Wreck the Halls

“Smile, Melody!” someone barked at her. “Smile over here!”

Where? She couldn’t see anything. Too many flashes going off. “Silent Night” was hitting its crescendo in a wild stampede of notes. Unfortunately, the combination of temporary blindness and attempting to keep her eyes open for pictures proved a hazard. A piece of artificial snow landed snack in the middle of her right eyeball and she flinched, stumbling to a stop. “The snow. It . . . it got me.” She clapped a palm over her eye, waving Beat forward with her opposite hand. “Save yourself.”

“Melody. Over here!”

“Sure, ignore my pain.” She squinted at the row of paps. “I have a two-part question. One, does artificial snow melt? And two, would I look dashing in an eye patch?”

She was surprised to hear them laugh.

In fact . . . were they laughing with her? Growing up, the laughter was directed at her.

Maybe the fact that she couldn’t see their faces was helping. But the snowflake in her eye was thankfully beginning to melt, restoring her vision, and the brief pause of flashbulbs brought the veritable sea of faces into view.

She almost tossed her cookies.

“Melody!” someone screamed, just as the security guards shuffled her forward again. “Are you single?” Two brass doors swung open, two trumpets heralded her arrival, and then she was inside, the cacophony of outdoors sounds cutting off.

“Yes,” she said. “Brutally.”

A low chuckle behind Melody reminded her that Joseph was hot on her trail.

She’d escaped the physical crowd, but an online crowd was still observing her every word and movement. She really needed to stop forgetting that.

Inside the lobby of the lavish hotel now, Melody couldn’t help but marvel at her surroundings. Whoever oversaw the task of decorating tonight had kept the blue Christmas theme, the entire space lit by a glowing azure ceiling of lights. LED snowflakes danced on the walls and across the faces of guests. A string quartet played in the center of the room, greeting everyone with a refined rendition of “Silver Bells.” Waiters in top hats passed through the space with trays of cranberry-colored champagne, bowing to those who took one.

Beat materialized in front of her, his gaze running over her from head to toe. Why did his hands appear to be fists in his pockets? “Are you okay?”

“Yes. Are you?”

“Yes, of course.” A blinding smile spread across his face, but never quite reached his eyes. “Although in all the excitement, I forgot that tonight was a masquerade.” He held up a slim, black velvet mask in between his middle and forefinger. “Good thing we offer spares at the door.”

Melody watched as the other guests in the lobby started donning their masks, obviously having waited until they’d been photographed to put them on.

“Ah yes, the classic holiday masquerade theme.” Melody took the mask he offered and slipped it over her head, arranging it in place across her eyes. “The season wouldn’t be complete without one.”

“If only there was a mask to keep me from being disinherited.”

Melody laughed. “On a scale of one to ten, how ready are you for this?”

One of his cheeks inflated with air while he considered the question. “Three point five,” he answered, cheek deflating.

“That’s higher than I expected.”

“I just shotgunned two glasses of cranberry champagne,” he explained, indicating one of the waiters nearby. “And then I turned around and you weren’t behind me anymore.”

“There was a drive-by snowing outside and I was the unfortunate victim. I hope your survivor’s guilt doesn’t keep you awake at night.”

That dazzling quality of his smile was beginning to spread back into his soulful eyes and she cheered it on with every bone in her body. Was she responsible for the shift? It . . . seemed so? Apart from bocce games and the occasional work interaction, Melody kept to herself. In the past, nothing she did in public was right. Every movement, every outfit, every word out of her mouth had apparently been cringe-inducing. Was it possible that was no longer the case?

Beat started to say something to her, but a man approached, also in a top hat. “Can I take your coat, miss?”

“Oh, sure.”

She popped out the buttons and shrugged off the garment, giving a cursory, downward glance to be certain her boobs were still strapped in correctly, then handed over the coat to the attendant with a murmured thank-you.

She caught the tail end of Beat looking at her breasts, before he cleared his throat hard and averted his gaze. Just not quick enough to quell the chain reaction that started at the top of her head, earlobes throbbing, mouth turning dry, before moving downward to her belly where a hot, liquid pool began churning in a circular current.

This was not the time or the place to be turned on.

Tell that to her Beat-specific hormones, though. They rose most dramatically to one occasion and he was standing in front of her in a tuxedo and now, a very rakish mask had been added to the mix. He’d checked out her boobs. Her libido was just expected to remain calm?

“H-how are we going to play this?”

Beat must have noticed the breathless quality of her voice, because he looked back at her sharply, that warmth fleeing from his eyes once again. Like it had in the SUV. Why?

“We’ll have to improvise to get Octavia alone and it won’t be easy. Everyone wants to speak to her at these things. It’ll have to be sometime after the wish ceremony.”

“What is a wish ceremony and how do I get one?”

A grin briefly parted his lips. “We hold this party every year and the wishes have become something of a ritual,” he explained. “There is a big table inside, beneath the fifteen-foot Christmas tree, and it’s loaded with wish cards. It’s tradition for everyone in attendance to write out a wish and hang it on the tree. I choose one halfway through the evening and Octavia makes it come true. Of course, I’m under strict instruction to pick one that begs my mother to entertain us with a song.” His lips twitched with fondness. “Then she says no and claims she’s had too much champagne, everyone begs harder and finally, finally, she gets up and sings the song she’s probably been practicing since August.”

“You don’t seem annoyed by this at all.”

“No.” He lifted a shoulder and seemed to search for the right words. “Everyone has a vice they need to satisfy, right? Hers is vanity. A need to be in the spotlight. And it’s harmless. It’s not hurting anybody. On the contrary. Everyone enjoys it.”

“God. I wish I understood my mother like you understand yours,” Melody said, resisting the constant need to step closer to Beat. Even the simple brush of her elbow against his tuxedo jacket would have sufficed. Was he avoiding eye contact with her? It seemed like it; something felt off, but what could it be? “What’s your vice, Beat?”

Well, that was one way to make eye contact.

His attention shot to hers like a bullet, tension bracketing his mouth.