Holiday Hoax: Chapter 29

Melanie whines, ‘It’s New Year’s Eve. You can’t spend it by yourself. Come over.’

I sigh. ‘Melanie, I’m just not up for it, okay? You and Greg have a great time with the kids.’

‘Come on, Georgia. Just come on over,’ she pushes for the hundredth time.

‘Okay, I’m hanging up now,’ I chirp.

She groans. ‘You’re annoying.’

I laugh. ‘You love me.’

She grumbles, ‘Yes, I do. Tomorrow we’re definitely getting together.’

‘All right, sounds good. I’ll talk to you later. Have a great New Year,’ I offer.

‘Happy New Year, Georgia,’ she softly replies.

I hang up the phone, sit back on the couch, and glance at my watch. It’s only five in the evening. I’ve been in the house all day, not feeling in the festive spirit. Now, the walls are starting to cave in on me.

I need to get out of here.

I bundle up and decide to go for a walk. There’s barely any daylight left. The streetlights blink on, and I walk for over an hour, aimlessly strolling through Dallas, trying not to think about Sebastian.

Suddenly, I’m in front of the bakery. I’ve not gone inside since I was here with him last. I don’t know why. I’ve walked by it several times this past week. I’ve read and reread the paperwork he gave me so many times that I’ve lost count. Yet I’ve not stepped foot inside of it.

I’m still blown away by what he’s done. It makes me want to tell him everything is fine between us, but I know it’s not. I miss him so much that I wish I could get over it. But I don’t know how to trust him again. And I’d do anything to get past this pain.

I reach into my pocket and pull out my key ring. The key that Sebastian gave me is on it, so I unlock the door and walk in. I stare around the space, feeling a swell of excitement and pride. Then I notice a light shining through the crack of the kitchen door.

We must have forgotten to turn it off.

I go over to the kitchen door, push it open, and freeze. The hairs on my neck rise.

Sebastian’s standing against the counter, his hands covering his face.

‘Sebastian?’ I softly say.

He slowly looks up. His blue eyes are glassy.

I immediately rush to him. ‘What’s wrong?’

He clenches his jaw, admitting, ‘Everything.’

I take a deep breath, then reply, ‘It shouldn’t be. You’re the CEO now. You have it all.’ I offer a smile.

‘No, I don’t,’ he states, drilling his bloodshot eyes into mine.

‘When did you sleep last?’ I ask.

He shrugs.

‘When?’ I push.

‘I don’t sleep well without you,’ he confesses.

My butterflies kick off, a mix of flutters and nerves.

He tilts his head, studies me, then murmurs, ‘I miss you. Nothing’s ever hurt this badly.’

I start to object, then stop. He’s right. What’s the point of denying it? I slowly nod. ‘I miss you too. And you’re right. It does hurt badly.’

‘Then why are we doing this?’ he questions.

I glance at the ceiling, trying to stop my eyes from watering. I wish I had answers for us. All I know is I don’t know how to trust him again.

‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you that,’ he adds.

I refocus on him. ‘Are you going to be okay?’

He just stares at me. Uncomfortable silence fills the room. I shift on my feet, and he inquires, ‘Have you had any dinner?’

I shake my head. ‘No.’

He hesitates, then asks, ‘Do you have New Year’s plans?’

For some reason, a laugh comes out of me. ‘No. Melanie keeps asking me, but I’m just not feeling it.’

His lips form a tiny smile. ‘I understand. Me too.’ He pauses, then continues, ‘Do you want to have dinner with me?’

Yes.

I blurt out, ‘I don’t know if that’s a good idea.’

‘Georgia, it’s just food.’

More tense silence fills the air.

‘Let’s have dinner,’ he quietly repeats.

I blow out a big breath and ask, ‘What are you making?’

He grins, and my heart skips a beat. He answers, ‘I ordered a tray of enchiladas and chips from my favorite Tex-Mex place. Plus, one of our clients sent a homemade pecan pie to the office. I snagged it and took it home last night.’ He wiggles his eyebrows. ‘But I haven’t cut into it yet.’

‘Stop teasing me!’ I exclaim, then add, ‘Are you going off your diet?’

He shrugs. ‘Someone amazing told me I needed to live a little.’

I softly reply, ‘That’s good, Sebastian.’

He steps closer. ‘What would you say if I told you I had ice cream and whipped cream for the pie?’

‘Now you’re really tempting me,’ I state.

His eyes twinkle, then his face falls. In a serious tone, he pleads, ‘Please come have dinner with me.’

I think about it for a minute, then cave. ‘Okay.’

‘Yeah?’ he asks with hope in his voice.

‘Sure. It would be horrible for your wife to let you eat dinner alone on New Year’s Eve, wouldn’t it?’ I say, then instantly regret bringing it up when a sad smile fills his face. I reprimand myself and add, ‘Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.’

‘No worries.’ He swiftly places his arm around my waist and guides me out of the bakery.

An ache in my heart appears. It feels so normal, like I’m meant to have his arm around me.

He says, ‘I only live a few blocks from here.’

We make our way through the crowds and get to his building. I feel at ease with Sebastian, like before when I thought we fit together. But I can’t escape the awkwardness that’s also present…and I see it in his expression too.

We go inside and take the elevator to the penthouse. I gravitate toward the window and stare at the beautiful night view of Dallas, commenting, ‘This is really nice.’

‘It’s what sold me on the place,’ he admits.

I glance around. ‘I can understand why. It’s beautiful.’

Sebastian goes into the kitchen and I follow. He opens a bottle of champagne and fills two flutes. He hands me one, holds his glass out, and says, ‘Happy New Year.’

I clink his glass and offer a smile, replying, ‘Happy New Year.’

We each take a sip, and things become awkward again. ‘Georgia—’ He snaps his mouth shut.

‘What do you want to say?’ I ask.

He hesitates, then shakes his head. ‘Nothing. Let’s get dinner in the oven.’ He spins and turns on the oven.

I open his refrigerator and laugh.

‘What’s so funny?’ he questions.

I point to the contents. ‘You have the most organized fridge I’ve ever seen.’ Several days’ worth of precooked meals are stacked on shelves, with labels describing each dish and the macro count.

‘It would probably drive you nuts, huh?’ he questions.

I lock eyes with him. ‘No. Not at all. You should see my pantry.’

He grins. ‘Don’t tell me your baking ingredients are alphabetized.’

I put my hand over my face, admitting, ‘Guilty.’

He chuckles.

I spin back toward the fridge. There’s a large throw-away casserole dish with a matching silver lid. I pull it out and ask, ‘I assume these are the enchiladas?’

‘Yep.’

I set it on the counter and remove the lid. ‘These look really good.’

‘They’re the best,’ he claims as he picks up the tray and puts it in the oven. He sets the timer and adds, ‘But wait until you try the salsa.’

‘Oh! Salsa. Now you’re spoiling me,’ I tease.

He wiggles his eyebrows and removes a container from the fridge. He opens it and a brown, grease-stained paper bag. Then he takes a chip out, dips it in the salsa, and holds it in front of my mouth. ‘Try—’

I bite it before he can finish.

His eyes widen, and he laughs. ‘Hungry?’

‘Starving,’ I confess with a mouth full of chips and salsa. I suddenly feel like my appetite is back. ‘This is so good,’ I say on a moan.

‘Told you!’ he exclaims, then stuffs one in his mouth.

We finish off half the container of salsa, then the oven beeps. Sebastian removes the enchiladas and orders, ‘Come here.’

I step next to him.

He leans down and wafts the steam toward his face. ‘You have to smell it.’

‘I already can. It’s making me hungry,’ I declare.

‘Nope! You have to inhale it, Sunshine,’ he asserts.

I humor him, take a deep breath, and then look up. ‘You’re right. It smells even more amazing!’

‘Right?’

‘Totally!’

He kisses me on the top of my head and murmurs, ‘Wait until this hits your tongue.’ He fills a plate, hands it to me, then makes one for himself.

We sit at the table, and he opens two bottles of Mexican beer.

I hold mine out. ‘Cheers.’

He clinks my bottle, repeats, ‘Cheers,’ and we both take a sip.

I take a bite of the enchilada and say, ‘You were right. This has to be the best in Texas.’

His eyes sparkle brighter. He watches me eat a few bites, then takes one himself. He groans.

I laugh. ‘You look like you’re in heaven right now.’

He locks his blues to mine. ‘I am.’

‘All it takes is some enchiladas and a good beer, huh?’ I tease.

His face turns serious. ‘And you.’

My heart swoons, and my chest tightens. I scold myself for my mixed emotions. Being here with Sebastian is dangerous. It feels like nothing bad happened between us, but it did.

I still love him.

I can’t let him hurt me again.

He takes a chip, adds enchilada to it, then holds it in front of my mouth, ordering, ‘Try it this way.’

I bite it and nod. I chew, then swallow. ‘Yum.’

For the rest of the meal, we keep our conversation light. Then he fixes a piece of pecan pie for me exactly how I like it.

After we clean the kitchen and do the dishes, the awkwardness reappears. I don’t want to leave but convince myself it’s best. I force a smile and say, ‘I should get going.’

He clenches his jaw and stares at me.

‘Thanks for dinner. It was nice seeing you,’ I add.

‘You can’t go yet.’

I turn, speechless, unable to move or figure out what to say. I know I should go. But the part of me that doesn’t want to be without Sebastian won’t let me budge an inch.

He takes my hand and tugs me to the couch. ‘There’s a marathon on.’

‘Oh?’ I question. My flutters do the happy dance at the possibility of staying.

He points, challenging, ‘Sit, and you’ll see.’

I don’t argue and obey.

He plops down next to me, pulls the ottoman closer, so there is no room between it and the sofa, and tosses a blanket over us. His praline, citrus, and sandalwood scent makes me edge closer to him. He slides his arm around my shoulders, tugging me so I’m resting on his chest. He moves his face in front of mine. A smile plays on his lips as he announces, ‘Cupcake Wars is on all night.’

A nervous laugh escapes me. I inquire, ‘You watch Cupcake Wars?’

He gives me his look—the one that always makes me think he’s undressing me without even taking his eyes off my face.

I squeeze my thighs together, trying not to squirm or think about what I’d love for him to do to me.

He answers, ‘Yeah. It intrigues me.’

To create some space between us, I turn toward him. I immediately regret the loss of his warm, hard body against mine. I quiz, ‘It intrigues you?’

He shrugs. ‘It does. But I’m sure you can run circles around them. And I bet your cupcakes would kick theirs to the curb.’

‘I’m not sure about that,’ I reply.

He grunts. ‘Sure they would.’ He grabs the remote, turns on the TV, and the show appears.

‘How often do you watch this?’ I question, surprised he didn’t even have to change the channel.

Nerves fill his expression. I wait him out until he confesses, ‘I started watching it when we returned to Dallas. It reminds me of you. Plus, I wanted to learn more about the business.’

My heart skips a beat. I decide it’s safer to lean back against him, so I do.

He comments, ‘I took some notes.’

I return to my previous position. ‘Notes on what?’

His expression turns to that of a kid caught with their hand in a cookie jar. He answers, ‘I have a few different sections.’

‘On?’ I push.

‘Ideas you might want to implement, lessons you can take from the show to avoid problems, things I didn’t understand.’

I gape at him, then finally ask, ‘Can I see it?’

‘It’s probably stupid—’

‘No, it’s not. I want to see it,’ I declare.

He pauses, then reaches over into the side table drawer. He hands me a black leather notebook.

‘I would have thought this had women’s contact info in it,’ I tease.

He smirks. ‘Ha ha. Funny.’

I open the book, and I’m struck with awe. I blurt out, ‘This is really detailed.’

‘Like I said, probably stupid,’ he mumbles.

I firmly attest, ‘No. It’s not. Grab a pen.’

He arches his eyebrows.

I point to the drawer. ‘Go on. Let’s add to it.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes! This is awesome information! I watch this show all the time, but I’ve never thought of doing this. It’s a great idea,’ I praise.

His cocky expression that I love so much appears. He grabs the pen out of the drawer and slides down on the couch, tugging me with him.

We watch episode after episode, laughing, screaming at the screen at times, and having a great discussion about different business aspects.

The last episode finishes, and the screen switches to the ball dropping in Times Square. There are five minutes until midnight.

Sebastian jumps off the couch. He refills our champagne flutes, then sets them on the side table. He reaches for me, and I allow him to help me off the couch.

He palms my cheek and drags his thumb over my lips.

I close my eyes, forgetting about all our issues and enjoying being under his spell again.

He kisses my eyes and murmurs, ‘This has been the best New Year’s Eve ever.’

I open my eyes and smile. ‘I agree.’

He clinks my glass, we take a sip, and a new song blares from the speakers. He takes my flute out of my hand, sets them down, and circles his arm around my waist.

Our bodies collide together and effortlessly sway to the music. We dance the remaining minutes until the countdown, then shout, ‘Happy New Year!’ when the clock strikes midnight.

Sebastian’s hand slides through my hair. He gently tugs on it and leans over my mouth. Zings fly all over my body, mimicking the fireworks going off across the Dallas skyline. Our breaths merge, and he closes the gap between us.

His lips and tongue slowly caress mine until we’re a fire out of control, burning everything in its path, only to gain more intensity.

Before I know it, I’m in his room. Our clothes come off as the sky bursts with colors, lighting up his chiseled features and intense gaze.

Then I’m on top of him, straddling his hips, taking all of him in me as fast as I can.

He groans as I shudder. He tightens his grasp around me, kissing me with a renewed passion, letting me ride him until I’m a quivering mess.

Then he flips me to the mattress, cages his body over mine, and murmurs against my lips, ‘You’re still mine.’

I nod, tearing up, not thinking about any consequences and wanting it to be true. I palm his ass, pulling him to me as soon as he thrusts backward. Within minutes, we’re coming, violently trembling against the other. It’s faster than normal, but it’s as if our bodies can’t hold back, unable to stop the reaction the other creates.

In the aftermath, he rolls onto his back, bringing me into his arms. We say nothing, and I’m almost asleep when I hear him murmur, ‘I love you, Sunshine.’

It’s so faint, I question if he really said it. I keep my eyes shut, bury my face into his neck, and reply, ‘I love you too.’

He tightens his arms around me, and states, ‘You’ve never said that to me before.’

I stay quiet, trying to shut up the voices in my head that are arguing about what all this means. One is telling me to get up and leave. The other to curl up into him and never go home. That’s the voice that wins, so I sink farther into him, closing my eyes.

We both fall asleep, and I don’t know which of us crashes first. I wake up the next morning, and Sebastian’s body is strewn across mine. My heart starts beating faster as my fears turn to fresh panic.

What did we do?

I slowly move out from underneath him, then stare at him for a few more minutes. He’s peacefully sleeping, and I want to stroke his cheek but don’t. I almost slide back against his warm body. Then my conscience doesn’t allow me to. I toss on my clothes and sneak out of his penthouse.

It takes a while for me to walk home, but when I finally get there, I go into the bathroom and stare at my reflection in the mirror.

I’m never going to be free of him.

I’m in over my head.

My phone dings. I glance at the screen, and my stomach drops.

Huck Peterson, Esq.: This is an appointment reminder from Huck’s office for your 10:00 AM annulment appointment on January 2nd. Please let us know if you cannot attend.

My stomach dives.

He didn’t cancel the meeting.

I pace my apartment. This has always been the plan, no matter what happened between Sebastian and me.

Does he want this?

I didn’t hold up my end of the bargain.

He probably wants to sign and get off the hook for the million dollars.

He already gave me more than a million. The building alone is worth at least three, and that’s without the build-out he orchestrated.

I open my laptop and sign in to my email account. Then I start typing.

Huck,

Please make sure the paperwork states that I’m not to receive anything. I will not sign anything unless it states this. I waive my right to claim Sebastian is in breach of the contract since I won’t have a week to review the paperwork.

Thank you,

Georgia Peach

Several minutes pass as I stare at the email. Sadness washes over me. I’ll no longer be Sebastian’s wife, but the desire to use his name at least once before he lets me go wins. I erase the Peach and type Cartwright. Then I hit send.