Page 1 of Holiday Romance
PROLOGUE
CHRISTMAS EVE, NINE YEARS AGO
Chicago
“Are you sure?”
The sales assistant doesn’t even try to hide her frown as she follows my pointing finger to the bottom shelf behind her. There, nestled among the daintier and more expensive perfumes, sits a squat green vial that looks like it was left there by mistake.
“It’s calling to me,” I say.
The woman, Martha according to her name tag, hesitates, but when I just smile, she sighs, her snowflake earrings sparkling as she bends down to grab it. “I think the Armani would be a better choice,” she says as I push up my sleeve. We’ve already doused my other arm in five different perfumes and I’m running out of unscented skin. “There’s twenty percent off.”
“That one was too nice,” I say, holding out my wrist. She sprays it dutifully and I lean down to sniff, wrinkling my nose at the faux apple scent. Sickly sweet with a strong chemical undertone. My sister will hate it.
Which means it’s perfect.
“I’ll take it.”
Martha coughs as the fumes reach her. “If you’re worried about budget, we have plenty of cheaper options.”
“I’m not,” I assure her. “This is the one. Really.”
She opens her mouth to protest as the next song starts to play over the speakers, something about sleighbells and reindeers and a jolly good time. A visible shudder runs through her, and I wince in sympathy. I can only imagine how many times she’s had to listen to it.
“Do they ever switch up the playlist in here?”
“That would be a no.” Her eyes flick to the perfume and then to the line of people forming behind me. I see the exact moment she labels me a lost cause. “Gift wrapped?”
“Please.”
She hides the bottle in a mound of tissue paper as though it personally offends her and I mentally cross the final item off my to-do list. With Zoe’s present sorted, I am officially done and heading home for the holidays. Or, more realistically, for a week in December. My family has never been big into Christmas, but everyone expects me to go back and so back I go. At least it means I get to be the favorite child for a few days. Moving to the States for college grants me a certain air of novelty whenever I return, which basically means no chores. Zoe was livid last year when she had to do the dishes three nights in a row. Mam insisted I was too jet-lagged and, honestly, what kind of daughter would I be to argue with my own mother?
“Are yousure?” Martha asks, dropping her customer service smile as she clutches the plastic bag.
I hand over the cash, trying not to laugh at her reluctance. “Positive.”
I step away just as my phone begins to ring, my good mood plummeting when Hayley’s name flashes up on the screen. For one wild moment, I think about not answering it. I wish I’d carried through with that impulse as soon as I do.
“I need a favor.”
I turn, fighting my way through the crowded duty-free of O’Hare airport as her voice sounds in my ear. Hayley was the first friend I made at Northwestern. She lived three rooms down from me in our first year and I’d latched onto her in the way any newbie does when they’re searching for a friendly face. And while the first few months didn’t raise any red flags, the more I threw myself into my new life, the more I realized that there were other, much nicer people I could spend my time with. People who I had more in common with than the girl I always had to buy coffee for because she left her wallet in her other purse. She’d stuck around though, clinging to me in a way I found both confusing and flattering even though it was clear our friendship was hard work.
Zoe always said I was a pushover, but it’s not like they teach you this stuff in school. I’d been given lots of colorful leaflets about making friends on my first day. Not a whole lot about dumping them.
“I’m kind of busy right now,” I say. “I’m at the airport, remember?”
“It’s a really urgent favor.”
“I doubt that.” I try not to sound as grumpy as I feel. “But what’s up?”
There’s a loud smack of gum as she answers. “Can I borrow your blue dress for a thing tonight? The one with the back straps?”
“I packed that one.”
“What about the green one that makes you look like you have breasts?”
“I have breasts,” I huff. The girls just need a little accentuation help sometimes. “Anyway, Andrew’s not going to care what you’re wearing.”
