Page 109 of The Holidays with Mr. Mitchell
The roar cracked through the set. My eyes stung, pride and love and relief crashing together. He really was the best man on the planet.
“I’ll turn the party over to your host,” he said, gesturing for me to step up, “so she can welcome you all and let you explore her amazing venue.”
I took Jim’s hand as I stepped onto the stage, and the roar of applause nearly drowned out my heartbeat. The snow machines continued to fill the air with soft, glittering flurries, and under the studio lights, it almost looked like magic. Honestly, both last night and tonight felt that way.
“Wow,” I started, glancing at the crowd. “I didn’t think we were going to pull this off, but we did, and I’m so grateful to every one of you for being here tonight,” I said, smiling. “Even though my husband and I had a very interesting month with our party planning war, all of this has doubled my appreciation of him and all of you—those he works hard for and those who work hard for him. The season is about joy. About how this company, this family, comes together every year and creates something bigger than any of us could do alone.”
The lights shimmered over the crowd—the set staff, employees, and their families, and the crew that had worked around the clock to turn a studio backlot into Victorian London.
“When Jim and I started planning this?—”
Jim coughed dramatically.
“Correction, whenIstarted planning this,” I said, to another round of laughter, “the goal wasn’t just to throw a party. It was to remind everyone, including my husband, that you can be successfulandsentimental. Ruthless in businessandsofthearted at home. You can lead a billion-dollar empireandstill believe in the magic of Christmas.”
The applause swelled again. I looked at Jim, his expression softened, that quiet look that always undid me.
“And while tonight may have started as a prank war between my husband and me,” I continued, “it ended as proof that he’s exactly the man I fell in love with. He’s the man who would rather make people laugh than impress a boardroom, who’d triple your bonuses without hesitation, and who is always giving back to those who help make his vision a reality within the empire he works tirelessly to run. He truly is selfless. Despite being worn out by parties and galas, not only did he arrange for us to have two this year, but he made sure both would bring everyone the laughter and happiness this season is meant for. He may have started on the wrong foot, but that’s what this little wife of his is for: to give him a gentle nudge and remind him it’s truly about the smiles I see here tonight. That’s what makes this year so different and special to me—with all of you.”
I smiled while everyone applauded, and I let the warmth of it sink in. “So, before we turn you loose on the streets of London, please raise your glass—hot cocoa, champagne, whatever you’ve got—to each other for your hard work throughout the year and the people who made this magic possible. To our staff, our families, and to every crazy, messy, wonderful person who makes this company what it is.” I paused, holding Jim’s gaze. “And to my husband, who reminded me that even Scrooge deserves a second chance.”
Jim grinned, kissed my temple, and the band struck up a jazzy version ofGod Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen. The lights dimmed to create the most enchanting Christmas in London set ever, and the servers swept through with trays of champagne as snowflakes drifted through the air.
“A very merry welcome to the Mitchell and Associates Christmas Gala,” I said into the mic. “Let’s make it a night we’ll never forget.”
The applause came like a wave, steady and real. Not polite, not performative. It was joy breaking loose, and the whole streetof our London set came to life as if we were in the enchanting movie itself.
Snow fell harder—fake, but perfect. Gas lamps flickered against frosted windows. Servers stepped out with trays of champagne and mulled wine, and the sound of laughter rolled through the square like music.
Jim’s hand brushed my lower back as I stepped off the platform. “You handled that like a pro,” he murmured.
“We both did,” I said, smiling up at him.
The laughter around us filled the air. Even the board members standing near the bakery building couldn’t help but grin with the magic in the air.
Jim slipped his arm around me and leaned close enough for his breath to warm the top of my ear. “You realize,” he said quietly, “even with all of the crazy bullshit we’ve gone through this season, we really did put a smile on everyone’s face.”
“We sure as hell did,” I said with a laugh.
For a moment, we just stood there, watching his employees turn into kids again under the falling snow, the sets glowing gold, our daughters twirling in their Victorian dresses. At the same time, all of our friends were being roped into some impromptu caroling circle near the carriage, their kids dragging them there with pleading expressions. It was chaos and charm and everything I didn’t know I needed this Christmas.
“This feels different,” Jim said after a beat. “Like…the point wasn’t just winning.”
I looked up at him. “It never was.”
He held my gaze for a long moment, then nodded, almost to himself. “Good thing you’re on my team now, Mrs. Mitchell.”
“I always was,” I said, and meant it. “That’s why you’ll be trending nicely over the internet by morning.”
“Is that my Christmas present, my love?” He smirked.
“Oh, you know exactly what your handsome ass is getting for Christmas this year,” I arched an eyebrow at him.
“If only we could leave our own party early,” he winked, then pulled me in close to him.
I laughed, the sound getting lost under the swell of the orchestra and the distant chime of church bells piped in through the set speakers.
Snow drifted through the air, catching in his hair, melting on his collar. For one perfect heartbeat, the chaos, the rivalry, the weeks of planning, our fake fight—all of it—fell away.
