When I open my eyes, the living room is still full of life and laughter. The enormous Christmas tree sparkles and the scent of pine and cinnamon lingers in the air.
I glance up at the clock on the wall, and a wave of dread washes over me. The hands inch closer to midnight, and I can feel it in the pit of my stomach— soon, this night will end. Their laughter will fade, the lights will dim, and I’ll have to walk out the door, leaving behind a place that’s felt like home, even if only for a little while.
I tell myself that I should be used to it by now—that slipping unnoticed without saying goodbye will be easy. I’ve done it many times before.
But it won’t. This time is different. This time I’ll be leaving behind a dream.
As the clock ticks on, I think of ways to slip out of this house without anyone noticing—quietly, unnoticed, before anyone realizes I’m gone. My mind races, running through every possible escape, until, suddenly, an idea hits me.
On my many times out in the garden, I’d discovered a hidden path, winding its way through the trees, leading to the beach.
That’s the only way out of this house.
It’s ironic and little but heartbreaking how the path to my escape runs through the Willow tree.
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
SWEET AS TRES LECHES
Madden
“This Christmas, my heart finally found its home.” —W
The night air is warm, a gentle breeze carrying the sweet scent of tropical flowers and sea salt. I hold Willow’s hand tightly loving the feel of her on my skin, as I guide her along the lighted path.
She’s buzzing with excitement and genuine joy— the kind that is contagious and even has me feeling less like a moody fuck.
“Are we there yet?” She whispers, her voice husky in a way that drives me nuts. The woman’s voice makes my heart beat wild.
“Almost there,” I say, as I lead her through the garden, her eyes covered by a silky blindfold.
“Where are we going?” she asks, a hint of laughter in her voice.
“Patience,” I reply, a grin spreading wider. “Just a little further.”
The soft crunch of gravel beneath our feet and the distant sound of waves crashing sets the mood for this night that I intend to make as magical as I possibly can for her. White lanterns like the ones we wrote our wish for each other, dangle from the palm trees, casting a warm glow that dances and flickers across the leaves above us.
I stop for a moment, feeling her bubbly energy—curious and eager. This night has to be perfect— a night that she’ll remember forever.
“And we’re here,” I say, positioning her carefully in front of our picnic spot, the delicate fabric of her blue summer dress brushing against my ring as I take a step back. I lower her blindfold, letting her eyes adjust to the soft glow of the lanterns and twinkling lights.
Willow blinks a few times then I watch her expression shift from confusion to wonder, her beautiful eyes widening as she takes it all in.
I must admit that my staff went above and beyond decorating the garden as per my request.
On a normal day the garden is a beautiful sight but tonight it looks like a fairy’s dream.
Just for her.
The garden.
Fairy lights and lanterns hang from every palm tree in the vicinity. Bright red and green ribbons weave through the branches, while clusters of colorful ornaments hang like fruit.
Before us is a spread of fruits, cheeses, and a bottle of wine. Willow’s favorite flower, the daisy covers the entire picnic while Bougainvillea spills over trellises, their deep magenta petals contrasting beautifully against the soft white lights.
“Oh, Madden,” she breathes, her voice full of awe. “This feels like a dream,” she turns and looks up at me. “Is this a dream?”