Page 42 of What Happens This Christmas
Nick
I had stared at my watch more times since we had left that godforsaken party than I had since I’d first laid eyes on it after Candy had given it to me. I wore it for her, but she hadn’t noticed, and if she had, she hadn’t said anything.
I shifted, turning my head to watch Candy staring out the window of the town car, her hands in her lap atop her purse.
A fist curled around my heart as the darkness from the night sky only seemed to illuminate her blonde hair. She captivated me every time my eyes landed on her. She was my Candy cane, and the thought of not being with her, not growing old with her, like we vowed we would, was incomprehensible. But shit changed. Flowers died. Children became estranged from their parents. Illnesses tore families apart. There was no point in me dwelling over spilled milk. It was pointless actually, and I was intolerant of pointless things.
Without thinking, I grabbed the back of my head and could no longer put up with the silence that filled the backseat like a heavy blanket. I slashed through it like it was the tire of one of my enemies. “I wouldn’t give too much thought to whatever Irina said to you.”
“Please, Nick. Don’t mistake my looking out the window as pondering anything more than our own party on Christmas Eve.” She turned to me, her eyes landing on me as she gave me an indiscreet once-over. Was my wife checking me out?
These moments where it felt like she was thawing, like she was beginning to give a damn about something besides materialistic crap and making Irina and all of ourfriendsjealous, were becoming inconvenient considering the circumstances. “You’re about as subtle as a police siren.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Her gaze snapped to mine.
A smug grin crossed my face. “I haven’t been eye fucked in a long time.”
Crimson bloomed across her cheeks, and she swallowed thickly. I wanted to trace my tongue along the column of her neck. “That’s crude and inaccurate. I was not doing any such thing, and for you to accuse me of—” She let out an exaggerated sigh, catching her breath since she must have caught onto the fact that she was rattling on. “You are allowed to think whatever you’d like. I have no control over your thoughts.”
She should only know the influence she had over my thoughts. She fucking invaded them nearly every second I had a moment to think. For the most part, she was all I thought about, but it was fruitless. I straightened, my eyes transfixed on her hand as she lifted it and toyed with her diamond necklace. “Martha’s Vineyard,” I said, my pulse ricocheting.
She cleared her throat, her eyes sparkling with the same vivaciousness she’d had when we’d gotten married. I hadn’t thought I’d ever want for anything more because life had already given me everything I could have imagined—her. I’d peaked. Life was unlikely to get much better. Not this purgatory we were stuck in, but before this. Before things had gotten so screwed up.
“What about it?” she asked, her voice lowering. Understanding was hidden in the depths of her tone, in the way she shifted in her seat, and went on touching the diamonds dangling from her ears. It seemed like she was treating thejewelry as a life preserver, to not get sucked in too deep with the trip down memory lane.
Unfortunately, I wished she would fall hundreds of feet down the rabbit hole, and like a bucket of cold water, it would wake her the hell up. Wishful thinking was for children, though, not grown fucking adults. “That was where I’d gifted you the necklace you’re wearing. It was Valentine’s Day, and your first time on the isl—”
She shot a hand back to her necklace, shutting her eyes. When they opened, nothing glistened in them. “It was a beautiful day. As with most things, though, it’s in the past.”
Right.The things that we had done together, the parts of us that had made up the foundation of a relationship I thought would last until the very end of time were painful.
I leaned forward, braced my arms on my knees, and scrubbed a hand over my mouth. Thankfully we were on 60th Street, so we didn’t have much of a distance left to get home where we could get through our nightly routine. Separately. Peacefully. And, like always, I would be done before her, get in bed, turn the opposite way, and pretend I was sleeping when she crawled under the covers nearly twenty minutes later.
“What I wouldn’t give for a frozen hot chocolate right now.” Candy’s tone was wistful, almost dreamlike as she peered out the window.
There wasn’t a single thing in this fucking world that she didn’t deserve to have, so if that was what she wanted, that was what she’d get. I extended my hand and waved a finger in the rearview mirror.
“What is the meaning of this?” Candy asked.
I ignored her, acknowledging the driver. “Stop the car. We’re going in for dessert.”
I personally couldn’t see the appeal. Mostly about her treat of choice, but who was I to judge? There wasn’t anythingappealing about the experience to me, but Candy wanted it, and that was enough for me. In that way, I was a simple man.
Candy placed a hand on my arm, and a bolt of electricity shot through my body. “We don’t have to. It’s already late. We should probably—”
“We won’t be late getting back to the retirement home. I think we can stay out past our curfew,” I joked, shaking my head as the car came to a stop.
I went to open the door and get out when her low voice stopped me in my tracks. “Thank you,” she said sincerely. The corners of her lips lifted in a demure smile, one that had me by the balls. “For this and, well—”
“Stop. You don’t have to say anything more.”Because I don’t want to hear it.
Fuck. My. Life.
Way to have me by the balls and then twist them.
Pulling on the back of my neck, I got out of the car and walked around to her side, opening the door for her. “I don’t suppose this place offershothot chocolate, do they?”
She shrugged. “It’s a crime not to order frozen hot chocolate when you come here.” Laughter was obvious beneath her voice as she gracefully stepped out and started walking a step ahead.
