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“Yes, stunning,” Zach agrees.
Both men make eye contact across me, and a moment of tense silence fills the space as they have a wordless exchange.
Daddy’s butler approaches then, bending to murmur in my ear, “The food is ready as soon as you are.”
Oh, God. Right. A toast.“Thank you, Mason.” I’ve never done one of these before, and butterflies erupt in my stomach at the thought of addressing Daddy’s guests in his stead. My eyes shift momentarily to my father’s empty chair at the head of the table, and not for the first time in my life, I wish he were here.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, I rise, smoothing my skirt down over my thighs. Luke dutifully takes up his knife and taps his wine glass, calling for silence. I flash him a grateful smile, then turn my eyes to the rest of the room.
They land on Cilian, who sits at the far end of the table, his green eyes intent as they study me with silent interest.
Pull yourself together,I scold myself as the words vanish from my lips. Clearing my throat, I drag my gaze away from the gorgeous Irishman who keeps popping into my head.
“Thank you all for coming to another of Daddy’s infamous Christmas retreats,” I say, drawing a soft chuckle from the gathered guests. “I know he wishes more than anything that he could be here to greet you himself, and I can’t possibly do his holiday spirit the justice it deserves.”
Another hushed round of laughter, and I release a giddy breath as I smile, relaxing when they seem more than willing to accept me as temporary MC.
“Daddy loves these retreats, and the reason he invites you all here, year after year, is because you’re what fills his life with joy. You make this season feel special because you all are his family. So let’s raise a toast to the man of the hour.”
A collective murmuring shuffle occurs as each person follows suit, lifting their wine and mixed cocktails while I white-knuckle my glass of water.
“To Mr. Mike Florence. May the snow fall soft and the plow drivers stay fresh so he can join us shortly.”
“Hear, hear!”
Glasses clink as the gathered guests echo the cheers.
“Now, please enjoy the feast!” As I settle back into my seat with a heavy sigh, the conversation around us resumes, and I fight to get my heart rate back under control.
“That was beautiful, Mia,” Zach says with a soft smile.
I return the gesture gratefully. Then, collecting my napkin from my plate, I spread it across my lap as my dinner is set before me. But when I glance in Luke’s direction, I just catch the tendon in his jaw popping as he grinds his teeth and stares daggers at the plate set before him, clearly frustrated by Zach’s attempt to flatter me.
Throughout the course of the meal, the men on either side of me grow more blatant as they vie for my attention with polite gestures and thoughtful conversation. Luke and Zach, both pillars in my father’s social circle, seem entirely oblivious to the rest of the dinner party. They’re too determined to outshine each other in their efforts to hold my attention.
And their attentiveness, though well-intentioned, creates a palpable tension that I struggle to navigate. I steal glances at each of them in turn, trying to decipher the unspoken challenge that seems to have arisen between them.
I can’t help but feel guilty, caught in the middle of this unspoken rivalry. Luke and Zach are my father’s long-time friends, and the idea that their friendship is now hanging by a thread because of their interest in me is unsettling. I wish they could see that I’m not a prize to be won, that my heart is not a trophy to be claimed in some unnamed competition.
As their antics grow more flagrant, I find my thoughts drifting to Cilian, sitting at the far end of the table. Whenever our eyes meet, a rush of warmth floods my cheeks. I can’t shake the memory of our stolen time together earlier in the day, the way he effortlessly makes me feel special, sexy, and exciting. He has this captivating, dangerous edge that has always drawn me in, a magnetism that I find hard to resist.
It’s not that Luke and Zach aren’t wonderful in their own ways. They know how to make me feel cherished and respected, and they each possess qualities that I admire. But something about Cilian ignites a fire in me. He stirs my soul in ways I can’t quite articulate. It’s both exhilarating and unnerving, the way he makes me yearn for more.
I can only give a breath of relief as dinner draws to a close and the guests start to migrate toward the lavishly decorated ballroom, adorned in festive Christmas decor reminiscent of scenes fromTheNutcracker.
I find myself once again needing to play the role of hostess for my father, as it’s time for the next event—an elaborate silent auction Daddy funds every year, finding extravagant and rare items to bid on with all proceeds going to various charities.
The theme, of course, revolves aroundTheTwelve Days of Christmas, a theme my father has stuck to unapologetically since the first year he hosted the auction. So, as I climb onto the stage and the live orchestra hired to play the entirety ofTheNutcracker’s soundtrack brings their song to a close, I brace myself for what can only be a ridiculous announcement concerning far too many birds.
Picking up the mic, I gather everyone’s attention once more. “I think you all know what time it is,” I announce as the dancing and revelry calm and people turn to the stage. “What is Christmas without Mike Florence’s Silent Night Auction? Am I right?”
I’m met with boisterous applause.
“I think by now, Daddy’s silent auction is beyond needing an introduction, so let’s hop right into this year’s items up for bid. Shall we?”
More cheers, and I smile as I look out at the crowd who somehow manage to enjoy my dad’s silly antics year after year.
“Now, remember, you have until cocktail hour tomorrow to bid on these items, and the prize goes to the highest bidder. Thank you all for participating, and as our causes this year involve fighting homelessness and child hunger through various charities around the globe, I hope you’ll all dig deep to find your spirit of giving and blow us away with your bids.”
