Page 91 of The Bright Side of Christmas
And then he’s kissing me, and the world feels magical and perfect and bright.
And it has nothing to do with the lights.
EPILOGUE
“So, here’s the thing,” Leo says into my ear as Wren brushes something over her eyelids in the bathroom, a room over. She turns to me as if she knows I’m watching, her eyes lighting up when they meet mine before she blows me a kiss before returning to her makeup. “I can’t guarantee anything. Despite what anyone tells you, I’m human. However, I do have a large network of contacts. If you want to disappear into bumfuck nowhere and never have the press bother you, I can work some magic. But that’s also assuming no one in the town wants to out you, et cetera.”
I nod with understanding, even though he can’t see it, then turn my back to Wren so I can focus on the conversation at hand.
Leo and I are in the final conversation about him taking me on as a client after his lawyer reviewed my contract with Gregand determined that nothing legally tied me to my former agent. While Greg would continue to receive royalties for previous projects I did with him as my agent, he has no legal tie to anything moving forward if I so choose.
When Greg caved and confessed that he had wanted me to do more Christmas songs, as theywere an easy sell and less work for him, I fired him on the spot, which means I’m in the market for a new agent.
I just finished telling Leo I would like to write and produce, but would be doing so primarily from Holly Ridge, and I would like to do so without attracting too much public attention. I want to live a simple life now that I’ve gotten a taste of it, and it seems Leo is on board with that.
“That’s fine. I don’t mind doing press junkets when needed, but I want the focus to be on the music, not me. I want to be as uninteresting as possible, so no one even cares about me.”
“Got it, we can make that happen,” Leo says. Another weight leaves my chest, though I wasn’t actually worried about his accepting that demand. It’s more about having confirmation that I can actually balance both aspects of my life, which eases the small bit of nerves lingering in my chest.
I turn to the balcony of the room Wren and I are staying in, the Eiffel Tower beyond lit up as Leo continues to rattle off terms for the contract he’s sending over for me.
I took Wren to Paris.
It was her Christmas present, something I had coordinated and planned in under a week with the help of Hallie. She contacted everyone whom Wren had promised favors to on my behalf and quietly asked them to find someone else, knowing that would be Wren’s first reason to turn down my gift. School would be the second reason, but since New Year’s landed in a weird spot this year, it meant winter break was a bit longer than usual.
I jumped on the opportunity to take her away as soon as possible, before she could overthink anything. I gifted her the tickets, along with some luggage and a few odds and ends, on Christmas Eve when we exchanged gifts (a necessity since she didn’t want to gift me risque lingerie in front of her parents, whose house we went to bright and early on Christmas morning), and we left on the twenty-sixth. We’re only here for a week, heading home on the third so Wren can get back to work on Monday, but I’m already dreaming up plans for spring break and a longer trip over her summer vacation.
Wren wants to travel, and I’m going to give everything to the woman who gives everything to everyone else. That unused passport is about to become mighty full if I have my way.
Our first day here, we attended the last day of the Christmas market in Strasbourg, knowing from my research that Wren would find it absolutely magical. We then explored the city of Paris, finding every other Christmas market that was still open for the season. Yesterday, I took her on a self-guidedMadelinetour I found on the internet, and she had a blast pointing out all of the different locations with awe and excitement.
Now she’s getting ready for dinner at the Eiffel Tower while I wrap up my call with Leo, who, as soon as I sign the contract, will be my new agent.
“It all sounds great,” I say, even though I’m barely listening. My new lawyer has already reviewed the contract, one not recommended to me by Greg, to confirm it looks good, and I’ve received the go-ahead. “You’re hired, Leo.”
“Perfect. I’ll send the contract to you now. In about an hour, some onboarding documents will be sent to your inbox. Take your time filling them out; there’s no rush. Our first project together is already a sure thing. Willa’s been sending me concept ideas for a music video for ‘Are You Mine’? Already.”
My heart pounds with his words.
I finished the song on Christmas Eve while Wren baked more cookies than anyone could eat to take to her mom’s house the next day, and she cried when I played it for her.
It’s the song I started the first night I had Wren.
“I don’t want to be pushy, I?—”
“Are you mine?”
The title I found the first night she let me help her out.
“Are you mine?”
“Yeah, Wren. I’m yours.”
“I take care of what’s mine, Adam.”
The bridge I wrote as soon as the headache wore off after she took care of me.
“Are you mine?”
