Читать книгу: «Christmas Ever After»

To Jill Shalvis, who is kind, warm, generous and funny and also writes brilliant books.

Table of Contents

Cover

Praise for Sarah Morgan

About the Author

Title Page

Dear Reader

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Acknowledgements

Extract

Endpage

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

SKYLAR TEMPEST STEPPED out of her hotel and lifted her face to the sky. Soft, thick flakes of snow drifted down from a sky of midnight blue, dusting her hair and blending with the wool of her white coat. It was like standing in a snow globe.

She reached out and caught a snowflake in her palm, watching as it slowly dissolved, its beauty fleeting and ephemeral.

London was experiencing a cold spell and bets were on for the first white Christmas in years. The snow had been falling for a couple of hours and the streets were frosted white. It was easy on the eye and lethal underfoot, which was why she’d decided to take a cab rather than walk the glittering length of Knightsbridge to the gallery.

She didn’t want to arrive at the most important night of her life with a black eye.

Smiling at the doorman, she stepped into the waiting cab.

Cocooned in the warmth, she watched as people bustled along the crowded streets. They walked, heads down, snuggled in layers of wool to keep out the cold. Stores with elaborately decorated windows shone bright with fairy lights, beaming shimmering silver across the snow.

Drinking in the light and color, she fought the temptation to reach for the sketch pad she always carried. In a world that often presented its ugly side, Skylar looked for the beauty and captured it in her art. She worked in a variety of mediums, dabbled in ceramics, but her first love was jewelry.

The necklace she’d chosen to wear tonight was an example of her work and the only splash of color in her outfit. She’d designed it as part of her latest collection, but she’d fallen in love with the piece and kept it. The stones were a mixture of blues and greens, Mediterranean hues that added warmth to a cold December evening.

Tonight was her big night, she was in one of her favorite cities at her favorite time of year and Richard was joining her.

They’d been an item for over a year. A year in which his entire focus had been his political career. Since he’d won his senate seat, the pressures had intensified. They’d barely seen each other in the months leading up to the election and the time they had spent together had been marred by his incendiary moods. She’d resigned herself to attending the private showing of her collection alone, so his call from the airport had been a surprise.

Now she was eagerly anticipating the night ahead.

Starting tonight, everything was going to be different. With the stress of the election behind them, they’d finally be able to enjoy quality time together and do all the things they’d talked about doing.

He’d hinted that he had a special Christmas gift for her.

A trip to Florence maybe?

He knew how much she’d always wanted that.

Or Paris, maybe, to visit the Louvre and the Musée d’Orsay.

Her mood lifted.

They’d celebrate her exhibition and later they’d enjoy a more intimate celebration. The two of them, her luxurious hotel suite and a bottle of champagne. Tomorrow, they’d visit the ice rink at Somerset House. She’d walked past it the day before and spent a happy hour people-watching. Her creative brain had soaked up the kaleidoscope of color and smiling faces. She’d absorbed it all; the uncertain, the wobbly and the graceful. Twirling teenagers, parents holding eager children, lovers entwined. After that, they’d visit the London Eye at night. She’d watched the slow, graceful rise of each capsule over the dark ribbon of the Thames and decided she wanted to experience that.

It would be romantic, and she and Richard needed to spend more time on their relationship.

She stared out of the window, thinking about it.

Was this love?

Was this it?

She’d always assumed that when she finally fell in love she’d know. She hadn’t been prepared for all the doubts and questions.

“Christmas party, love?” The cab driver glanced in the mirror and Skylar gave him a smile, glad to be distracted from her thoughts.

“Not exactly. A private showing. Jewelry, pots and a few pieces of art.” A series of watercolors she’d painted on a trip to Greece to visit Brittany. Having a best friend who was an archaeologist had expanded her horizons. That trip had been the inspiration for her collection. Ocean Blue.

“Where are you from?”

“New York, and it’s pretty cold there right now.” She chatted freely, loving how friendly the cab drivers were in London.

“I hope you brought your credit card. Prices are high in this part of London. Whatever you buy is going to cost you.”

“It’s mine.” Excitement mingled with pride. “My collection.”

He glanced at her in his mirror. “I’m impressed. To have your work on display in these parts at any age would be something, but for someone as young as you—well, you’re obviously going somewhere. Your family must be really proud.”

Her good mood melted away like the snowflake she’d held in her palm.

Her family wasn’t proud.

They were exasperated that she persisted with her “hobby.”

She’d invited them. Sent them a pretty embossed invitation and a catalog.

There had been no response.

Turning her head, she focused on the snowy scene beyond the windows of the cab. She wasn’t going to let that ruin her evening. Nothing was going to ruin the evening.

The cab driver was still talking. “So you’ll be flying back home for the holidays? Family Christmas?”

“That’s the plan.” Although not the reality. “Family Christmas” sounded cozy and warm, like something from a fairy tale. It conjured up images of prettily wrapped gifts stacked beneath a tall tree festooned with twinkling lights and homemade decorations, while excited children fizzed with anticipation.

Christmas at her parents’ house felt more like an endurance test than a fairy tale, more corporate than cozy. The “tree” would be an artistic display of bare twigs sprayed silver and studded with tiny lights, part of a larger display planned and executed every year by her mother’s interior decorator. Stark, remote and not to be touched at any cost. The “gifts,” artfully stacked on various surfaces for effect, would be empty boxes.

Any child hoping to find something magical under her family tree would be disappointed.

Those gifts summed up her family, she thought.

Everything had to be shiny and perfectly wrapped. Appearances mattered.

Leaning her head against the cool glass of the window, she watched as a man and a woman, loaded down with bags, struggled through the snow with two bouncing, excitable young children. She imagined them arriving home and decorating the tree together. They’d write letters to Santa and hang stockings, counting the number of sleeps until Christmas Day.

The most important things in life, she thought wistfully, couldn’t be wrapped.

She watched as the family disappeared down a side street and then looked away, impatient with herself.

She was too old for Christmas fantasies and with Richard arriving and her exhibition she had plenty to celebrate.

Her phone rang and she tugged it out of her bag, expecting Richard again.

It was her mother and surprise mingled with warmth.

She remembered.

“Mom? I’m so happy you called.”

“I shouldn’t have to call—” her mother’s crisp, cultured tones came down the phone “—but your father and I need to know when you’ll be home.”

Bridging the gap between hope and reality gave her whiplash. “You’re calling about my schedule?”

“Stephanie sent you an email. You didn’t respond.”

Stephanie was her mother’s assistant and Sky knew the email was probably sitting in her inbox, along with all the others she’d ignored while burning the midnight oil to get ready for this week.

“I’ve been busy, Mom. It’s my private viewing tonight, and—”

“We’re all busy, Skylar, and I’d appreciate not having to chase my own daughter for a response. Particularly when you’re the only one without a job.”

Sky thought of the commissions she had lined up. She had enough work to keep her busy through most of next year. “I have a job.”

“I mean a proper job. I’m doing the seating plan for Christmas Eve. We’ll be eighty for dinner. Lunch is more intimate—forty. When will you be arriving?”

Sky leaned her head back against the seat, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

Forty? Intimate?

So much for a cozy family Christmas.

“I haven’t decided.”

“Then decide.”

Skylar imagined her mother seated at her elegant Queen Anne desk, ticking off the items on her to-do list.

Phone dreamy, wayward daughter.

“Christmas Eve.” At the last possible moment. “I’ll be home Christmas Eve, but I’ll make my own arrangements so you can cross me off your list. I’ll talk with Richard and see what works for him.”

“Richard has already sent through his plans.”

Without sharing them with her? “He emailed you? I was assuming we’d travel together.”

“You need to stop assuming and take action, Skylar. Richard’s career is on the rise, but he still found time to respond to my email personally. Your father is impressed, and we all know he’s not easy to impress.”

Sky’s fingers tightened on the phone.

She knew. She’d been trying to impress her father for years, so far with no success.

Something tugged deep inside her.

In third grade she’d painted him a picture. It had taken days of hard, painstaking effort to produce something she thought he’d like. She’d been excited by the result.

Look at this, Daddy. I painted it for your office.

He’d barely glanced at the picture and the next day she’d noticed it in the trash, buried beneath empty cans and juice cartons.

She never drew anything for him again.

She watched as snowflakes swirled and danced past the windows and tried not to mind that Richard had apparently succeeded where she had failed.

“He’s smart,” her mother was saying. “Persuasive. Charming.”

Except when he was under pressure. Then he was short-tempered and far from charming. But that wasn’t a side he showed to the voting public or her family.

She stirred in her seat, feeling guilty for not being more understanding.

This was his dream, and she knew how it felt to have a dream.

Richard Everson had nurtured ambitions of running for office since childhood. The occasional burst of irritability at this point was understandable.

Her mother was still talking. “You’re lucky to have found a man like him, but you won’t hang on to him if you’re dreamy and romantic. Relationships require application and hard work.”

And that, Skylar thought, was exactly how her parents’ marriage had always seemed to her. Work. More corporate merger than loving union.

Was that really what love was?

She hoped not.

“When is he arriving?”

“Christmas Eve, in time for lunch. He’ll be excellent at this sort of event.”

Event? “It’s Christmas, Mom.”

“I thought you would finally have grown out of romanticizing the holidays.” Her mother sounded impatient. “Your father has given a great deal of thought to the guest list. There are influential people attending. People who will be useful to Richard’s career.”

Not friends or family. People of influence.

“Anyone I know?”

“The list was attached to the email Stephanie sent. I hope you take time to prepare.”

“Preparing” involved absorbing and memorizing pages of notes on each individual. Likes, dislikes, topics to be avoided at all costs.

Even at Christmas it was all about networking.

A wild idea flitted into her mind. Christmas in a cottage on Puffin Island. Log fire, good wine and the company of her friends. She and Richard together without the pressures of the outside world.

It was a dreamy idea.

It was also heresy and it was never going to happen.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t be here, Mom.”

“You couldn’t have picked a worse time. You’re putting a great deal of pressure on Richard. As your father said when he spoke to him earlier, expecting him to fly to London right now is unreasonable.”

“Richard spoke to Dad?”

“He called this morning.” Her mother paused. “Choosing that man is the one thing in your life you’ve done right. Don’t make a mistake tonight, Skylar.”

Make a mistake about what?

“Wait a minute—what are you talking about?”

“I’ve said enough. The rest is up to you. Make good choices.” Her mother ended the call and Skylar sat for a moment, staring out of the window.

Make good choices.

Her family had never understood that, for her, art and the process of creating something tangible and beautiful, whether a pot or a necklace, wasn’t a choice. It was a need, maybe even an obsession. It came from deep inside. She had images clamoring in her head, ideas crowding her brain. Inspiration was everywhere, there were days where she was dizzy and dazzled by possibilities.

Choice wasn’t part of it.

She could no more have given up what she did than she could have given up breathing, but her family had never understood that. Their approach to life was analytical. Their appreciation of art was limited to its cultural significance or financial value.

Growing up, there had been days when she’d wondered if her parents had brought the wrong baby home from the hospital. They were good people, but she felt as if she was in the wrong house.

The phone rang again. This time it was Brittany and Emily, her friends who were both back on Puffin Island, in Maine.

“Tell us what you’re wearing.” Brittany’s voice came down the phone and Skylar grinned.

No doubt about it, without her friends she’d go insane.

Friends were like solar power, bringing warmth and light to dark corners.

“The silver dress with the white coat. Totally impractical.”

“No burgers, no ketchup and stay away from red wine. I bet you look like a snow queen. We rang to wish you luck because after tonight you’ll be too famous to talk to us. Are you excited?”

Skylar tried to forget the conversation with her mother. “I think so.”

“You think?” This time it was Emily. “Sky, this is huge. You should be so proud. We are.”

“Drink champagne, take photos and we’ll celebrate when you’re home.” Brittany’s voice echoed down the phone. “Wish we could be there with you. You shouldn’t be alone.”

Skylar hesitated, not sure whether to tell them or not. “I won’t be alone. Richard is coming.”

There was a brief silence and then Emily spoke. “That’s great.” Her voice was just a little too bright. “We thought he wasn’t going to make it.”

“Last-minute decision.”

“Why the change of heart?”

Sky wondered why the question should make her uncomfortable when she’d asked herself the same question. “He shifted his schedule. I guess that’s a sign that he cares.”

“Right. Well, we’re glad he came through for you.” Brittany’s tone was warm. “I hope having him there makes tonight even more special.”

They didn’t say anything more. They didn’t have to.

She knew they worried about her relationship with Richard.

Now that he’d won his senate seat, she needed to persuade him to spend more time with her friends. She was sure that if he knew them better, he’d love them as she did.

“I have to go.”

“Call us later! And if you see Lily and Nik, give them my love.”

The call left her smiling and she was still smiling as she stepped out of the cab.

The gallery was nestled between an antiques store and an exclusive boutique. Taking pride of place in the window of the gallery was one of her favorite pieces, a vase modeled on an ancient Greek amphora, the birds twisting sinuously against luminous blue glass.

Tempest Designs.

Maybe it had started as a hobby, but now it was a business. She had a small but exclusive international clientele and this was her first show in London. To be able to support herself doing something she loved had made the dream a reality.

So why were her mother’s words the loudest thing in her head?

You’re the only one without a job.

She paid the driver, reminding herself that Richard believed in her. He’d chosen to fly over for the weekend, which had to be the ultimate in romantic gestures and proof he was taking her choice of career seriously.

It didn’t matter what her parents thought.

This was her big night and nothing was going to spoil it.

ALEC HUNTER LEFT the National Maritime Museum in Greenwich, shoulders hunched against the sharp bite of the wind and the falling snow. He’d planned a late-afternoon stroll along the river but the lecture he’d delivered had ended later than planned and afternoon had blended into evening.

In front of him the River Thames wound, ribbonlike, toward the bright lights of the city. He turned up the collar of his coat, pulled his phone out of his pocket and walked upriver.

He had four messages.

One from the BBC following up on the meeting they’d had earlier in the week to discuss his possible involvement with a documentary on Antarctica, one from his mother asking him to buy extra champagne, one from his younger sister telling him he’d better have bought her a great present or he needn’t bother coming home.

That one made him smile.

He texted her back and received a flurry of emoticons in return.

The final text was from his friends back in the United States, reminding him that tonight was the VIP night for Skylar’s exhibition.

He could imagine them, gathered together in Harbor House on Puffin Island, sharing a bottle of wine and laughing while they sent a joint text.

You need to be there, Alec. The rat boyfriend has decided to show up and Skylar needs the support of her friends.

Rat boyfriend?

Several thoughts flitted through his mind. The first was that he and Skylar could hardly be described as “friends.” On a good day they tolerated each other for the sake of their wider friendship group; on a bad day they barely managed to be civil. His second thought was that Skylar’s choices in her relationships appeared to be no better than his own, and the third was that Brittany clearly had no idea how far Greenwich was from Knightsbridge.

He checked the time and calculated that by the time he got across town in the traffic, her VIP night would be over. But if he didn’t at least show his face, his life wouldn’t be worth living.

Brittany and Emily would both kill him and Ryan would cut off his supply of free beer at the Ocean Club bar.

With a faint smile he texted a reply promising to go and pocketed his phone.

He doubted Skylar would be pleased to see him, but he would have done his duty and with any luck would still be invited to spend Christmas at Harbor House.

Skylar, he knew, would be going home to her family in Long Island.

Walking away from the river to the street, he hailed a cab.

It was going to take a lifetime to cross London but hopefully he’d make it before the evening was over.

He’d congratulate her, she’d smile politely, he’d leave.

Duty done.

THE ROOM WAS BUZZING.

“The turnout is amazing.” Judy, the owner of the gallery, was on her second glass of champagne. “Do you see who is over there? Cristiano Ferrara. He owns an exclusive hotel chain. Sicilian.” She lowered her voice. “Very sexy.”

“And very married. He commissioned a piece of jewelry for his wife, Laurel. She’s pregnant.” And that, Sky thought, was romantic. Not a stark piece of paper that declared you husband and wife, but thoughtful, loving gestures that showed how much you cared.

It was her favorite type of commission.

A gift designed as an expression of love.

And there was no doubt how much Cristiano loved his beautiful wife. When people approached him he was polite, but it was obvious that tonight was a treat for his wife and she was the focus of his attention. He looked at Laurel as if she were the sun, the moon and the stars all in one perfect package.

Sky watched them wistfully.

She wanted that. She wanted that intense passion, but most of all she wanted someone who thought she was the best thing on the planet.

Confused, Sky glanced across at Richard, who was working the room.

Did he feel that way about her?

And could she feel that for him? Did she feel enough? Was this all it was? Her head was full of questions she couldn’t answer.

She’d always believed that if she ever fell in love, she’d recognize the feeling instantly, but maybe it wasn’t that simple.

Richard had been the last to arrive and had barely paused to greet her before vanishing into the crowd. Now he was talking to Nik Zervakis, the wealthy Greek-American owner of ZervaCo, who had flown in with his fiancée, Lily, an archaeology friend of Brittany’s who had helped Sky with ideas for her new collection.

“Nik has given me free rein to buy anything I like,” Lily confided. “So far I’ve bought those gorgeous starfish earrings and that pot in the corner. It’s similar to one he already has at his home in Greece.”

“Your home, too.”

“Yes, my home! Unbelievable, isn’t it? I still want to pinch myself every day.”

“How did you know?” Sky’s mouth was dry. “How did you know he was the right one? That this really was love?”

“That’s a difficult question.” Lily pondered, her eyes on Nik. “I can’t describe it. But sometimes it feels as if my heart is too big for my chest.” She gave a half smile and walked over to the pot. “I really do love this.”

“I should be giving you that, no charge. None of this would have happened without your help. You’re the Greek ceramics expert.”

“Not anymore. I’m turning into a corporate wife. My choice.” Lily glanced at Nik again, her eyes sparkling like the lights on a Christmas tree. “Give my love to Brittany when you see her. Will you be spending Christmas on Puffin Island?”

“No. I’ll be spending the holidays with my family.”

Her family and a hundred and twenty strangers.

People of influence.

It would be as much fun as a trip to the dentist.

Trying not to think about that, she hugged Lily and then mixed and mingled, accepting compliments and answering questions about her work.

It occurred to her that the only person who hadn’t congratulated her was Richard.

Even after the two wealthiest people in the room had left to go on to another Christmas event, he continued to network, pumping fists and slapping backs as he made his way round the room.

Sky was starting to wonder why he’d bothered coming when she saw him speak to the gallery owner, clear his throat and get ready to make a speech.

Her heart sank. Was he going to congratulate her publicly?

She would have preferred a more intimate exchange, a few personal words that showed he was proud of her, but she understood that this was the way Richard did things. He was all about reaching the widest audience possible. Why charm one person if you could charm ten?

He lifted a hand to silence the hum of conversation. “I want to thank you all for being here tonight.” He delivered his most engaging smile, the one that had carried him all the way to Capitol Hill just weeks earlier. “We’re all busy people, but like you I couldn’t miss Skylar’s little party. I want to thank you on her behalf.”

There were a few “ahhs” but Skylar frowned.

Little party?

He made her feel as if she was back in kindergarten. And she didn’t need him to thank people on her behalf. She’d already thanked them, as he would have known if he’d arrived earlier. He’d blamed traffic and she’d felt churlish for thinking that he should have allowed more time.

There was a rush of cold air as the door to the gallery opened and she swiveled to see if she recognized the latecomer.

She caught a glimpse of ebony hair, a long black coat and powerful shoulders dusted in silvery snow.

Several women glanced toward the handsome stranger, and then he turned and Skylar saw that it wasn’t a stranger.

It was Alec Hunter.

A friend of Brittany’s, he was a maritime historian and his expertise and on-screen charisma had combined to give him a lucrative career that straddled academia and media. They called him the Shipwreck Hunter and he’d been credited with single-handedly making history sexy. Thanks to his adventurous exploits in front of the camera, he had droves of female admirers.

Skylar wasn’t one of them.

What was he doing here?

Yes, they occasionally socialized, but the truth was they tolerated each other for the sake of their mutual friends. He didn’t hide the fact he thought she was decorative and shallow. What had he called her back in the summer? A fairy princess.

If she’d been a dog, she would have been growling deep in her throat.

Telling herself that she didn’t care what he thought of her, she looked away.

It was one thing to try to please her parents for the sake of family harmony, but she’d be damned if she’d go out of her way to win the approval of a hardened cynic like Alec.

She knew he was a casualty of a bitter divorce and it didn’t surprise her. For her, the surprise was that someone had married him in the first place.

There was no way he would have chosen to come to her exhibition voluntarily, which meant that Brittany must have threatened or bribed him.

She stood still, making mental promises to kill her friend, and then realized that Richard was speaking directly to her.

“Skylar—” his voice carried across the room “—come up here and join me, honey. There’s something I want to say to you.”