Page 36 of What Happens This Christmas
Then her eyes fell to my hand, studying my ring finger closely. “I trust you’ll be leaving that on for the time being.”
Going against my better judgment, I’d put it back on and promised myself it’d stay there until the second of January. As if on instinct, my thumb found the ring and rubbed the metal. It was cool, smooth, everything I didn’t feel at the moment. I was at the end of my rope where my wife was concerned, wanting her, but not able to fully have her. At least, not the way I wanted her. It was a new concept for me, and I didn’t know how I felt about that. Finally, I addressed her comment. “I don’t want to see your head explode, so yes, I’ll be leaving it on for now.”
Next on her list was our own party. Apparently, she was getting ready to put the finishing touches on it with the planner.
“Good for you,” I said, bored by this whole charade. “Just tell me when you need me to speak with the bartender.” Typically, I handled those meetings, selecting the alcohol and drinks that would be served, but this year I noticed Candy didn’t tell me anything about them.
She waved her hand. “Not necessary. I asked for the top-shelf and selected a peppermint vodka as our specialty cocktail. I also decided to have a coffee bar, and the barista will be serving peppermint mocha coffee.”
My hand formed a fist. She’d cut me out, acted as if I didn’t even exist. She knew that was about the only part of this shit I enjoyed. I narrowed my gaze but didn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing I felt slighted. “Any regular coffee?” You know, for guests who didn’t want to drink something akin to toothpaste.
“Mmhmm. For those who don’t want to be festive, there will be regular and decaf coffee. You can relax, Nick. I know what I’m doing, you know? This isn’t my first party.”
Still fuming inwardly, but the picture of calm, cool, and collected outwardly, I let her carry on. It seemed the next topic was about the new housekeeper she wanted to hire to clean our Huntington house. “She comes highly recommended from Sarah. It’s important that we—”
“Fine,” I said, my hand in the air. I didn’t need to hear anything further. “Hire her.” What the fuck did it matter what I had to say on this? And about half a dozen other things that she concluded with the bomb I knew she’d been waiting to drop?
“Come January, I’d like you to move out. If you’re serious about this divorce”—what makes her think I’m not?—“then I’ll need a place to stay until I find something, but I don’t think we should be living together.”
“You can stay here or take the house on Long Island.” I would never force her to do anything she didn’t want to do. She should’ve known that.
She shook her head, the pen scratching furiously at something in her notebook. “No. You have the bar out there, so you should stay there. Besides, I’ll need to massage more conversations with our friends if I expect to try to hold onto a few relationships, which I do.”
Of course she did.Thoserelationships she gave a fuck about. “Fine.”
She rolled her lips. “Thank you. That concludes my list. Do you have anything?”
“Only one thing.” Not that I had any desire to actually say the words. But some things couldn’t be helped. “My mother will be joining us for Christmas.” I watched her expression closely, knowing this would feel like a bee sting. “She’ll be flying in early.” I swallowed, keenly aware of the bad blood between Candy and my mother. There was enough to fill the goddamn Caspian Sea.
Admittedly, Virginia Crane was a tough woman to love. As her only son, though, I did. Love her, that was. I knew that whatever she did, she did because she was overly protective and deeply devoted to me. So, it would seem that between my mother and Candy, I had a soft spot for women who were hard to love.
Chapter 17
gentleness and grace of a swan
Nick
When I thought about the holidays in terms of a social calendar like Candy did, I wasn’t sure what I thought about Christmas. It was like it was the head-banging portion of the year, not the joyful one it was supposed to be. At one time, an event or two was no big deal and the holiday could still be salvaged, but not anymore. The current event we were at—Teddy and Irina’s—might’ve been the icing on the goddamn cake, though.
These two were nothing more than self-proclaimed American royalty, which basically meant they were plentiful in social standing and wealth. It always boiled down to what was in the bank. If they had more money than God, they were worthy, important. Forget the fact that those things also made them delusional because they actually believed all that horseshit to be accurate.
What was so troubling, though, was how Candy could be as smart as a whip and still be suckered into this world. I, on the other hand, never let this world get to me. I knew it was all phony bullshit, and everyone had skeletons in their closets. Hell, we did, and it was one ugly word…separation. Old money. New money. It didn’t make a difference. To the outside world, we were all the same since we made it seem that way. I was tiredof it because, at some point, it was what had contaminated our marriage.
Now we wore a cloak, a disguise that we put on before we left the house. Sadly, in terms of our relationship, Candy put it on the moment she got out of the shower and slithered under our Italian satin sheets.
Our marriage had become no different than a tedious ballet performance. There were a lot of complicated steps, making the moves as dreadful as watching the performance. But not much more could be expected when two strong-willed, stubborn as hell people took the stage together.
My throat clogged with a ball of emotion as I stared across the room at Candy, who had been busy making her rounds and talking with most of the other guests since we had arrived. I wasn’t sure who she was speaking to at the moment, but the woman was talking animatedly, probably about something materialistic or useless. Candy’s eyes were void of emotion as she glanced down every now and again at the glass of champagne in her hand. The rings on her finger sparkled in the light from the chandelier. I’d never seen anything belong on someone’s finger more than her engagement and wedding ring did on hers.
Her engagement ring was a Crane family heirloom. It had been my grandmother’s, and while she never got to see me put it on Candy’s finger, I always knew that she would have been pleased. The red diamond stood out in the most elegant of ways, just as Candy did.
Teddy had been going on in my ear for the better portion of the evening, much to my undeniable dismay. I’d done an admirable job of paying attention too. Until I’d spotted Candy. Then everything else paled in comparison, and Teddy and his words faded into the background.
I kept my eyes fixed on my wife. She was nodding at something that was said. She was poised and calm in her actions, laughing quietly, barely opening her mouth. Then, she must’ve been excusing herself from the conversation, because she placed her hand gently on the woman’s arm, her stare impossible to interpret as anything but warm. She was the type of person people felt they could come up to at a party and talk to. They should have only known that, with or without the fireplace at home, it was always blistering cold where Candy was concerned.
Tonight, she’d placed her hair in some tight-as-fuck knot on her head. She flaunted long diamond earrings, a delicate diamond necklace that sat comfortably at the nape of her neck, and a silver dress. Not a single woman in here held a candle to her, and not even all of the money in the world would change that.
I could hear my blood drumming in my ears.
