sweater dress.

“I want him to meet you when I tell him. ”

“Okay, invite him here. We can throw a party.”

My head shakes slightly. Knowing my dad, he would never come. “How about we go there?” I say again as I turn her to face me, bringing her closer. “We can take a couple of weeks off, drive up, and explore the area. Like I said, I’d really like to show you where I grew up. There’s an amazing bakery across the street from my dad’s store. Alma makes the best cinnamon rolls.”

Caryn stares into my eyes for what feels like an eternity before finally nodding. “Which bed and breakfast should I book?”

“We can stay at my dad’s.”

Her nose scrunches in reluctance. “I wouldn’t want to impose. Surely, there is one in town.”

Reluctantly, I give her the name of the only place I know in town that’ll be suitable for her. “The only place I know of is a place called the Inn in the next town over. The last time I spoke with my dad, he said there are new owners, though.”

Caryn takes my hand and leads us over to the sofa. “Tell me about it.”

“Oh, geez.” I take a big inhale. “The last time I was there must’ve been for prom photos. I honestly don’t remember much of the inside or even recall ever going inside.”

“Is it haunted?”

“There were rumors growing up. Like anything in Vermont.”

Caryn thinks on this for a minute. “I’ll call and book us a room. ”

“They might be booked already. It’s sort of late to try and get a place.”

She pats my cheek. It’s annoying and makes me feel like a child. This is her way of telling me not to underestimate the Bamford name.

“I’ll call my dad and let him know we’re coming to visit.”

“Sounds good, honey.” She nestles into my side. “I’ll have to go shopping.”

Thankfully, she can’t see me roll my eyes. “For what?”

Caryn sits up and shrugs. “Everything, of course.”

Right. Everything. How could I forget?

She kisses me lightly and then stands. “I’m going to call the Inn now and plan everything out with my mom. Oh, maybe they’ll come up as well. Wouldn’t that be great?”

“Of course it will be,” I mutter.

Caryn kisses me again and then disappears. Seconds later, I hear her on the phone, dropping her name as if it means something to the owners. By the end of all this, they’ll know her and all will be right in Caryn’s eyes.

I go back to the window, leaving my barely touched glass of wine on the table next to the sofa. With my hands in my pockets, I stare out at the spray-painted lawn and let my gaze travel toward the water. This time of year, the water is void of sailboats, cabin cruisers, and yachts. It’s actually refreshing to see the water and not a cluster of mostly white boats cluttering the ocean.

Caryn comes into the room, with her phone pressed against her ear. Her hand flies wildly through the air, and she fake laughs. I’ve seen this act a time or two. There isn’t a doubt in my mind she will get what she wants. I’m honestly not sure she’s ever been told no. Lord knows, I’ve never uttered the word to her.

She hangs up and smiles. “All set.”

“Really?” I should’ve known better than to doubt her.

“Of course my love.” She steps toward me and gives me a lingering kiss. “Now, I’ll just make sure we have the best Christmas yet.”

“Meaning?”

She brushes imaginary lint off my sweater. “Well, being as this will be the first time I’m meeting your family, I want to make things special.”

“Caryn . . .” I drag her name out in warning.

“Don’t worry.” She cups my cheek and smiles, but I see the glint in her eyes. She’s up to something.

“I am worried. My dad is a simple man. He doesn’t like much.”

“What do you mean?”

I hold my arm, gesturing to the grand space of the living room, which is larger than the home I grew up in. Every square inch of the room is ready for Christmas, including the fifteen-, or was it a twenty-foot tree.

“He wouldn’t know what to think of this,” I tell her. Her parents are extravagant, and I get this is all she knows, but still. There needs to be a limit to some things.

She rises and kisses my cheek. “We can show him. ”

Caryn rushes off, leaving me with my thoughts. I don’t know how to tell her or get her to understand that this over-the-top lavish lifestyle we lead isn’t what I grew up with. My parents were, well, my dad still is, the rise-before-the-sun type. They worked hard to put food on the table and never cared about material things, probably because they were always out of reach. I had a good life, but I fear taking Caryn home to Vermont will somehow traumatize her.

Maybe it is better if my dad can come to New York. He could spend a day or two here, meet Caryn and her parents, and then head home. As it is, I doubt I’ll be able to convince him to come for the wedding.

As these thoughts run through my mind, I can only wonder when I stopped being Zane Whitaker of Deer Ridge and became Zane Whitaker, fiancé to socialite Caryn Bamford.

“Shit,” I mutter to the window. I can’t even pinpoint the moment I lost who I was to become who I am.

Going home definitely isn’t the brightest idea I’ve had, but it has to be done. Besides, I want Caryn to experience sugar on snow by the fire, with a hot mug of homemade cocoa. I think she’ll love the closeness of what a small town can bring during the holidays. And it would be good for her to see a tree lighting ceremony with hundreds of people in attendance and not thousands.

I tell myself this will be a good trip, and it’s something we need. Caryn will be able to work on the wedding plans while sitting by the fire, and maybe I’ll be able to convince my dad to finally sell the store and retire.

He’s definitely earned it.