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Cilian gives an ear-splitting whistle of support that draws my eyes, and the room erupts with enthusiastic applause.
“Well, then, without further ado, our first auction item involves not just a partridge in a pear tree but a year’s supply of fresh fruit from the very ethically sourced and entirely organic orchard of Partridge and Wren!”
Applause follows, and I can’t help but laugh at Daddy’s creative genius. I don’t know how he manages to find something new each year.
“Next, we have a lovebird’s paradise involving a guided tour of the world-famous Weltvogelpark Walsrode bird sanctuary in Germany as well as a week-long stay in a very charming and romantic castle just one town away.”
Once again, the item is met with enthusiastic applause.
As I continue on, reading the prizes Daddy picked out to represent the three French hens, four calling birds, five golden rings, six laying geese, seven swimming swans, and eight milking maids, the gathered guests seem entirely enthusiastic about the luxurious packages.
I’m just blown away by not only the creativity it must take to think them up but the dedication of researching and booking each one. In some ways, my dad truly is a genius, and I love that this is one of the areas where he dedicates his creative talents.
Then my eyes land on the ninth item.
Exasperation washes over me as I read out loud from the description card naming the prize my father has listed. Essentially, he’s offered me up as a dance partner forninedances at the Christmas Eve ball. And he didn’t even bother asking me.
I can barely hear the applause after that one as my ears ring with embarrassment. I am not one for dancing—not the ballroom kind, anyway. No one’s going to want to bid to dance with me—not at the rate they would pay for a week-long stay in some German fairy-tale castle.What was Daddy thinking?
I read the final three bidding items with a numb tongue, scarcely absorbing what he picked out for the ten leaping lords, eleven piping pipers, and twelve drumming drummers. The last is a private concert, I gather, which will be far more spectacular than dancing withme.
“There you have it, ladies and gentlemen,” I finish in a daze. “Your twelve items to spread holiday cheer. Best of luck! And the winners will be announced tomorrow, here, in the ballroom, at nine p.m. sharp.”
I force a smile, masking the bemusement bubbling within me, then I thank everyone for their participation before excusing myself from the stage. I climb down on shaky legs, trying not to think about the part I’m supposed to play in my dad’s ridiculous auction.
And as I make my way toward the edge of the ballroom, seeking a moment of respite from the overwhelming pressure, I can’t help but feel a surge of conflicting emotions. The classical music ofTheNutcrackerand the twinkling lights create a whimsical ambiance, but my mind is far from the enchanting festivities.
Maybe it’s the foreign hormones of pregnancy starting to kick in, but I find myself completely overwhelmed by this year’s party. Not only have I been thrust into my dad’s traditional role, one I’m more confident than ever I don’t want to step into in the long haul. But I’m also grappling with a tangled web of emotions, unsure of where my heart truly lies amid the affections of these three captivating men.
As the music and laughter fill the ballroom, I sense all three men watching me, waiting for an answer.
11
CILIAN
The ballroom is abuzz with the lingering energy of Mia’s presentation. The grand chandeliers cast a warm glow over the polished dance floor, and the strains of the festive music weave through the air.
I watch Mia from across the room as she steps away from the mic, her expression a mixture of relief and distraction. Something’s bothering her, that much is clear. The subtle furrow in her brow and the distant look in her eyes speak volumes.
As Mia glides toward the door leading out to the balcony, I follow her, intrigued. Besides, it’s not often I encounter a woman who manages to captivate my attention as she has.
The crisp winter air hits my lungs like a shot of dry ice as I step onto the sweeping veranda that runs the length of the chalet. My eyes fall on the beautiful velvet-clad figure standing alone by the railing.
We’re the only two who have dared to venture outside, despite the heat of the feverish temperature of the party in the ballroom. Though I suppose it’s not surprising as my breath billows before me like a cloud of smoke.
Snow falls at such a soft, gradual pace, it almost floats to the ground like fall leaves. It brings with it a stillness, reminding me that so many of the creatures in the forest around us are hibernating.
The sudden quiet is both intimate and peaceful. But Mia seems less than at ease.
Strolling casually across the deck to stand beside her, I try to break the ice as I alert her to my presence. “So, tell me, what’s a man gotta do ta win a place in yer father’s auction next year?” I tease.
She turns, her golden hair glowing in the light cast through the windows. Her smile makes my heart skip a beat unexpectedly. Her blue eyes match the humor in that smile, but behind the very welcome warmth of her greeting, something is most definitely troubling her.
Based on her reaction during the silent auction announcement, I suspect it’s in no small part to the fact that her father put her up for bid this year. And while I fully intend to put money down on those dances, I get the feeling she would much rather not be made into a spectacle.
“I’m t’inking I’d make a nice auction item for thelairds a-leapin’. What do you reckon?” I continue, unwilling to let the joke lie until I get a proper reaction from her.
Her laughter is a welcome sound, a melody that warms the chilly air and makes me smile in return. “Lords a-leaping, huh? I would love to see that,” she teases, her shoulders relaxing slightly as she crosses her arms against the cold and leans back against the railing.
