[Christy]
The jet landed smooth on a private runway in Hudson Valley at 7:15 p.m.
The sky was dark purple, snow glowing under floodlights. A black SUV waited on the tarmac, no airport, no lines. Just cold air and the smell of pine trees.
Damon stepped out first. He didn't offer his hand, of course what was I expecting? For him to act like a gentleman? Huh, in your dreams Christy, I scoffed. I carried Mr. Whisky in his carrier and my small bag. The driver took the designer suitcases. I still hadn't opened them.
We drove twenty minutes on a winding road. Trees heavy with snow. No streetlights. Just the car's headlights cutting through white.
Then the estate appeared.
I couldn't help but gasped.
It was a castle. Stone walls. Towers. Windows lit gold. A giant Christmas tree beside the front gate, big as a truck. Lights twinkled on every tree. A fountain in the driveway, frozen mid-spurt.
"This is your house?" I asked.
"Grandmother's," Damon said. "Built in 1895. Forty rooms. Twelve fireplaces. One ghost."
"Ghost?"
He smiled. Small. "The maid who died on Christmas Eve. 1925. She still sets the table."
I shivered. Not from cold.
The car stopped at massive wooden doors. They opened before we knocked. A woman in a black dress stood there. Gray hair in a bun. Face as hard as a stone.
"Master Damon," she said. "Welcome home."
"Mrs. Jane," he said. "This is Christy James. My fiancee."
Her eyes flicked to my ring. Then to my face. No smile.
"Miss James. Your room is ready."
She turned and walked inside. We followed. 'What a grumpy old lady' I whispered.
The foyer was bigger than my entire bakery. They was a marble floor, double staircase, and a Christmas tree in the center, twenty feet tall, covered in gold ornaments and real candles. The air smelled like pine, cinnamon, and money.
Portraits lined the walls. Old men in suits. Women in pearls. All Michaelsons. All staring.
Mrs. Jane led us up the stairs. My boots left wet prints. Damon's didn't.
"Your suite, Miss," she said at a door. "Master Damon is down the hall."
Suite? Not room?
I walked in.
It was huge. A king sized bed with white linens. Fireplace crackling. Windows overlooking snow-covered gardens. A sitting area. A bathroom bigger than my apartment. Marble tub, gold faucets, towels thicker than blankets. I couldn't help but to gasp for the second time in just the few minutes we've been here.
Mr. Whisky meowed. I let him out. He ran straight under the bed.
Damon stood at the door. Hands in his pockets.
"Dinner at eight," he said. "Family only. Grandmother wants to meet you."
"Family?"
"Me. Grandmother. Uncle Stephen. Cousin Gloria. That's it."
I nodded. "What do I wear?"
"Closet."
I opened the closet door. My mouth fell open.
Dresses. Dozens. All my size. Gowns, Sweaters, Coats, Boots, and even underwears. silk, lace, tags were still on. They were some designer names I couldn't even pronounce.
"You bought all this?" I asked.
"Had it delivered."
"When?"
"Yesterday."
I turned. "You planned this before the cupcakes?"
He didn't answer. Just looked at me.
"Bathroom has everything," he said. "Hair. Makeup. Be downstairs at eight."
Then he left. Door closed soft.
I stood alone in the giant room. Mr. Whisky peeked from under the bed. I sat on the floor.
"What did I do?" I whispered.
He meowed. Like he understood what I was going through.
I showered in the marble palace. The water was hot. The soap smelled like roses. I used the fancy shampoo, conditioner and body lotion that cost more than my rent.
I blow-dried my hair. Curled it. Put on makeup from a drawer full of new palettes. I looked like me, but richer.
I picked a dress from the closet. An emerald gown that looked so simple but beautiful. It fitted me perfectly, as though it was made for me.
I slipped on heels. Black. Not too high.
I looked in the mirror.
I didn't recognize myself.
At 7:56, I walked downstairs. Mrs. Jane was waiting there for me.
"This way," she said.
She led me to a dining room. Long table. Crystal chandelier. Candles everywhere. Plates with gold rims. The tree from the foyer glowed through the windows.
Damon stood by the fireplace. Black suit. No tie. He turned when I walked in.
His eyes changed. Just for a second. Like he forgot to breathe.
"You clean up well," he said.
"Thanks to your stalker closet."
He smiled. Small again. Was it a crime for this man to smile brightly?
"Christy," a voice said.
I turned.
An old woman sat at the head of the table. White hair. Pearl necklace. Red dress. She looked like a queen.
"Grandmother," Damon said. "This is my grandmother, Lady Veronica Michaelson. And grandma, this is my fiancee Christy James."
His grandmother didn't say anything. Just looked at me with her sharp blue eyes.
"Sit," she said.
I sat. Damon sat beside me. Two other strange faces were already there.
A middle aged man whom I guess to be Uncle Stephen. Bald, red face, holding whiskey glass. And then a young beautiful lady who I assume to be Damon's cousin, Gloria. Blonde, looking like all those spoilt brats, with her phone in hand. Yh I know I judged her so fast.
"Engaged," Lady Veronica said. "On Christmas. How... convenient."
Adrian's jaw tightened. "Love doesn't follow calendars grandma"
Gloria snorted. "O Please. Isn't she the baker girl. From the internet?"
I froze. What does she mean by that?
Lady Veronica raised an eyebrow. "You found her online?"
Adrian didn't blink. "I found her at her bakery. She makes the best cupcakes in Vermont."
Mr Stephen laughed. "Cupcakes. How convenient."
I wanted to disappear. Lady Veronica stared at me. "Tell me about yourself, child."
I swallowed. "I own Christy's Treasures ma'am, over there, in the city. My mom started it. I took over when—"
"When your parents died," Lady Veronica finished. "Christmas Eve. Car crash. Tragic."
My heart stopped. "How did you—"
"I research," she said. "Like my grandson. You didn't think I didn't know about you before him bringing you here, did you?" she gave a small chuckle.
Adrian's hand found mine under the table and squeezed it. His hands were so warm, and strong.
I squeezed back.
Dinner came. Soup, Salad, Steak. I barely tasted it.
They asked questions.
Where did we meet?
At the bakery. He ordered two hundred cupcakes.
First date?
Coffee. Then the jet.
Why so fast?
When you know, you know.
Gloria rolled her eyes. Stephen was just smirking, and Lady Veronica watched.
After dessert having our dessert, chocolate mousse, Lady Beatrice stood.
"Walk with me, Christy."
"Alright ma'am"
Adrian started to stand.
"Alone," she said.
He sat back down. It's actually funny and same time surprising to see him complying so easily.
"I'll be fine" I squeezed his shoulders and he just nodded.
I followed her to a library. Books, floor to ceiling. Fire roaring. Snow outside the windows.
She sat in a leather chair. I sat opposite.
"Damon needs this marriage," she said. "The clause. My doing."
I nodded
"He thinks I want him settled. I want him alive."
I frowned. "Alive?"
She looked at the fire. "His mother, my daughter, died on Christmas, from overdose of pills. He found her, he was just ten years old when he saw her body under the tree."
My throat closed.
"He shut down after that," she said. "No love. No trust. Just work. Money. Control and power."
She looked at me. "You're different."
"I'm fake," I said.
"Are you?"
I didn't answer.
She leaned forward. "The clause says 'happily engaged.' Not married. Not in love. Just... happy. For one month."
I stared. "You wrote it to trick him?"
"To wake him."
Silence.
"I'll know if it's real," she said. "I always know."
She stood. "Go to bed. Tomorrow we decorate the tree. Family tradition."
I stood. "Lady Veronica?"
"Yes?"
"Why tell me?"
She smiled, a sad one. "Because you might be the only one who can save him."
Back in my room, I kicked off the heels. Mr. Whiskey jumped on the bed. I changed into pajamas, silk, from the drawer.
I sat by the fire. The contract burned in my mind.
But Lady Veronica's words burned more.
Save him.
From what?
I opened my phone, and texted Sophia
'Alive. Rich people are weird. Miss you'
She replied: Bakery sold out today. Good night and sweet dreams.
I smiled. Then looked at the ring.
Heavy. Cold. Beautiful.
And then there was a knock on the door.
I opened the door, and was surprised to see Damon.
He stood in sweatpants and a T-shirt. Hair messy. His stone cold expression was no where to be seen.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Yh I am, thanks for asking"
He looked past me,stepped inside and then closed the door. And I was just standing there, not knowing what to do.
"I should've warned you," he said. "About Grandmother."
"She told me about your mom."
Immediately I mentioned the word mum, his expression changed. Hard and cold.
"Don't," he said.
"I'm sorry."
He looked at the fire. "Christmas was her favorite. She decorated for weeks. Then one year... she didn't wake up."
I walked to him. Touched his arm. "I know loss. My parents, they also died on a festive season"
He looked down at me, Eyes softer.
"We will heal okay?" I said.
He nodded. Slow. And before I could process anything, he was already leaning towards me
He was leaning down, slow. As though asking for my permission
I didn't move.
His lips brushed against mine. Soft and Warm. Not for any cameras, because they was obviously no cameras here.
Just us.
He pulled back, and stared at me
"Rule no 4," he said. "No intimacy unless necessary."
"That wasn't necessary," I whispered.
"No," he said. "It wasn't." And then after that, he left.
I stood there. Heart racing. Lips tingling.
Rule no 5 was in danger.
And it was only day one.
***********
[Damon]
I walked to my room. Closed the door. Leaned against it.
What the hell was that?
I just kissed her.
Not for show. Not for the contract.
Because I wanted to.
Her lips were so damn soft, warm and real.
I hadn't kissed anyone like that in years.
I poured a drink, scotch.
Grandmother's words echoed.
Save him.
From what? Myself?
I looked out my window. Snow falling. The estate quiet.
Christy James
Broke baker. Blue eyes. Fi
re in her soul.
She was supposed to be a tool.
A means to an end.
But that kiss...
I downed the scotch.
Thirty days.
I could survive thirty days.
But could I survive her?