The Wedding Night Before Christmas Page 8

“That’s what I do, sometimes. But with junker corporations. And usually more than one at a time.”

  I laugh. Yeah, I’m sure that’s exactly the same. “You enjoy that?”

  “Very much. Do you enjoy restoring cars? You must, if that’s how you spend your free time.”

  “I do. How do you spend your free time?”

  “Working, usually. Because my job is also my hobby.”

  “So you really like what you do.”

  “Making money? Yes, I like it very much. Because then I can spend it on whatever else makes me happy.”

  “Making and spending money are good hobbies to have,” I say with a grin, then follow the GPS’s directions to pull into a long driveway. At the top of the hill sits the big mansion that overlooks the city—the Bennet House. I’ve seen it a million times but have never been here before. “So how does this Christmas carnival thing fit in? Are you making money or spending money?”

  “Giving it away—because I enjoy that, too, and even after I reinvest some of my earnings into the company, I keep making far more than I could ever personally need. So I donate a few billion every year to a variety of foundations and charities around the world. And ice skating is also fun.”

  I can’t argue with that. The snow-covered lawn in front of the house looks like a parking lot. I find a spot alongside a school bus, then shove her bag into a backpack containing my hockey skates.

  She’s already out of the truck and zipping up her coat when I make my way around to that side. I frown at her hand as she begins pulling on her gloves.

  “You’re still wearing the ring? I thought we agreed that you’d say ‘fuck you’ to that tradition.”

  “It’s a different one.” Now that she says so, I notice that the diamond is much smaller, too. “I told the jeweler that the feel was annoying me, so he suggested a comfort band. This one feels okay.”

  And with those gloves on, she’s clearly not wearing it just for show, like she did last night. Shit. I should have been the one to get a ring for her. Not that I could afford the one she’s wearing. But I can probably swing the other rings we’ll need—the wedding bands.

  Because I’m marrying this woman. Holy fuck, I’m marrying this woman.

  “Caleb?” She’s frowning up at me. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah,” I tell her and hear how hoarse that sounds. Because I just got the wind knocked out of me. “Just, uh…realized something.”

  Again. But this time, I’m not wondering if I’ve made a huge mistake. Instead I’m wondering how I got so damn lucky. It’s the one thing I’ll ever be grateful to Eleanor Wyndham for: leaving me the property that Audrey Clarke wants to buy.

  Slinging the backpack over my shoulder, I take her gloved hand in mine. The Bennet mansion is lit up, but everyone’s heading around the house instead of into it, so we join the crowd of people moving in that direction. Speakers are blaring Christmas music, and already I can hear little kids screaming and laughing. “Is all this noise and shit going to be all right?”

  She squeezes my fingers. “I’ll let you know if I’m not.”

  All right. And the way her face lights up when we step through an arbor and into a winter wonderland of a garden tells me that nothing’s bothering her yet. A lady dressed in an elf costume hands out a little map, where different sections of the estate grounds are given labels like “Santa’s Village” and “Reindeer Rink” and “Sugarplum Pond.”

  “Where will the raffle drawing be held?” Audrey asks the elf.

  “At the Gingerbread Gazebo in Mistletoe Midway, at eight-thirty.”

  She thanks the elf and tells me, “We need to be there at eight-fifteen. Since I donated the prizes, I’m scheduled to draw the tickets.”

  So not just here to spend money and have fun, but also to work. Yet if it’s all the same thing to her, it’ll be all the same to me. “So that gives us about two hours at Reindeer Rink,” I say and scope out the map.

  “I saw how to get there.” She tugs me toward a snow-covered path, anticipation brightening her face. I pocket the map and let her lead the way. The place is a blur of Christmas lights until we reach the skating area—which includes two temporary rinks, one for figure skating and the other a hockey rink surrounded by a safety net, complete with skates and gear provided for the kids lining up, and a bevy of attendants. I’m thinking the Bennets must have spent a pretty penny on this carnival until I see the “Sponsored by Clarke, Incorporated” written in small letters on the banners over the entrances to the rinks.

  Giving away money here, indeed. So maybe the second rink is how Audrey makes sure she’ll get to do what she enjoys most. I hand over her bag, and she sits on a bench to pull off her boots.

  “You prefer hockey or the other?”

  “The other,” she says, then glances at the black skates I take from my bag. “But if you prefer to play, go ahead. I’ll be fine on my own. And if I finish skating before you do, I don’t mind waiting. I enjoy watching the game.”

  And I love playing it but I’m not at all tempted. “I’d rather spend the time with you.”

  A touch of pink brightens her cheeks. Ninety minutes later, that pink is a deeper flush from the cold and exertion. And I knew I’d enjoy being with her, but messing around on the ice with Audrey turns out to be even more fun than I expected, because she might not play hockey but she’s still damn competitive and apparently loves a race. Plus I skate a hell of a lot better than I can dance—and since lifting her up in my arms and spinning until she’s breathless with laughter allows me to perform a manly display of strength, I figure it’s a win overall.

  To keep my streak going, I jog over to the concession stand as soon as I’ve got my boots back on and while she’s still unlacing her skates. With two hot chocolates warming my hands, I walk alongside the hockey rink on the way back to the bench, then stop short as an arc of shaved ice flies in front of my face.

  “Holy shi—eeeoooot.” A Santa goalie in the hockey rink abruptly seems to remember how many kids are around. “Caleb Moore? S’mores Moore?”

  I haven’t heard that nickname since high school. The big guy has to remove his beard and Santa hat before it clicks, and even then it’s his size that clues me in before his face does. Only one friend from back then had any inches on me. “Cole Matthews? Fuck me. I thought you were long gone.”

  “Just to the other side of town.” He nods to the two cups I’m carrying. “You got someone waiting for you? Let me get all this gear off and I’ll meet you by the benches.”

  Shit. “For a minute, maybe. We can catch up another night.”

  “So it’s like that?” He grins and skates backward, hand over his heart. “I won’t fuck it up for you, man.”

  I know he wouldn’t. But I’m not here to spend time with anyone but Audrey. I can meet up with Cole some other day.

  She smiles when I return with the hot chocolate, and her sigh of pleasure as she takes a sip goes straight to my dick. Her eyes are bright and her nose is pink, and I’ve never wanted to kiss anyone so bad in my life. But even though she hasn’t given me that wary look in a while, the plan is still to go slow—and now there’s goddamn Cole. I turn to greet him.

  “Caleb, damn.” Still in that Santa suit, he gives me a solid handshake, slapping my shoulder. “Fuck, it’s been a while. How you been?”

  “All right.” I step aside a little so he can see Audrey behind me, wishing I didn’t have to share her. “This is—”

  “Audrey?” he asks, his eyebrows shooting high.

  “Hello, Cole.”

  He looks from me to her and back again before he starts laughing. “Where the hell did you pick this asshole up?”

  “Caleb picked me up.” As if thinking she needs to protect me from that insult, she slips her hand into mine—still ungloved after unlacing her skates, and her left hand holding her cup. His gaze lands on her ring and his laughter stops.

  His eyes narrow. “That’s an engagement ring.”

  “Your obs
ervational skills haven’t failed you, detective,” Audrey replies with laughing curve of her lips. “How long have you and Caleb known each other?”

  How long have we known each other? How long has he known Audrey? How does he know her? “We grew up on the same street,” I tell her.

  “Ah,” she says. “Friends or enemies?”

  “Friends,” Cole says, apparently getting over his surprise, and now enjoying the hell out of this situation.

  “I’m glad. It means I won’t have to destroy your life.” She smiles sweetly at him. “We were just on our way to find Mia. Are you heading in that direction, too?”

  “Yeah,” he says with a grin, then falls into step with Audrey between us.

  “Mia?” I ask.

  “My wife.”

  “No shit? How long?”

  “A little less than a year.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “That seems to be going around.” He glances at Audrey. “Does Mia know about your engagement yet?”

  “I sent her a message today. And you should receive an invitation tomorrow,” she tells him.

  Which means this Mia is one of the five people in Audrey’s social circle that she enjoys being around, I realize. Which also means Cole will be part of that circle.

  Sounds damn good to me. “Did Audrey call you ‘detective’?

  “Yeah. I’m at the station downtown. And you?”

  “Still working at Phillips Auto, still restoring shit in Patrick’s garage.”

  “Patrick?” Cole grins. “What’s he doing?”

  “Woodwork at Crenshaw’s. We get together with that crew at Murphy’s most Fridays. You should come.”

  He nods. “I’ll do that. How’s your mom doing?”

  “She’s gone.” The raw edge to my voice tells him exactly what that means.

  Abruptly stopping, he stares at me. “Ah, fuck no. What happened?”

  I shrug and feel Audrey moving in closer beside me, as if trying to protect me again—or comfort me. “She hit a patch of black ice driving home from work one night. They say it was quick.”

  “Shit.” Jaw clenched, he shakes his head and we all start walking again. “I’m so fucking sorry, man.”

  “I am, too,” Audrey says softly.

  “You’d have liked her,” Cole tells Audrey. “Hell, everyone liked her. There was a reason why his house was the most popular in our neighborhood.”

  “Because she was always gone,” I say. Working her ass off, holding down two or three jobs just to pay the bills.

  “Nah, that wasn’t why. Not for me, anyway. She’d come home at, what—midnight?—obviously tired as hell and wanting nothing more than to get some sleep, yet she always made sure I’d be all right if I went home that late. And told me to come back and wake her up if I wasn’t.”

  Because Cole’s father had been an abusive drunk. We never hung out at his house because it was never safe. But my home was. We didn’t have any of the shit that kids love—no snacks, no video games—because my mom couldn’t afford them, but I always figured it was the lack of supervision that made my place a haven for my friends. Now, though…I can see my mom being a big part of that. Because Cole wasn’t the only friend who sometimes stayed a few days.

  “I think I would have liked her very much,” Audrey says.

  How could I have ever thought this woman was cold? Throat tight, I lift her hand and press a kiss to her ungloved fingers, then enfold them in mine to warm them. We reach Mistletoe Midway and Cole leads us to a gazebo covered in fake gingerbread and icing.

  Inside, Cole leaves us behind and heads straight for a tall, raven-haired woman. Clearly more congratulations should go around, because his big hand cradles her swollen belly as he leans in to kiss her. As he does, I’m greeted with the sight of one the toughest nuts I’ve ever known cracking open.

  “That’s fucking adorable,” I tell Audrey with a grin. “He used to call me S’mores because he said I had a gooey marshmallow center. Now look at him. So sweet and soft with her.”

  Audrey’s laugh is soft and sweet, too. “Yes, he is.”

  “And you’re a friend of hers?” Because Mia’s got that same air of class and money around her that Audrey has. “Did you go to high school together?”

  “No, my parents sent me away to a boarding school,” she replies, sipping her hot chocolate. “I’ve been acquainted with her for several years, though, mostly through the Bennet Foundation. But her father was the foundation’s director and I didn’t like him. His business practices were too sleezy. And she works in the county morgue, so our paths don’t cross professionally.”

  Mia is a Bennet? So Cole just doesn’t happen to be here at this carnival with his wife. She’s one of the people in charge of the whole thing—and maybe the one who lives in that mansion. Jesus.

  Audrey continues, “Then last year, Mia had her father arrested on charges of fraud and for embezzling the foundation’s funds. I liked that very much. So I sent her a list of all of the reasons why we should become friends.”

  I almost choke on my cocoa. “You sent her a friendship proposal?”

  “Yes.” She arches a brow. “Via email. And she accepted it. Then we went to lunch and became friends.”

  “Now you’re getting a husband the same way.”

  “No. You didn’t send an email.” Her sly look is a teasing one, her eyes brimming with laughter. “But a business proposal does seem an efficient way of forming relationships.”

  “Considering that I gained a sexy, brilliant fiancée, I have no complaints,” I tell her, and watch delight spread through her expression before she bites her lip and glances away. Still not sure of me. But I’ll keep working on that.

  Mia’s widened gaze is all over me as she and Cole head our direction, then she exclaims to Audrey, “You wouldn’t believe how many people left messages for me today, trying to find out if the rumors were true. Apparently Jennifer is telling everyone that you snagged the Wyndham heir.”

  “The Wyndham what?” Cole bursts into laughter—laughter that dies as abruptly as it started, his gaze arrested on my face. “Hold up. You are?”

  “I am,” I tell him. “One of those assholes was my dad.”

  His jaw drops. “Holy shit, man.”

  “Oh…my,” Mia breathes, then begins giggling. “This will be fun. Now I wish we’d gone to the tree lighting party. Please tell me that you and Caleb are coming to our New Year’s Eve gala, too, because the Wyndhams will be there and I would love to see their faces.”

  Audrey shakes her head. “We’ll still be on our honeymoon. But if you come to our wedding, you can see their faces then. If they come, too.”

  “Oh, I’m not missing that for anything. Even if they don’t come.” Mia clenches her fists in front of her chest and seems to vibrate with excitement for a moment. “Oh, I would hug you but I won’t! I’m just so happy for you, Audrey.” To me she says, “Cole says you’re all marshmallow-y inside.”

  And he hasn’t seen me in more than a decade. “If I still am, I’m one of those marshmallows that are burned up instead of toasted golden brown.”

  “The burned ones are the best,” Audrey says matter-of-factly. “You pull off the charred skin and what’s left is all gooey and warm. The others don’t get gooey enough.”

  “There you go,” Mia says with a nod, then grins and looks to Audrey again. “You must be kicking yourself now for buying that Sandpipe property for your camp project.”

  “No. The overall acreage is smaller, but there are more woodlands at Sandpipe than on the Wyndham estate. And the lake access is better.”

  “How’s the rezoning going?”

  “No problems yet. It should be finalized after the next city council meeting.”

  “Good. Jason’s looking forward to helping you move the project into the next stage. Especially after this.” She gestures around us and then looks to me, explaining, “Jason is my brother—and with my father gone, he’s living here in the manor house and
acting as the Bennet Foundation’s director, and he decided the grounds should be put to better use than simply being decorative. So this is the first year for the carnival. But we couldn’t have done as much if Clarke hadn’t sponsored it all. Which reminds me, Audrey—we have raffle tickets to draw.”

  Mia grasps Audrey’s coat sleeve and pulls her away, while everything she just said keeps sinking in. And sinking in. Until it settles in my stomach like a leaden weight.

  Audrey doesn’t need the Wyndham property for her project? So why does she still want it? Just as a good real estate investment—get it for cheap, turn a profit? Enough of a profit that she’s willing to marry me?

  The profit she’d make on the house can’t be that appealing. Not to someone who buys and sells corporations for fun. So maybe she just wants the house for herself.

  My gaze lifts to the Bennet’s mansion. I haven’t seen the Wyndham house yet, but my guess is that it’s similar. The kind of place that screams old money. Someone might want to get their hands on a house like that, sure. Especially if they were new money. Owning a house like that is a symbol of prestige or whatever.

  But that doesn’t seem like something Audrey cares about.

  Cole joins me, leaning back against the low wall of the gazebo and idly watching the goings-on near the raffle table. “So you’re the Wyndham heir?” Chuckling, he shakes his head. “Shit. That makes me the only working class asshole in this place.”

  “I’m not quitting any time soon. And I don’t think working class changes, anyway.” No matter how much money you get. “From what I’ve seen so far, these people live in a whole other world.”

  “Yeah, they do.” He sobers up, his gaze on his wife. “But you’ll learn that it doesn’t matter a damn bit. Not when she’s your whole fucking world.”

  How can Audrey be my whole world? I’ve only known her a day. Yet there’s not a thing inside me that’s laughing at the idea, or saying it’s not going to happen. Instead everything in me is agreeing. Like it already has happened.

  “How long are we talking about?” I ask him. “This ‘learning that nothing else matters’ part?”

  “For me? The very first second I saw Mia.”