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My eyes flick subconsciously in Cilian’s direction at the thought of him, and my heart skips a beat when I realize he was already watching me.
“Your father’s gone all out this year, hasn’t he?” Mrs. Duwalling asks, bringing my attention back to her.
I force myself to maintain eye contact with her. “Yes, but then again, he does every year. Daddy’s such a Christmas fanatic.” I laugh to ensure she knows it was a joke.
Mrs. Duwalling giggles softly. “When will he be arriving? I always look forward to our cocktail hour chats and catching up on the latest New York gossip.”
Something I’m sure I’ll star in once it gets out that I’m pregnant. I shove the thought aside.
“As soon as the storm passes, I’m sure.”
“Yes, we barely got out in time,” Mr. Long states, inserting himself into the conversation.
And when my gaze shifts instinctually in his direction, I find Zach watching me from near the bright glow of the Christmas tree.
My heart breaks into a sprint as I wonder if he might not catch Cilian watching me.And what if they talk?Sweat beads along my hairline as I start to consider the deeper consequences of my actions. Zach might not be okay about my sleeping with Cilian. I never told Cilian I’m pregnant. The likelihood of this all blowing up in my face is quickly becoming more probable.
Too anxious to stand still, I quickly bow out of the conversation to start making my way around the room, greeting the guests who didn’t make it to the welcome reception, offering compliments and friendly exchanges where I can.
But it seems that the guests have a far different plan for me.
“What are the auction prizes for this year, Mia?” Ms. Silverton asks, her eyes glinting with anticipation. She’s managed to outbid everyone on the five-golden-rings-themed item for the last four years running, and I’m sure she’s excited to learn about the fresh spoils she’ll take home.
“Telling you would ruin the surprise,” I tease, continuing to move so I won’t get pulled into a long-winded conversation with her.
“Mia, have you heard from your father? Someone told me the storm has become a proper blizzard. I wonder if he won’t be able to make it at all,” Dr. Anderson observes, his palm resting authoritatively over the buttons of his blazer that barely contain his prominent belly.
Dear God, please don’t letthatbe true. I think I can survive hosting for a day. Two, max. But the entire Christmas weekend? While I also try to untangle the terrible web of emotions I’ve made between me and three of my dad’s closest friends? I don’t think so.
Once again, my eyes flick toward Zach, then Cilian, and my gut clenches as I hope neither reads into the looks I send toward the other. I’ve never tried juggling men before—let alone trying to sort out which one should be the father of my child. My cheeks heat with anxiety as I start to worry that I’m going to completely muck this up.
What if I walk away from this weekend without anyone by my side?
And all the while, Daddy’s guests keep me occupied, unloading their questions on me until I don’t know how my father does it.
“I’m sure the staff would be happy to get you another bathrobe, Mr. Baird,” I assure him, trying to scrub his story from my brain forwhyhe might need a new bathrobe already. “I’ll let them know immediately.”
Gesturing to one of the wait staff, I make my way toward them to deliver the request—only to be apprehended by Gus Hannigan, Daddy’s lawyer.
“Mia, I’m so glad I managed to catch you,” he says with a smile. “I’ve been trying to set up a time with your father about some paperwork regarding Florence and Hanson. Perhaps you’d have better success calling him home from one of his exotic vacations with his beautiful new—”
“I’ll speak with him.” Luke’s deep Southern accent cuts the lawyer’s request short as his fingers come to rest lightly on my elbow. “No need to concern his daughter when I’m perfectly capable of contacting my business partner.”
Heady relief washes through me as the overwhelming influx of people demanding my attention seems to calm in an instant.
“Mia, you’re needed in the kitchen,” he adds, his blue eyes inscrutable as he peers down at me.
“Oh, sure. Of course,” I agree, glad to have a reason to get out of the chattering throng of guests.
Usually, I’m good at working a crowd. But taking my dad’s place as host feels like an entirely different animal. And it doesn’t help at all to have two sexy men watching me from various corners of the room, each with information I would rather they not discuss with the other—not until I’ve had a minute to find my equilibrium.
But Luke’s strong, steadying hand on my elbow somehow helps to ease that anxiety, and no one slows me down this time as he escorts me from the festive room.
“Phew!” I breathe, unable to control the sound of relief as Luke and I enter the hallway.
Luke chuckles. “Not quite ready for the spotlight in that crowd?”
“Man, apparently not,” I agree, following him toward the kitchen. “I would much rather face a culinary disaster any day of the week.”
