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Even though it was only a few miles away, it took them nearly forty-five minutes in traffic to reach Kelsey’s parents’ estate, a large three-story mansion on the Upper East Side. Haven gawked at it as they pulled onto the property, admiring the manicured lawn with elaborate fountains. “You lived here?” she asked with disbelief. “Why in the world did you move to a tiny apartment?”
Kelsey sighed. “My father offered to get me a place nearby, but I wanted to live in Chelsea. We waited so long it was hard to find a place near the school, but he made a few calls and managed to get the apartment above yours.”
Haven shook her head, too dumbfounded to understand as the limo came to a stop, the driver opening the door for them. He retrieved their bags when they climbed out, the front door to the house opening right away. Two men appeared, wordlessly taking the bags from the driver and hauling them inside.
A third man appeared then, strolling casually out of the front door. He wore a tie and coat, his dark hair perfectly sculpted, a few gray strands gleaming in the sunlight. He paused, eyeing the two of them intently. “Kelsey.”
“Father.”
“It’s good to see you.”
She muttered under her breath, the words inaudible but tone petulantly scathing, before she cleared her throat and replied. “You, too.”
“I see you brought a friend.”
Haven’s cheeks suddenly grew warm as the attention shifted to her.
“Yeah, this is my neighbor, Hayden Antoinette,” Kelsey said. “I invited her for Christmas.”
“That was, uh, nice of you,” he said. “Uncharacteristically so.”
Kelsey narrowed her eyes. “I know how to be nice.”
He ignored her statement as he stepped forward, holding out his hand to shake hers. “Hayden Antoinette, is it? Any relation to Marie?”
“Marie Antoinette?” Haven’s brow furrowed as she shook the man’s firm hand. Something about his grip, his commanding presence, made her nerves flare further. “Well, uh . . . she was a French queen, right? And I’m just, uh . . . well, I’m not royalty.”
He let out a laugh as she stammered, her cheeks turning even redder. “I was just joking, dear. It’s nice to meet you.”
“You, too . . .”
“Cain,” he said, letting go of her hand. “Just call me Cain.”
“Just call me Cain,” Kelsey mocked her father in a fake deep voice. “Are you done kissing ass now, Senator? Can we go inside?”
Cain swept his hands toward the entrance. “By all means, sunshine, go on in.”
Kelsey grabbed Haven’s hand and pulled her past her father. Cain watched them intently like he was studying their every movement, his gaze making Haven’s hair bristle a bit.
She followed Kelsey, her eyes guardedly surveying the vast house as they made their way upstairs. Kelsey showed her to the guest room, where Haven’s bag already sat beside the bed. “My bedroom’s right down the hall,” she said. “The door on the end.”
Kelsey left her there, and Haven took a seat on the large canopy bed. The guest room, the size of her entire apartment across the city, was adorned in various shades of burgundy and gold, the carpet beneath her feet vibrant white—so bright, in fact, she was almost afraid to move.
Haven unzipped her bag, reaching inside for the familiar leather-bound journal. Kicking off her shoes, she lay back on the bed and stared up at the see-through gold cloth draped above her, a frown tugging the corner of her lips. No matter how hard she fought it, attempting to keep a smile on her face, the sadness won out.
Christmas Eve. Tomorrow was Christmas day. And the next day, well . . . she didn’t like to think about what December 26 marked.
Opening the book, she pulled out the piece of paper she had tucked inside and unfolded it, staring at the sloppy writing, haphazardly scribbled in the middle of the night last Christmas. She had read it so many times she could recite it word for word.
She got to the end, her fingers tracing the three simple words: I love you.
“I love you, too,” she whispered.
A year later, she still did.
* * *
Carmine’s brow furrowed as Corrado drove past the street that led to home. He cleared his throat. “Uh, I think you missed the turn.”
