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CHAPTER ONE
Holly
Christmas makes people do funny things. Sing songs in front of strangers’ houses. Eat enough sweets to power a village. Tell fancy stories of men sneaking down chimneys.
For me? It makes me do funny things alright. All the bright lights and cheer unlock a part of my brain that stays hidden for the rest of the year. As the days get closer to the 25th, I act more and more like a caged animal that’s noticed the door isn’t actually locked. I’ve internally labeled it my Christmas crazies. I want all the excitement I saw my peers experience as a kid but I never got. That might explain why I’m trying to sneak into the world’s fanciest airport lounge at Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris.
I found the staff exit to the lounge so now all I have to do is wait for someone to leave to enact my plan. Admittedly, this isn’t my first time sneaking into places I shouldn’t be.
I hide my backpack, which contains all my worldly possessions, behind a fake plant. I’m the only person in the dimly lit hallway that leads to the lounge reserved for wildly wealthy people, which I certainly am not. But I am a tired traveler with a case of the Christmas crazies who could use a shower in a fancy spa and a complimentary glass of champagne. Or two.
And I can practically taste the champagne. All I need to do is wait.
After pacing up and down the hall at least twenty times, I hear a click and rush to get into position. A dark-haired woman wearing a black smock exits from the staff door. She doesn’t look back down the hall in my direction, so it’s time to make my move. I pick my pace up and sneak an empty glove between the door and its frame, right before it clicks shut.
Bingo. I can practically feel the waterfall showerhead raining down on me.
I leave the door propped open with my glove and rush to the plant to grab my backpack. Hurrying back, I grip the handle as I take a deep breath and ready myself to act like I know where I’m going. That breath jumps out of my lungs as I practically run over a sturdy woman with arms crossed and puckered lips standing in my way.
She speaks quick French, so I put on my biggest doe eyes.
“I’m so sorry, my French isn’t that good. Is this the way to the bathroom?”
“Don’t lie to me, girl.” The woman says in a thick French accent. “You’re not the first person to try sneaking in here.”
I shrug. “I just left the lounge. I’m looking for the bathroom.”
“Oh, you were already in the lounge?” She says with a mocking gleam in her eye. “Wonderful, I’ll bring you to the maitre d’ and I’m sure he will recognize you.”
“I…” I stammer. Suddenly, the thrill doesn’t seem worth all the trouble. But a shower… That is absolutely worth the trouble. Especially when factoring in the spontaneous ocean swim I took in Bali right before getting in a cab to the airport. I think I’m legally a pickle now, for how long I’ve been marinating in salt. See? Christmas crazies do not make for good decision-making.
“Ah, there you are.” A deep American drawl breaks us out of our standoff. A tan, handsome man with brown hair and silvering stubble is smirking at me. “Honey, we’ve been looking all over for you.”
The way he says honey trickles into my bones. And by some miracle, the word is directed at me.
Two men flank him on either side. The three of them are polished and dripping wealth, with neat haircuts and glowing skin. Each of them is wearing a colorful suit. The man who just spoke to me is in a deep red suit. The large man to his left is in an emerald green suit and a dark gold suit shimmers on the man to his right.
“Haven’t we boys?” Mr. Red Suit says, not breaking eye contact with me. His smirk says he’s playing a game and his cocked eyebrow is asking me if I want to join in.
“Ah, yes.” The man with the golden suit says. The dancing mischief in the corners of his eyes is even more gorgeous than his suit. “Hi, wifey. You’re being naughty again?”
I narrow my eyes at him. Wifey? Does this man have the Christmas crazies too?
Now that I have a better look at them, that would actually explain a lot. They are decked out for Christmas. The colors of their suits are no accident. Mr. Red Suit has a golden reindeer pin on his lapel. Mr. Emerald Suit has a thin candy cane-striped tie. And Mr. Gold Suit has a Christmas tree print on his pocket square. Who are these guys? Are they trying to push me over the edge? If their looks don’t do it, then the blatant reminders of Christmas all over them will.
“She’s your wife?” The woman blocking the door still has her arms crossed, but now her eyes are trailing up and down me in disbelief. And I don’t blame her. I’m in old grey leggings, dirty white sneakers, and an oversized black sweatshirt. My sun-bleached light brown hair is thrown up in a messy, salty bun. I look like I shouldn’t even be inhabiting the same planet as these three, let alone a legally binding agreement with one of them.
“Our wife.” Mr. Emerald suit pitches in. I can hear the laughter he’s stifling. Yep, they’re absolutely playing a game. I’m just not sure where I fit in.
The woman sighs with exasperation. She probably just wants to get home for the holidays and not deal with whatever this is. “This isn’t my job. The entrance is over there.” She grabs the door handle to close the door, but then stops and looks me in the eye. “But if I see you trying to sneak somewhere again, I will call security.”
“We’ll keep her in line.” Mr. Gold Suit says with a grin. But he seems like the real troublemaker here.
The door clicks and I sling my backpack over my shoulders, avoiding eye contact with the three of them now that we’re left alone. “Uh, well thanks. I’ll just get going then.”
“Our dear wife,” Mr. Red Suit steps aside and holds his arm out in invitation for me to step forward. “We wouldn’t want whoever might be listening on the other side of that door to get the wrong idea. Let’s all go to the lounge together, like we planned.” He winks and I’m pretty sure he’s the only person who has ever successfully managed to look charming while winking. I’m shocked when I feel my cheeks heat. Am I blushing? I never blush. And certainly not from a stranger. But his eye contact is so intense and open that it makes me feel exposed.
“Ergh, right,” I say, suddenly not so brave. Sneaking through a staff entrance? No problem. Going through the front door cosplaying as a rich wife with these three? Now that gets my heart racing.
