LITMIR.BIZ

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his All-American blond, blue-eyed good looks, the man simply needed to flash his lightning-strike smile and women fell under his spell.

      As a Harvard Law graduate and the youngest elected U.S. senator, Jamison had come back to his alma mater to deliver a commencement address. They’d bumped into each other—literally—as Olivia rounded a corner, rushing from one of her classes to a rehearsal for a Harvard Ballet Company performance of Sleeping Beauty. She’d dropped her dance bag and books and he had helped her retrieve her ballet slippers from underneath a shrub. Somewhere between, “Excuse me,” and “It was so nice to meet you, Olivia,” he’d asked where she was going and she’d nervously rattled off information about the ballet performance, which was the next night. She had never dreamed he’d be in the audience—front and center.

      Because he was Jamison Mallory. She was simply a shy, college freshman who’d barely had any experience with men. After all, up until meeting Jamison, her one true love had been dance.

      Later, they’d both sworn it had been love at first sight.

      He’d often said that from the moment he’d looked into her eyes as he handed her those slippers, he’d known he’d met the woman he would spend the rest of his life with.

      “It was cosmic.” He used to flash his devastating smile when he’d tell that to reporters. “The feeling was so much bigger than anything I’d ever felt before, I knew it was right.”

      Now it was the small things that stood between them and what was really important. The minutiae blurred the perspective so that they couldn’t keep the big picture in focus anymore. If they couldn’t get past the small stuff, how in the world were they going to reach the real issue that was keeping them apart?

      Feeling as if she were dragging a heavy weight, she made her way into the kitchen to put away the uneaten dinner. She and Jamison had always spent Christmas Eve with her family and Christmas Day with the large Mallory clan at his mother’s palatial compound in the Berkshires. This year, she’d opted out of Christmas Eve with her mother, father and three siblings—all of whom were married to their careers at the Armstrong Fertility Institute. Well, except for her brother Paul who, though he was still the consummate workaholic, had recently met his love match in Ramona Tate, at the institute. Olivia wanted to spend their first night back together alone. Just the two of them. Little had she known how alone she’d actually be.

      Staying home had seemed like the right thing to do at the time, especially since none of the family knew about her and Jamison’s current living arrangement—that Jamison hadn’t come home on weekends during the congressional session. Or that he’d stayed in Washington after the session had adjourned. They’d told everyone he was busy with a particularly demanding committee, that he needed to focus so that he could wrap up work in time for Christmas. They’d played their roles so well that no one had a clue that their marriage was actually deeply in trouble.

      Olivia hoped to God she’d find a Christmas miracle in her stocking, because it seemed as if nothing less than a miracle would save them now.

      Jamison awoke to a slant of sunlight streaming in through the white plantation shutters, hitting him square in the face. He blinked, disoriented for a moment, and then it all flooded back to him. He was … home.

      He glanced at the clock on the bedside table: seven-thirty. Although he could’ve told the time without the clock, thanks to his internal alarm. No matter how little sleep he’d gotten the night before—in this case only about four hours—his system awakened him at seven-thirty every morning. It was fail-safe, and there was no sense fighting it. He might as well get up, because he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. Plus, he and Olivia needed to get on the road by noon to make the two-hour trek to his mother’s for the Christmas Day festivities.

      He stretched, and his arms slid over the cold, empty side of the queen-size feather bed. He wished he was waking up in his own bed, with Olivia in his arms, rather than realizing another morning alone— especially Christmas morning in the guest room of his very own house.

      He’d been so exhausted by the time he’d arrived home last night, he’d barely been able to string together a coherent sentence, much less have a discussion with her about sleeping arrangements. After being separated from Olivia for two-and-a-half months, he wanted to be fair to her. Even though sleeping apart from her wasn’t what he wanted, he didn’t want to seem presumptuous on their first night back together—and even more, he didn’t want to fight.

      He’d been beyond exhausted and, yes, a little cranky. He knew himself well enough to know that combination was a recipe for disaster. But now, in the bright light of morning, his head felt clearer, his purpose stronger. Eager to talk to his wife about their next step in their relationship before they joined his family for the annual Christmas Day festivities, he showered, shaved and dressed before making his way toward the kitchen in search of a good, strong cup of coffee … and Olivia.

      The house was dark and quiet. Even before he flicked on the kitchen light, he could see that the room was pristine—everything in its place. The only evidence of the dinner Olivia had offered him last night was the ghost-aroma of something delicious mingling with the faint scent of dish soap and the slightly smoky traces of the fire that must have blazed in the fireplace.

      He breathed in deeply, relishing the familiar, comforting scents of home. But as he did, guilt tugged at him. He knew his wife had not only prepared a delectable Christmas Eve feast that neither of them was able to enjoy, but she’d probably stayed up long after he went to bed putting everything away and cleaning up the mess of a dinner that never happened.

      The least he could do was let her sleep a little while longer and then make her some coffee.

      No, he’d go one better and surprise her with breakfast in bed.

      Before their separation, the kitchen had been foreign territory to him. One thing he’d learned in the time they’d been apart was how to cook up a mean batch of scrambled eggs—the trick was to use low heat so that they cooked slowly and the outside didn’t scorch. Hmm … the low-heat approach would also benefit their marriage. Because the other thing he’d learned during this time apart was that he loved his wife desperately. He missed her … he missed them. It was time to put all the ridiculous fighting and blaming behind them and move on.

      Time to use the low-heat approach.

      And to think the root of their problems started over something that meant so much to both of them, the common ground on which they’d always met: family. Or, more specifically, the lack of a family of their own.

      Cold, twisted confusion wrapped around him when he thought about it. He was so torn. On one hand, Olivia would make such a wonderful mother. On the other, how could they even bring children into the world when their marriage was so shaky?

      When they weren’t even living together?

      They had to talk about their relationship. They had to get back on track. But before they could get into that, he had to break another bit of news to her—the news that he had to return to Washington earlier than expected. Earlier as in tomorrow morning, rather than January third as they’d planned.

      That would go over about as well as telling her that the holidays had been canceled this year. With the way their plans had been preempted, that wasn’t so far from the truth.

      Jamison made his way toward the stainless steel refrigerator and tugged opened the double doors. The precise arrangement of the cartons, jars and stacked glass and plastic containers echoed the kitchen’s tidiness.

      One of the many things he admired about his wife was the pride she took in their home. He’d encouraged her to hire a cook and a full-time housekeeper so that she’d have more time for herself and time for the Children’s Home, a non-profit orphanage where she sat on the board of directors. But she’d refused, because she loved cooking—and was darn good at it. She’s said while it was just the two of them she could get by with someone coming in and doing the deep cleaning a couple of times a month. She claimed she enjoyed keeping their house, making a home for them. When it came to home and family,

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