LITMIR.BIZ

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He was not, under any circumstances, going to ask about her. But then, of course, he did. “How’s she doing?”

      “Okay, as far as I can tell. Celebrating Christmas with her new friends. That would be Tabby from Lucy’s favorite diner and Tabby’s new boyfriend, whose name is Henry, and the older woman on Lucy’s floor in your building, the one recovering from a heart attack.”

      He’d been wondering about Mrs. Nichols even though he’d never actually met the woman face-to-face. “Viviana’s her name. She’s getting better, you said?”

      “She’s doing well. And she’s at home now. One of her daughters is staying with her. After New Year’s she’s moving to Chicago, I think Lucy said. Lucy said her neighbor is very independent, but she also understands that the time has come when she needs to live near her family.”

      “Luce will miss her.”

      “I think she’s already making plans for a visit to Chicago.”

      Damien made a low sound that could have meant anything and then kept his mouth shut. Better to leave it alone, stop talking about her.

      When the silence stretched out, Noah said, “Well, I only called to wish you happy holidays. Alice sends her love.”

      “Take good care of my sister.”

      “I will— And, Dami?”

      “What?”

      “You’re an idiot, you know that?”

      He didn’t even bother to get angry. There was nothing to be angry about. It was only the truth on a whole lot of levels. “Happy holidays, Noah.” And that was that.

      Christmas morning he had breakfast in his parents’ private apartments. Five of his siblings were there, along with their spouses and children. It was a happy time. They ate and opened the gifts piled high under the fifteen-foot Christmas tree, set up as always in the curve of the stairway by the door.

      Around noon, on his own, he took several small brightly wrapped packages and walked to the café in La Cacheron where he’d taken Lucy at Thanksgiving. The café was always open on Christmas Day from nine to two. Regular customers appreciated being able to get their croissants and beignets fresh even on the holiday. The walk was a pleasant one and he didn’t spot a single paparazzo. Apparently, even the tabloid vultures took a little time off for Christmas.

      The café was quiet when he got there, with only two customers, one at the counter and another at a table by himself in the center of the room. Dami took a corner seat and put the presents on the table. Justine served him his usual coffee and pastry. She chose a gift and smiled a thank-you. One by one the others came by. Each took a gift and thanked him. They all knew what was inside. He gave them all the same Christmas tip every year, each one tucked in a small box and wrapped in bright paper tied with a shiny bow.

      He was sipping the last of his coffee when the door opened and in strode Vesuvia. Before he had time to do anything but wish himself elsewhere, she spotted him and stalked over like a lioness on the hunt.

      “There you are.” She posed with her nose in the air, one hand on the back of the bentwood chair across from him. “I knew you would be here.”

      “Come on, V. Let’s not do this again. I’m through, you’re through. It’s over, long over. And we both know it.”

      She yanked back the chair and flung herself into it. “This is ridiculous.” At least she was whispering. And the café remained nearly empty. It was just possible he could get rid of her without too much of a scene. She added, “I know that you and the tacky little wannabe fashion designer are through.”

      Fury blasted through him. “Do not speak of her,” he said, very softly. And how did she know that he and Lucy were through? Better not to ask.

      V sneered, “She doesn’t matter, anyway.”

      He smacked his fist on the table. His cup, spoon and plate jumped.

      Vesuvia’s sculpted nostrils flared. But when she spoke again, still whispering, she had the sense to leave Lucy out of it. “You must stop being so stubborn. I want to get moving on our wedding plans. It’s going to be the wedding of the decade, Dami. And as of now, we have only a year to put it together.”

      “There isn’t going to be any wedding,” he said.

      For all the good that did. “Have you forgotten that you’ll be thirty-two in exactly a month? Next year will fly by. And then what? You’ll be thirty-three. Have you suddenly forgotten the Marriage Law?”

      “I don’t care about the Marriage Law.”

      “Of course you do.” She swore softly in Italian. “If you don’t marry soon, you’ll lose your inheritance and your titles, too. You’ll no longer be a prince of Montedoro.”

      “How many ways can I say it? I’m not marrying you, V. It’s long over with us. When are you going to accept that and move on?”

      She rolled her eyes and asked in a smug whisper, “Why should I accept it? You need me. You need to marry and I want to marry you. It’s all going to work out. You only have to stop denying the inevitable.”

      He shook his head. “No.”

      She stuck out her chin at him. “Don’t tell me no. I understand you. I know how you are. Yes, I have a temper. Yes, I am sometimes unreasonable. But in the end, I’m willing to forgive you, whatever you do. I will forgive you and we can move on. We both know how you are, Dami—born to stray.” He felt more than a little insulted. All right, he was no model of virtue, but he’d been faithful to V. It had mattered to him to be true to the woman he intended to marry. Even when they’d been on the outs, she’d been the only one in his bed until after it was undeniably over. Until Thanksgiving. Until Lucy. V sneered, “With you, Dami, there will always be someone new, and you will require a forgiving wife.”

      And by then he’d had enough. “You have no idea what I require.”

      “Yes, I do, I—”

      “No. No, you don’t. I require love,” he said, and it was true. “I want forever, with the right woman.”

      Vesuvia sighed heavily and tossed her hair. “Oh, please.”

      “I want forever with Lucy Cordell.”

      There was a moment. Huge. Endless. Vesuvia gaped at him. He stared back at her. He hadn’t planned to say it, hadn’t even known he would say it until the words were on their way out his mouth.

      But now he’d done it, now he’d let himself say it, the stark, simple truth in it stunned him.

      V whispered dazedly, “You can’t be serious.”

      “I am completely serious,” he replied. “I’m in love with Lucy Cordell and I have been for a long time now. There’s no one else for me. Lucy’s the one.”

      * * *

      On Christmas night, Lucy gave a little party at her place. Tabby came with Henry after taking him to her parents’ house for an early dinner first.

      “It could have been worse,” she told Lucy. “At least they didn’t yell. No heavy objects were thrown. I think we’re making progress.”

      Shoshona and her husband, Tony, were staying with Viv until January, when they would take Viv back to Chicago to live. All three came to the party. Viv even brought frosted Christmas cookies that she and Shoshona had made together.

      A couple who lived on the fifth floor, Bob and Andrew, came, too. Lucy also invited two new friends in their mid-twenties. Sandra and Jim were actors Lucy had met while making Christmas-show costumes for the Make-Believe and Magic Children’s Theatre Company.

      It went well, Lucy thought. She served drinks and snacks and they played a game called Cranium that Bob and Andrew brought along. Everyone seemed to have a good time. They all stayed until well after midnight.

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