Page 14 of What Happens This Christmas
“Don’t be like that, Nick.”
He muttered something incoherent.
“What did you just say?”
“I don’t think you want me to repeat it.”
Chapter 7
Some gold stuff
Nick
When I had suggested spending the weekend at our house in Huntington, I hadn’t expected Candy to take it as an opportunity to make plans with friends. I’d foolishly thought maybe we could get away from all the expectations and crap that came with it and just spend time together, like married couples did.
Maybe I could use this time she’d forced on me to see if there was even a sliver of hope for us, or if her rigidity was going to stand in our way.
Maybe I was dumber than a box of rocks.
For a moment, when we had almost kissed, I had forgotten that we were getting divorced. But Candy had shattered that moment beyond repair. What did I expect, though? Her to offer me her body in the parking lot of The Black Sheep?
Fucking moron.
The Gold Coast of Long Island, in this little space between the city and the Hamptons, had always been special for us. It had been our own slice of heaven. For so long, Candy had dreamed of having a house outside of the city, but we had waited for the right one. When it had finally come on the market, we’d snatched it up without a second thought.
In the early days, we had spent stolen weekends here, going on quiet dates, and enjoying the slower pace, but over the years, this became nothing more than another place for Candy to fillwith shit. Her passion for creating a home away from home ceased, and she focused more on socializing and shopping.
We’d had our friends in the city, and then our friends on Long Island. Both were the same breed of people.
Affluent.
Boring.
Just like William and Dotty.
Candy had apparently called William and Dotty when she had known we were spending the weekend here and had learned that they had a reservation for brunch at this grand castle that evoked a European ambiance right here in Huntington.
A couple of calls later, and Dotty had done the unimaginable. Cure a disease? No. Figure out how to travel faster than the speed of light? No. She had managed to reserve a table for four instead of two.Lucky us.
With my hands in my pockets as we walked inside the dining room, I turned to Candy and lowered my head so that my voice was low in her ear. “I still don’t understand. Your first thought was to make plans with William and Dotty?” It was moments like this I wished I had a cigarette to tuck in my mouth and light.
Jesus, I would’ve rather been doing anything besides this. Like getting to the tree farm. Yet here I was, likely about to partake in an insufferable conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Snooze Fest.
Her eyes widened as she turned to me, appearing aghast. “This is not the time for this. Someone could overhear you.”
I doubted it so very much, considering most of these people were too concerned with themselves and what they were doing. See, the thing about Candy was that she had an awful habit of thinking everyone was like her. They weren’t, and at least seven out of ten people didn’t care what others thought.
“I told you we were due to see them. I couldn’t be rude and not call them.”Heaven forbid.That would have been thegreatest travesty of the century. “Can’t you just enjoy a nice meal at this beautiful restaurant? You know how hard it is to get reservations here, and at Christmastime no less.”
Why, of course. How could I forget it was Christmastime? If the towering tree as soon as we had walked inside wasn’t enough of a reminder, then the rest of the opulent holiday decor that dripped from the place certainly was. There was that red satin ribbon Candy loved so much tied into bows, elaborate wreaths, poinsettia plants, cranberries, and some gold stuff. It was Christmas elegance to the nines, and it didn’t even look out of place one bit with the exposed brick and marble.
Now that she’d mentioned it, I felt like the luckiest man on earth. Screw any other man who thought they had it better than me because I had the good fortune of knowing Dotty. Thanks to Dotty we were able to get in here…andat Christmastime no less.
“Depends on what you consider a nice meal,” I finally responded, my lips twitching as I attempted not to grin.
“I suppose so,” she answered, her voice monotone and unfazed, her brows furrowing. “I know how much you like your steak.”
Steak… Your pussy…
