Page 44 of Santa Baby

My breath hitched as Fia huffed a breath, her eyes meeting mine, pleading.

“Excuse me,” I said gruffly, grunting the words before pushing through the crowd surrounding me. I had to stop myself from wrapping an arm around her waist and scanning her for injuries based on the look on her face. Her cheeks were incredibly flushed. Her eyes sparkled the color of the finest scotch but they were tired, unsure, her full lips unsteady as she began to apologize. “Don’t.”

“I couldn’t get into my dress by myself,” she rasped, her cheeks flaring with a blush. “Then I couldn’t get out of it. I caught a taxi and went to Liv’s apartment because I didn’t know what else to do, and when I got there, I realized I left my phone at home and didn’t have time to go back for it.” She looked up at me, her eyes glossy. “I’m so sorry. I barely made it on the boat. I didn’t know which dock it was leaving from and got dropped off at the wrong place. I had to run two blocks.”

I scanned the crowd over the top of her head, noticing the staircase leading to the quieter, open upper deck. My hands instinctively moved down her arms, down the fine satin overlay of the fur-trimmed coat she wore over her strapless gown. I wordlessly took her hand and led her through the crowd, cutting through an army of waiters arriving to divvy out the first of the appetizers. The noise of the crowd faded as I guided her up the stairs.

She stifled a gasp as the cityscape rose around us, glittering lights creating a haze over the water. We were, at least for now, the only people on that part of the upper deck.

My hand ghosted over her back beneath her coat as she came to a stop at the railing, clutching it and leaning over just enough to make me go rigid with worry. “Careful.”

“I’m not going to fall in, I promise,” she said lightly.

My fingers met something thick along the low back of her dress. I gave it tug and she gasped, turning to me with wide, horrified eyes as I fisted the dress’s price tag and tucked it casually in my pocket.

“Why did you do that?”

I shrugged. “The tag was still on the dress⁠—”

“I was going to take it back.” The diamond cluster earrings shimmered, sending little beads of lights across her cheeks.

“What? No.”

“I can’t keep it.” She reached up and touched the diamond choker on her neck. “Mason, I can’t keep any of it.”

“Why?”

“Because.” She looked up at me as my mind reeled over whether I’d done something wrong. “I don’t need gifts. I don’t need this stuff. I don’t want…” She trailed off, her voice fading with uncertainty.

“What do you want?” I asked earnestly, noticing the way her expression twisted into something almost panicked.

I knew what I wanted—no, needed—her to say. I needed to know that the new confused feelings in my chest weren’t only felt by me. I had to know. I needed her to say it.

Her lips parted to answer at the very moment another group walked onto the upper deck and swanky jazz music lifted from the deck below. Our moment of peace shattered. She turned her expression to steel and I had never felt so much regret over not just saying what I was thinking.

“We should dance, shouldn’t we? That’s what a real couple would do.” There was a bite to her voice that cut me to the core.

Heat rushed toward us from outdoor heaters, cranked up against the cold night air wafting off the water. She began to shrug out of her coat. A well-meaning waiter appeared, leaning in to tell Fia she’d put her coat and purse in our stateroom.

At the mention of the shared space, Fia’s eyes met mine, holding.

She looked radiant. I’d never seen anything so beautiful, nor so conflicted, as I placed my hand on her waist and we joined the other couples starting to dance across the upper deck.

“What’s the plan for tonight?” she said, her eyes on the skyline as the yacht crawled down the river.

I thought of my schedule. My calendar. My rule book. All of the things I sent to her before this happened. Before she happened. We would be dining downstairs—a six-course meal provided by a Michelin-star chef. Drinks and cigars would be served on the three stacked decks where I’d mingle with the rest of the upper crust guests. She’d hang on my arm like their wives—looking perfect, dripping in jewelry. I would show her off so people would continue to talk and our attendance at this party would eventually reach my father, adding fuel to that growing fire.

But I didn’t say any of that. My voice was low and rasping as the words drifted into her hair. “I don’t care. I don’t give a shit anymore.”

I tightened my hand on her waist and felt a rush of relief when she smiled up at me.

19

FIA

We had fun.

That was the only way I could describe the thrill of being an absolute menace on Mason’s arm, the two of us gossiping and laughing in corners while the party, gilded in gold and dripping in wealth and diamonds, went on without us taking it seriously whatsoever.