HAPPILY EVER AFTER

MELANIE MARTINS

BOOKS ONE AND TWO

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

11.  Chapter 1

12.  Chapter 2

13.  Chapter 3

14.  Chapter 4

15.  Chapter 5

16.  Chapter 6

17.  Chapter 7

18.  Chapter 8

19.  Chapter 9

20.  Chapter 10

Get the rest of the HEA series

HAPPILY EVER AFTER

MELANIE MARTINS

BOOK ONE

Melanie Martins, LLC

www.blossominwinter.com

Copyright © Melanie Martins 2022

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrial system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of its publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar conditions being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

First published in the United States by Melanie Martins, LLC in 2022.

ISBN ebook 979-8-9852380-4-4

ISBN paperback 979-8-9852380-0-6

CHAPTER 1

Manhattan, November 18, 2021

Petra Van Gatt

“I’ll be back in a few hours!” I call cheerily, letting the door click shut behind me.

As soon as I’m alone, the cheery facade falls away and I’m fighting the urge to look back. Logically, I know the babies are safe and sound with Lily, but I can’t help worrying. Leaving them behind still tugs at my heartstrings, no matter how much I do to reassure myself of their comfort.

Maybe it’s because of all those weeks in the NICU, or maybe it’s because after having such a high-risk pregnancy, I’m still struggling to come to terms with the fact that everything is actually going okay for once.

In fact, when we had finally been able to bring Jasmine and Jasper home, I kept wondering when the other shoe would drop. Surely, something was bound to go wrong. Things were never this easy… right?

Wrong. Besides the normal stresses that came along with being a new parent, everything has gone much better than expected. The twins continue to grow in slow, steady increments with no major health scares, and Alex and I have been working hard to repair our marriage completely. There may be all the love in the world between us, but our marriage had been a trial by fire from the start. If we wanted to stay strong, we had to work diligently to fill in any of the missing gaps.

The plan today is to ease one of my other anxieties: the fear of leaving the babies. During their hospital stay, I had watched their every waking moment every single day––often falling asleep with my head on the glass incubator––so realizing that I could leave them and live my own life from time to time is still a hard pill I’m trying to swallow. There’s always that fear lingering inside me that I’ll receive a phone call from Lily letting me know that something terrible happened to them.

Regardless, I’m thankful every day that Alex was able to secure Lily as our live-in nurse. Whenever I start to spiral, she is there, guiding me through motherhood with a gentle but steady hand. But Lily is a realist, and she is adamant that until I regain my own life, hobbies, and happiness outside of my role as a mother, there will always be a well of unhappiness inside of me. So, with her encouragement, I have accepted a lunch date with Emma today.

It’s nothing too crazy, but at least I’m out of the condo for a few hours, which is a step in the right direction… but funnily enough, my feet refuse to pull me farther along. I want to stay home, but at the same time, I’m dying to get out of here for just a little while.

You’re being ridiculous, I tell myself, and step by difficult step, I make my way to the idling car where my driver, Zach, is waiting.

Emma is leaning against the sedan, her mittened hands crammed into the pockets of her leather coat as she finishes off a cigarette. She perks up as soon as she sees me, dropping the cigarette to the pavement and crushing it with the toes of her boot before hustling over to me.

Emma is on the front line of high-end fashion, always dressed impeccably in the darkest of colors. With our opposing sense of style, we make an odd-looking pair, but neither of us could care any less.

“I have to admit, I was starting to doubt if you were still coming,” Emma says, raising one perfectly arched brow.

“Honestly, I did hesitate a few times.” I look down at the ground. “Am I getting on your nerves, with all of this refusing-to-leave-the-babies nonsense?”

Emma snorts. “Babe, there have been numerous times in our relationship you have grated on my nerves, but this definitely isn’t one of them.”

I blow out a relieved breath, and Emma smiles, her white teeth brilliant against her carmine lipstick.

She holds open the car door for me, continuing, “Don’t worry, I’ll let you know if you’re annoying me.”

I roll my eyes as she gets into the back seat with me. Emma didn’t really have room to talk about being annoying. The number of times she’d invited me to hang out only for me to realize it was to go to a club or underground party for her to get wasted because of some shitty argument she had had with Yara are more than I can count on one hand; not to mention the numerous calls I had gotten from local police stations to come and pick her up. In my opinion, Emma is getting too attached to her, and sooner or later, this affair is going to end.

And it won’t be in a good way.

But I promised her I won’t give my two cents on the matter anymore and I’ve kept that promise. At least for now…

“I can’t eat another bite.” Emma groans, pushing her plate away, and I laugh as she leans back in the wrought-iron chair, holding her belly dramatically.

Pushing around the last of my stuffed mushrooms on my plate, I soak in the domestic warmth of the moment. My best friend and I, enjoying lunch at a quaint little cafe, our table tucked into the corner while the hum and chatter of the other guests flow over us. It’s exactly how life should be.

Emma had called this morning and asked if I could pull away from the twins for a few hours today so we could have some honest-to-God girl time. I’d been trying to get away in little snippets of moments here and there, slowly building up to leave my babies with Lily for an afternoon in preparation for our outing. There is no one I’d trust with my kids more in the world than Lily, and yet, I feel the distance and guilt pulling on me every time I leave.

Fortunately, after the uncomfortableness of leaving my sleeping infants behind had faded away, I finally managed to relax in Emma’s company. And after a while, it began to feel just like old times.

She had invited me out to a small lunch cafe downtown, decorated with a New Orleans theme. We’d shared some mushroom tapas, an avocado pizza, and chatted, sipping our coffees while we now waited for the bill.

“Is your dad still mad at you?” she asks, seemingly out of the blue.

The question catches me off guard, but I knew sooner or later she would want to get an update on the situation. “He’s still a bit grumpy, yeah,” I confess. “Columbia is really important to him, and taking the semester off was a big blow in his eyes.” When my dad learned I wasn’t attending classes this semester, he became furious with me. It’s not like I wouldn’t be resuming classes again in January, but he was totally against my decision for wanting to take some time off from college. Despite my dad not talking to me for the past few days, I don’t regret my decision—it’s not every day that you’re a first-time mom, and after everything I went through for the twins, I need some time to heal and to settle into this new life.

“Damn, so ridiculous,” she comments. “Are you still gonna return to classes in January?”

“Yes,” I answer. “I promised him I’d graduate, and that’s what I intend to do.”

A quick silence settles afterwards as I realize there isn’t much more to catch up on; Emma can’t stay away from the twins, and every few days security phones to let us know that Emma is on her way into the condo. She doesn’t even ask anymore, and honestly, it’s nice to hand a baby off to her and the other to Lily or Alex so I can go take a nice, quiet nap. After everything that happened these past months, life has been so…normal. And, for the very first time in so long, comfortable. I had spent so many months neck-deep in chaos that these quiet days still catch me off guard.

There is no tenseness between Emma and I anymore. Her relationship with Yara has been pushed far into the back of my mind, and despite knowing they have their issues, I refrain from interfering. As I come to think of it, if I had ever had any doubt about our friendship pulling through, it had all vanished when I saw her face the first time she saw Jasmine and Jasper.

Emma and I…we are strong on our own, but even stronger together.

A small smile plays over my face, and I guess I’ve drifted off because Emma taps my foot with hers under the table.

“Hello? Earth to Petra, are you done?” Emma jokes.

I turn my smile to her, lying my napkin beside my plate and exhaling. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

Emma tosses back the last of her latte and we pay, throwing on our coats and heading out into the November cold. It hasn’t reached the depths of winter yet, so the cold is still relatively bearable, but coming off of a warm October, it’s still highly unpleasant.

Emma shivers and zips her leather jacket closed, tucking a heavy gray scarf into the neck. I’d chosen a white, knee-length puffer and my favorite suede gloves. Manhattan has its upsides, but the weather isn’t one of them.

“Should we call the driver?” Emma asks, pulling her hair out from where it has gotten tangled in her scarf.

I pull out my phone to call Zach but pause. I’m not ready to go home yet. I crane my neck, looking down the road to get my bearings about where we are when the area finally clicks with me.

“Not yet, actually. Do you want to walk down to an art gallery with me? We are close to The Artemis Room, one of my favorites. I haven’t been there in so long!” I exclaim. Emma purses her mouth, glances at her watch, considering the offer before nodding.

“Alright, I’ve got some more time. Lead the way.”

We walk quietly together for a while, our hands shoved in our pockets for warmth.

I like this quietness—it’s the easy, silent companionship of old friends. But eventually, Emma speaks up.

“Still settling into mom life well?” she asks, her mouth quirking at the corners.

I scoff. “Like you even have to ask. You practically live at my condo now. I think you’re actually Jasmine’s best friend rather than mine at this point.”

Her grin is full now. “Yeah, well, I know all about the twins, especially my new bestie Jasmine, but you and I never have time to talk without Lily, Maria, or Alex hovering around like watchful hawks. So now that we’re alone, tell me how you’re really feeling.”

I ponder her question thoughtfully. There have been moments that every first-time parent goes through, except my trials are doubled––because, well, twins. Once the babies had come home, we had many sleepless nights. Sometimes, because of the anxiety of letting them out of our sight for even a minute, and other times because they decided three a.m. was the best time to scream their heads off. But all in all, we had settled into a routine with Lily’s help, and I had slowly regained my time.

Alex had been volcanic in his enthusiasm for the twins, at first, dragging our room designer, Leonardo, out to the nursery multiple times a week to blather on about soothing colors and Feng Shui. I’d also find him lingering over the bassinets all night long, running his long fingers down the babies’ soft cheeks as they slept, a look of awe on his face every time. He has only just begun to allow himself a full eight hours of sleep.

Funnily enough, after months of begging him to sleep in bed with me, I was all but forcing him into the bedroom to get some sleep without having to wake up with the babies throughout the night. Despite him being on paternity leave, Alex still had to answer emails, phone calls, and attend some business meet-ups, and it wasn’t doing either of us any good for him to be like a zombie in the mornings. Thankfully, the twins are getting older, and the midnight crying jags are finally slowing down.

I turn to Emma as we walk and shrug. “I’m pretty tired, and constantly worried about them, but I read in my postnatal books that all of those emotions are normal for new moms. So, maybe I just need to learn how to relax some more, but overall I’m doing okay.”

“And, um, what about that depression you had?” she asks, her voice laced with worry. “Is it solved once and for all?”

“Oh,” I utter, now understanding exactly what she meant when she asked how I was really doing. “Yeah, it’s over now.”

And thank God it is. The surge of adrenaline-fueled joy after my successful delivery of two high-risk twins had faded about a week postpartum, and in its place I’d been alarmed to find a vast emptiness. The long hours in the NICU, listening to the incessant beeping of the machines, had made time slow to a miserable crawl. Every day the babies got stronger, and it should’ve been cause for celebration, but for some reason even that miracle felt hollow, like it was happening to someone else. I went through the motions as anybody would; pumping breast milk, skin to skin contact when the twins were well enough, learning how to care for a preemie with a feeding tube… but it was all just something I had to do. Inside, I was exhausted.

I still recall when Marianna had crouched in front of the exam table when I told her how I was feeling, two weeks after the delivery. She took my hands in hers, patting them gently. “Postpartum depression is extremely common, Petra. You don’t have to be embarrassed to talk about it with me, okay?”

She had explained that a normal pregnancy caused a woman's body to be so full of hormones and endorphins that when they were all flushed away after birth, even the healthiest mothers could feel this distant sadness looming over them. I had all of those hormones, too, but coupled with the emotional stress of the high-risk pregnancy and Alex’s trial, I was a prime candidate for full-blown postpartum depression.

Thank goodness I had been upfront with Marianna. We did a short-term course of medication paired with weekly therapy appointments with a therapist specially trained for postpartum cases. Apparently, pregnancies as traumatic as mine could have long lasting mental effects if not treated swiftly and properly, and I’m thankful every day that I was able to get mine handled as soon as possible.

Emma nods. “Alright, I trust you, babe. But if you ever get overwhelmed and need me to spirit you away, let me know.”

I’m touched. We’d all been so worried about Jasmine and Jasper that having them home and thriving was like a dream come true. I actually had to adjust and leave some of my worries behind. I’m not high-risk Petra anymore, I’m mom Petra. Except, I’ve never been mom Petra before, and I’m still finding the proper footing.

“Thanks for asking. Sometimes I even forget about myself in all the chaos.” I chuckle at her concerned glance. “Really, Emma. I’m great. I’ve got the best support system of all time between Alex, Lily, Maria, you, and Matt. I mean, what could go wrong?”

She snorts. “Oh, yeah, Matt. That’s a whole different conversation… but hey, what gallery are we going to again?”

“It’s called The Artemis Room. It’s this great family-run gallery that features local artists. I had always dreamed about being featured there when I was younger. I haven’t been in a while.”

The entrance of the gallery comes into view, the burnished silver sign catching the midday sun as it filters through the buildings. The name of the gallery floats above a crescent moon framed by antlers, making a simple but striking logo that is easy to remember. I have always loved it.

Besides the sign, though… the gallery has seen better days. The once pale gray stone has darkened with age and neglect, and moss has gathered in the corners and flourishes of the building. Worst of all, the gallery's two famous gargoyles, perched on the corners of the roof, look rather dreadful. They are just as dark and decrepit as the rest of the building, but leaf litter clings to their fierce heads and roaring mouths. To add insult to injury, a bird had built a nest between the teeth of the left gargoyle.

The whole thing makes me grimace and wrinkle my nose, but I shake it off. It’s still The Artemis Room, no matter what. If I didn’t look too closely, it didn’t look that much different from the last time I’d seen it.

It’s all here, everything from my memory, except for one thing…

The moving trucks are out front, being filled with artwork and furniture by grumpy-faced moving men. When I realize what’s going on, my heart drops to my feet.

“Hey!” I yell, running up to the moving man with the clipboard standing at the front of the truck. “What’s going on here?”

The man waves me away, pointing to the gallery. “Old tenant’s in there. Go ask her. I don’t know shit.”

I recoil at his foul mouth before stomping back to Emma, incensed. “Come on, we’re going in.”

Emma looks skeptical. “Petra, it’s clearly closed…”

I ignore her, brushing past her to enter the building. I hear her sigh, resigned, and follow behind me. Everything looks like I remember: the gauzy curtains on the windows protecting the paintings from direct sunlight, the antique chandeliers dripping with crystals, and the two stone statues of the gallery's eponymous goddess, Artemis, flanking the entryway, a bow clutched in her granite hands.

But besides the nostalgia, The Artemis Room is in a sad state, the once decorated walls empty and the lights turned up high, casting the emptiness of the place in stark relief. It hurts my soul to see it this way when it had been so full of life the last time I had visited.

I find the tenant, who has always gone by Ms. Artemis herself, in the very back, tapping her kohl-lined eyes with a lacy handkerchief. She sniffs when she sees me, adjusting her emerald-green bohemian dress. She looks so much older than when I had seen her last. Her long raven hair is now shot through with white.

“Ms. Artemis,” I exclaim. She doesn’t recognize me, though I didn’t expect her to, among the thousands of patrons she has had over the years. “What’s going on? Why are they taking everything away?”

“Oh, dear girl, I have finally decided to move to Florida, and I just can’t afford to pay for someone to run the gallery in my stead. It’s just too big. So I’m moving on.” Her dark brown eyes are still swimming with tears. “I just didn’t expect it to be so painful.”

“You’ve run this place for as long as I can remember,” I tell her somberly, turning in a slow circle to take it all in.

Ms. Artemis nods, tapping her eyes again. “Yes, yes… But all good things must end.”

Emma finally catches up with me, and she plants her hands on her hips as she looks around. “This is a great space. Buyers are going to be champing at the bit to bid on it,” she remarks.

The mention of buyers sparks something in my mind. I take a step back and observe the space again, but this time not from the view of a sentimental past guest, but a potential buyer. Emma is right, the space is amazing for downtown Manhattan, and I know that the upper floor is a recently renovated office space.

It all starts to take shape in my mind, the gallery full of art again, but this time, art of my choosing. And upstairs, the staff for the Gatt-Dieren Art Fund. I’d been running the whole thing virtually for so long that the idea of having a real office space for my fund to expand is amazing. Before I had found out I was pregnant, I had laid out the financial plan to show it to Mike, raise some capital, and develop the fund even more, but with everything else going on, it had fallen to the wayside.

What better way to find myself again than to start the business I had always dreamed of!

“Ms. Artemis, is the owner of the building willing to rent, or even sell? Can I get his contact information?” I say, reining in the excitement in my voice.

The older woman sighs, pulling a business card out from her vintage clutch and hands it to me. “Here you go, dear. But I’ll forewarn you, he’s desperate to get rid of the place. I’ve been renting it out for over thirty years, and the idea of starting fresh with a new tenant has old Nico up in arms. He told me he’s selling it to a buyer that wants to gut the place and turn it into a restaurant or something.”

The card simply reads “NICO TUCCI” with a phone number inscribed underneath. I slide it into my coat pocket as I hear Emma groan at Ms. Artemis’s words.

“Of course, someone would be so overtly willing to tear down all this historic architecture. What a waste,” Emma complains, dragging the toe of her shoe over the antique tile as she speaks.

“Not so fast,” I reassure her. “I’m going to buy it!”

Both women raise their eyebrows and look at each other. “This is a bit of a split-second decision,” Emma comments apprehensively. I shake my head.

“It’s fate! Just think about it. My own gallery, and one day it will belong to the twins. By then, the Gatt-Dieren Art Fund should be a hugely successful dynasty for them to take over. It has to be fate. Why else would I have even thought of this place after so long?”

Emma seems to think about it but looks unconvinced. “Shouldn’t you talk to Alex about this first?”

I shake my head. “No. This is my fund. He’d want me to pursue it myself. He’s always telling me to branch out, anyway.”

I take a long look around the space again, awash in memories of all the fond times I had here and giddy with the idea of my art, and the art of other artists I love, hanging here in the near future. I look back to Ms. Artemis, who is tapping the corner of her eyes with a tissue, and hold my hand out to her. I would hug her if it wasn’t mildly inappropriate, so we shake hands and I bid her goodbye, taking her number down so I can tell her any news relating to the building.

Emma and I head back outside, and I ask her to call my driver while I call the owner of the building. Emma agrees and takes a few steps away from me to make the call and I type the number into my phone, feeling full of adrenaline.

“This is Nico. How can I help you?” an accented voice comes from the other end of the line, and I clear my throat, amping myself up for the negotiation.

“Hello, my name is Petra Van Gatt. I’m calling regarding what was formerly known as The Artemis Room. I’m interested in purchasing the building.”

Nico grunts. “Too late, I’m afraid. I’ve already agreed to sell it to a big hospitality brand for a new restaurant, or bar, or something along the lines. Sorry about that, have a nice—”

“Wait!” I butt in. “This was a meaningful location for me when I was younger, and I’m willing to pay beyond what they are offering. I’d love to sit down and go over numbers with you.”

I listen hopefully, but Nico just grunts again. “In my younger days, I would jump on an offer like that, but the truth is the paperwork is almost done and they already paid a deposit for the place. I’m sticking with them.”

“Mr. Tucci, no disrespect meant, but this is a building in downtown Manhattan. There is always someone that will pay more. Why settle on the first offer? You can always give back the deposit.”

Nico sighs loudly. “I already told you, miss. I'm tired. I don’t want to do negotiations, and I surely don’t want to sit down and talk to you and your husband about it,” he argues back.

I’m silent for a moment, getting angrier by the second. I had been so sure I would be able to handle this on my own, but of course Nico would recognize I’m Alex’s wife, given the amount of news coverage we had gotten during the court cases. Everyone in town did. But it pisses me off that he’s assuming this is something my husband is involved in. “Again, Mr. Tucci, no disrespect, but I never mentioned my husband, so why would you bring him up? Do you have an issue with him?”

Nico scoffs. “No, Ms. Van Gatt, it’s because I already gave my word to that company. The deal is nearly done. Plus, do you know they’re paying cash? Cash! In a market like this!” He laughs, and I can almost see him shaking his head on the other end of the phone. “For someone my age, convenience is worth quite a bit more than quantity.”

I fight to not grind my teeth at his smug tone. “Alright, Nico. Then allow me to counter. I’ll pay cash, and I’ll have my people do all the paperwork and get all the permits updated. All you’ll have to do is sign the paper and kick back and relax. What do you say? Let me know your schedule and I’ll get us penciled in for a sit-down.”

“Well, well. I’m still not convinced that you are worth the trouble, Ms. Van Gatt, or should I say Petra, since apparently we’re on a first-name basis now? Regardless, it’s an excellent offer.” Nico pauses, a quick silence ensuing. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll consider it. Keep your phone on you, eh?” If I’m not mistaken, I believe I hear a trace of respect in Nico’s voice.

“I will, Mr. Tucci, but my patience isn’t endless. Talk to you soon.”

He barks another laugh. “Goodbye, Ms. Van Gatt.”

I push my phone back into my purse, not even feeling the bite in the air because of how hot with anger I am. I may be young, but I’ve grown up around these know-it-all proprietors. I can hold my own and being talked down to is one of my biggest annoyances.

Emma finds her way back to me, an amused look on her face. “Oh, you look pissed.”

“Sorry, I hate arrogant dudes,” I seethe.

She looks at me, a smirk rising across her face. “Really?”

And I know exactly what she means by that. “Oh, Emma, stop it!” I slap her arm playfully. “Alex is different.”

Yet, she breaks in laugher. “I’m sure he is…”

It’s such an open and relaxed moment among friends. I’m so glad we’ve gotten back to this point and are completely comfortable with each other again. I’m not sure I could have gone my whole life feeling weird around Emma.

Zach pulls up and we shuffle into the car, wanting to escape the brisk chill in the air. Since Emma had left her vehicle back at the condo, we ride back together, shucking our coats in the car's warmth and relaxing in the leather seats. After a quiet few minutes, Emma speaks up.

“You know, Alex would probably have a brand-new gallery built for you from the ground up, exactly how you wanted it. Why bother with this old building?”

I ponder her question for a moment. “There’s something to be said for history, and yeah, maybe a touch of nostalgia. But that building means something to me, and it has good bones. It’s full of personality, memories, and it—”

Emma holds up a hand to stop me. “Alright, alright, I get it. I just didn’t want this to be a spur-of-the-moment decision that you make out of nowhere. It’d look wonderful for your gallery to be focused out of a historic building. It kind of shows that you value art in all its forms, on canvas and architecturally, right?”

I like that thought. Maybe people would take the Art Fund even more seriously if we based it out of somewhere like the old Artemis Room, and not some prefab office building. Now that I’m fully convinced, I’m even more nervous at the idea of Nico not calling me back. I may have sounded confident on the phone, but really, this was something that I really wanted. It would be a lot more painful to have it snatched away now.

We talk about other random subjects on the drive back to the condo, but in the back of my mind, I’m still thinking about The Artemis Room, considering how to decorate it, where all the offices would go, and even what our opening night would look like. I lose track of time and before I know it, we’re home and I’m waving goodbye to Emma, heading back inside.

Reaching the entryway, I shimmy out of my coat and hand it to Maria, who greets me at the door. My head is still swimming with gallery ideas until Lily comes around the corner, dressed in a sunflower yellow wrap dress while holding a very awake Jasper, who has one of her dozens and dozens of braids clutched in his chubby fist. Lily’s expression is weary but cheerful.

“They’ve decided to trade attitudes today. Jasmine is having a nice nap, but her brother here has decided he’s never sleeping again.” She looks down at the baby in her arms. “Would you like to see your mommy now, little prince?”

“I don’t care if he does or not,” I answer jokingly, already rushing towards her, my smile spreading up to my ears. “Give him here.” I reach out for my son and Lily hands him over.

He relinquishes the braid after I pry it from his chubby fist, and Lily immediately gathers her braids into an enormous bun on the top of her head, securing it with a band she had been wearing on her wrist. “Really, it’s my fault. I should’ve known better than to have my hair down around these little grabbers.” Lily gives Jasper’s tiny fist a kiss before releasing him to me fully.

Jasper is usually the quieter of my two angels, often watching us with wide, interested eyes while his sister screams the walls down. I breathe in his wonderful baby smell, kissing his soft, round cheek as he huffs, trying to grab at my earrings. I laugh, holding him even closer.

Lily runs her hands down her dress, smoothing it out before continuing. “He’s been fed, and I tried to put him down for a nap with Jasmine, but he was extremely uninterested, as you can tell.”

“He’s not interested in much except for eating these days,” I joke, tapping his little nose with the tip of my finger.

“Well, he is a male, so he may never grow out of that phase,” Lily quips, watching as Jasper tries to shove his fist in his mouth. “I’m going to go take my break and run a few errands since you’re home. There are some bottles in the refrigerator. Just have Maria pop them in the bottle warmer if our little prince gets hungry again soon.”

“I don’t know what I would do without you, Lily,” I tell her as she shrugs on her coat and grabs her bag.

“Ah, Petra. You’ve blossomed into such a wonderful mother. It’s my pleasure to be here and watch the little warriors grow so strong, and to help you along the way.”

I’m touched, and I give her a one-armed hug before she departs. “Thank you, Lily. Enjoy your break.”

CHAPTER 2

Petra Van Gatt

I take Jasper up to my bed and try to read to him a bit while he tries fighting sleep as hard as he can. Eventually, my little man dozes off into a fitful nap and I take a quick snooze with him. But about twenty minutes later, Jasmine lets us know, with no room for negotiation, that it’s time to get up. I groan, scooping sleepy Jasper up and depositing him in his bassinet while I retrieve Jasmine. Jasper’s eyes flutter a few times before he resumes his nap, and I take his much more awake sister out into the living area with me.

During my pregnancy, I had made a concentrated effort to dress attractively and look put together, even when I was just spending the day indoors. It brought me joy to see the look of heat and appreciation in Alex’s eyes when he would see me. But I fell into my old habits of comfy outfits just quickly after their birth. So now, instead of designer dresses and beautifully tailored clothes, I find myself spending a good portion of my time in various different pairs of Lululemon leggings and tops, my hair braided or pulled into a ballerina bun on top of my head. One needed to be comfortable and dressed in athletic clothing in order to keep up with the needs of two infants.

I braid my hair in the bathroom mirror, having handed off Jasmine to Maria for a moment, and think of Lily and her gorgeous wardrobe, full of bright color, and how she always looks so put together, even after a whole day with the twins. I guess if you deal with babies for a living, you eventually figure out how to be fashionable again.

My new venture into the best of athleisure wear wasn’t without its perks, though. I recall the day I was standing on my tiptoes in the kitchen, reaching for my favorite tea mug on the top shelf, when I heard Alex enter the kitchen behind me and suck in a breath. I was suddenly aware of how my shirt had been riding up, displaying inches of my back and the skin-tight fit of my leggings. I had prepared to whip around and tell him he wasn’t allowed to make fun of my casual wear, but I didn’t have time.

Alex had come up behind me, his hands skimming up my hips to rest on my ass before growling in my ear, “These ridiculous pants are going to be the death of me, you know that? Seeing you prance around all day, just this single layer between me and your skin.”

He had nipped at my ear, making me giggle, and I had led him to the bedroom, intent on showing him how incredible his praise made me feel. Tea was all but forgotten that day.

Even now I blush thinking about all the clandestine hookups we have had in the kitchens and corners, having so little time between babies, pediatrician appointments, and Alex’s work schedule. It rarely ever progressed to full-blown sex, but we had begun to come back together as a married couple, and it was everything I had been craving for the past months. I love Alex, and I love seeing how much Alex loves me. I can only hope that we continue to grow in our passion for one another.

It brings a smile to my face as I touch up the light makeup I had worn for lunch and leave the bathroom to retrieve Jasmine from Maria.

“Thanks, Maria. I just had to clean up a little for dinner,” I tell her, hefting the baby into my arms.

“Not a problem, ma’am. Mr. Van Dieren called and said he would be home shortly.”

“Great!” I can’t help but smile. I love it when Alex is able to make it home to have dinner with me.

I head with Jasmine, who is squirming in my arms like an eel, into the living area, spreading out her tummy time mat and laying her down gently, keeping an eye on her wobbly head. She screeches, not a fan of tummy time, but I pat her diapered behind and take a seat on the floor next to her.

“Come on, princess. You know the deal. Tummy time first, and then you can have some milk,” I tell her. She looks unconvinced, grunting a few times before making an earnest effort at turning over.

We had expected Jasmine to progress slower than Jasper, all of her health concerns considered, but so far she has been keeping pace with her brother––except in this one thing. Jasper could roll in both directions and had moved on to trying to raise himself up on all fours, but Jasmine had been struggling with the rolling part.

Alex hadn’t seemed worried. I even chuckle as I remember him saying, “Jasper’s got all that extra weight to give him momentum, not to mention his, uh…” We had been sitting on the floor with the babies and Alex had covered Jasper’s ears with his hands before whispering covertly to Jasmine and me, “His enormous head.”

“Knock it off! His head is perfect, and Jasmine will catch up, won’t you, princess? She just needs a little more time,” I had told him, pretending to be scandalized on my son’s behalf.

Back in the present moment, Jasmine finally manages to make it onto her side before letting out another frustrated screech. Her tiny face flushes with effort, so I place her back on her stomach. “You’ve got it, Jas. You’re a strong survivor, remember?”

She huffs adorably at me, babbling. Right then, Lily returns from her break, and Jasmine’s frustrated noises switch to excitement as her face lights up, chunky legs kicking hard when Lily makes her way over to us, sitting gracefully on the floor beside me.

“She’s holding her head up incredibly well in this position. We’ll count it as a win,” Lily says, smiling warmly. “The rolling will come, Petra. Don’t worry. All babies are different.”

I blow out a breath. “I know. It’s just… she and Jasper are sort of the same, right? They’re twins, after all.”

“Well, yes, but look at it like a race. Jasper had a significant head start, and Jasmine is catching up in her own time. At the end of the race, they will have both crossed the finish line, right? So no worries.”

“I guess you’re right.” I run my hand gently over the sparse, soft brown hair on Jasmine’s head.

Lily and I work with Jasmine for a while longer, eventually getting a nearly complete rollover from her. She jumps when we cheer for her, her pale blue eyes wide, and we both laugh.

After another thirty minutes, Alex returns home, his suit coat already off and slung over his shoulder. “Hello, ladies.”

Like earlier at the cafe with Emma, Alex coming in and bending down to give me a quick kiss before heading to our room to change out of his work clothes is so sweetly domestic that I can’t help but grin.

“Go on and join your husband,” Lily tells me, shooing me away. “I’ll take care of the babies. Enjoy your dinner.”

“But,” I start to protest, but she shakes her head.

“It’s literally what you pay me for. Now go on.”

“Fine. You can feed the little missy now as I think she’s hungry, and Jasper when he gets up.” I give Jasmine a quick peck on the head and make my way to the dining room to meet Alex.

I pause, slipping into the bathroom for a moment to check my phone, hoping to see a text or missed call from Nico Tucci. The screen is just as blank as it has been all afternoon and evening. I didn’t want to be naïve, but I had really thought that my offer of taking care of every little detail of the sale would have piqued his interest enough so that he would at least give me the time of day.

I sigh, blowing a loose piece of hair out of my face while shoving my phone back into my pocket. I think back on Emma telling me that Alex would build me a gallery from the ground up if I wanted, and I also knew that if I asked, Alex would go to bat for me against Tucci; maybe using some of his contacts would give me a better chance of winning the ability to buy the building. But that fund is mine, and I want to be the one to make it flourish with my own two hands. Not by relying on someone else's help.

I’ll have to put the thought out of my mind for dinner. Alex could for sure read the stress on my face and in my body language, and if I tell him everything, it could go one of two ways. He would either pull his cell out and start making calls to secure the place for me, or he’d waive the idea of purchasing such an old building off and insist we start making plans on a building plan for a new gallery and office space.

The latter was more likely. Alex appreciates vintage architecture, but that appreciation didn’t bleed over into his business. He’d insist on everything being state of the art, streamlined and efficient. Any other time I’d agree with him, function over nostalgia, but… I wanted the building where the soul of The Artemis Room lives. I want it more than I had wanted anything in a long while.

I take a few deep breaths, forcing the thoughts away, ready to just have a peaceful dinner with my husband. It has only been a few hours, really. Tucci could call any time. There isn’t any reason to freak out just yet.

Still, though. I’m worried that he already signed the new landlords.

Changed into his casual clothing, Alex is reclining in his dining room chair, scrolling through his phone when I walk in. He sets the device down as I take my seat, settling in. There is already a huge kale salad waiting for us, as well as a frosted glass of cucumber water for me.

“How was work?” I ask, loading my plate with kale.

He shrugs. “It was alright. We are starting to expand our biotech portfolio and fundraise for next year, so all good,” he says, looking at me as I eat. “Didn’t you tell me you were going out for lunch with Emma today? How did that go?”

“It was nice to get out alone, but it was also nice to come home afterward. Makes me realize everything isn’t going to fall apart if I let myself leave the babies sometimes,” I tell him, but when I think of the lunch my mind immediately goes back to the gallery, and the thought leaves a pit in my stomach.

I guess something flashes across my face because Alex sets his fork down with a frown. “Something wrong?”

I shake my head. “Nothing, just thinking of some things I need to do tomorrow,” I tell him, composing a forced smile.

Alex looks unconvinced, leaning forward with his elbow on the table and resting his chin in his hands. “Out with it, Petra.”

I groan, rubbing my face with my hands. “It’s silly…”

“It’s not silly if it has you this worried, love. Let’s hear it,” Alex coerces, his voice soft and coaxing.

Fine. He’s got me. “It’s really not a big deal, but after lunch, Emma and I took a short walk to check out this gallery I’ve always loved called The Artemis Room.”

Alex nods while I speak. “I’ve heard of it. I think it got featured a few times on the news. Anyway, continue.”

“Probably. It used to be much more popular. But anyway, we walked down to the gallery and there were moving trucks outside! We went inside and the old renter was there. She said she’s moving out and heading to Florida and that she had broken off her lease.” I take a deep breath, preparing to launch into my explanation of my business idea. “I’ve always really loved the place, and it’s in this beautiful old stone building with a grand staircase and offices on the second floor. I asked Ms. Artemis, the original renter, for the building owner’s information and I called him. About purchasing the building.”

Alex raises his eyebrows, leaning back in his chair. “Really? As a gallery?”

I twist the tablecloth between my fingers nervously as I continue, trying my best to sound confident. “Sort of. A gallery downstairs, but it would be linked to the Gatt-Dieren Art Fund that I would run out of the second floor. Some of the artists that I invested in would be featured in the gallery downstairs, and we could hold events to showcase the lesser-known artists in the city.”

“It’s not a terrible idea,” Alex muses. “Is the upstairs an actual functioning space? It hasn’t fallen into disrepair or anything of the sorts?”

“No, Ms. Artemis used to feature her own artwork and hold private events upstairs. She always kept the place immaculate. No one wants to go to a dusty gallery,” I assure him.

“Then it sounds like a sound business venture. What has you second-guessing yourself here?” Alex asks curiously.

I exhale. This was the part of the story I didn’t want to get into. “Like I said, I called the owner, and he told me he’s already in the final steps of selling the building…to a hospitality brand to turn it into a restaurant.” I pinch the bridge of my nose between my fingers, already feeling the annoyance rising in me again. “They’re going to gut the place and ruin any of the appeal of the original building. The whole gallery will be ruined.”

“Especially if they serve food. You can never get the smell of fryer grease out of a building,” Alex agrees, his tone thoughtful. “You negotiated, I assume?”

“Yes. Probably too eagerly though,” I confess. “But that was this afternoon, and he hasn’t gotten back to me. I know that isn’t any time, really, but since he said he was so close to signing the paperwork with them…” I poke at the salad on my plate. “I don’t know, I get the feeling it’s a lost cause.”

Alex reaches across the table and takes my hands in his. “Not everything goes through easily. It’s one of the more unpleasant parts of business. But you’ll get used to this side of things, love.”

“I know… I just wish my first, big disappointment wasn’t something so meaningful to me.”

Alex stands and comes over to my side of the table, tilting my head up with a finger beneath my chin and kissing me soundly on the mouth. “Just give it time to breathe, wife. Everything will work out in the end.”

I grin as he walks back to his seat, and before he sits down again, I covertly check my phone one more time. Nothing, of course. Without a second thought, I lock the screen and place the phone back in my pocket. Alex is right. Worrying about the gallery constantly would not help Tucci decide any faster.

Instead, I focus on dinner with Alex. Sometimes I just like to watch him speak. I just love how he gestures with his hands and how animated his face is when he’s telling me about something that he’s interested in.

Dinner ends around seven pm, and we bid Lily goodnight. She heads to her room in the finished basement of the condo that we’ve outfitted to function as its own little apartment. Right before the babies came home, Alex had, in a fit of anxiety, the basement converted into an ultra-modern apartment for Lily while also rigging the whole apartment up with intercoms. On top of that, both our room and Lily’s bedroom had full-screen monitors that showed the nursery 24/7.

Alex and I switch off on baby bath duty. He entertains Jasper and feeds him a few more ounces of formula before bed while I gently wash Jasmine. Even after she had come off of the feeding tube, I found myself being extra gentle with her like she was made of fine china. She babbles while I shampoo her tiny hair tufts, splashing excitedly, but the soothing lavender scent of the baby wash begins to work its magic and she’s quiet and droopy-eyed when I pull her out and wrap her in a fluffy white towel.

Alex passes me with Jasper cradled in his arms as I leave the bathroom. Jasper wriggles like a fish in his dad’s arms when he sees me and his sister, and I wish Alex luck as I take little Jasmine to the nursery to put her to bed. I dress her in a soft flannel sleep sack and by the time I lay her down, humming as I do so, she’s completely out, her tiny arms stretched above her head in slumber.

I check her ankle monitor one final time before turning the lights out. The little pink ankle band monitors her breathing and heart rate, reporting any inconsistencies straight to our phones. We had also placed a movement monitor underneath the sheets of their cribs. If Alex had the choice, he would probably have hired a whole nursing staff to be on hand, but the monitors offered us enough peace of mind that we could sleep without worry.

As I go to leave the room, Alex enters, Jasper fighting a losing battle against sleep in his arms. Jasper is dry and wrapped in a fluffy towel of his own, but Alex looks like he had just finished swimming in the ocean, the chest of his shirt soaked through.

“He’s wild tonight,” Alex comments exhaustedly, causing me to laugh.

“I guess I should’ve warned you,” I tell him, kissing him and Jasper both on the cheeks before leaving Alex to put his son to bed.

I’m sitting on the bed unbraiding my hair when Alex comes back, jerking his wet shirt over his head and throwing it into the laundry basket. I blink a few times, taking in my husband’s toned body and the dark shadow of stubble on his jaw.

“Shower?” he asks me. “I’m already halfway there, thanks to our son.”

I consider the proposition. I palm the outline of my phone in my pocket, thinking about sending Nico Tucci another text before bed, but ultimately deciding against it. After all, Alex is half-naked, and the twins are both asleep. This doesn’t happen often.

I recline back on my elbows, looking him over. “I don’t know, babe. I’m pretty exhausted,” I tease.

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” he shoots back with a smirk. “All I said was a shower. Nothing more. It’ll be warm and relaxing.”

A snort rolls off my lips at his tone. “Fiiiine,” I groan dramatically, sliding off the bed. Then I throw my own shirt off as I lead the way to our enormous shower. “So that means you are gonna keep your hands to yourself?” I ask jokingly.

Alex’s laugh is deep and seductive behind me as I turn the steaming water on. “I didn’t say that.”

Sleep doesn’t come, no matter how much I toss and turn. Alex lays next to me, the sound of his breathing a comfort that should have helped lull me into slumber, but for some reason, I just can’t get there.

I roll to my side again, sighing and scrunching my eyes shut. Come on, just fall asleep already!

One of the things you hear most as a pregnant woman is the idea that “you need to sleep when the baby sleeps.” It made sense when I was still pregnant, but once I had given birth, I realized how absurd that idea was.

For starters, newborns sleep in fits and starts. Five minutes here, an hour there, but never long enough. That type of sleep schedule just doesn’t work for adults. Nothing is less restful than a five-minute nap interrupted by a screaming infant. My experience had been different from most, with the extended stay in the NICU, but it wasn’t like that allowed for a restful experience either.

The nurses, bless their souls, had tried to herd me back to my hospital room constantly. My cesarean had gone off without a hitch, making it somehow one of the less stressful moments of my pregnancy up to that point, but it was still invasive surgery, and I needed to heal. I did try to rest, lying flat so my incision could heal, but more often than not I was pulling on grippy hospital socks and shuffling painfully down to the twins NICU suite. I couldn’t stay away.

That was almost five months ago, and most of the time I sleep like a log, but there are still times like this one that I’m too restless, kept awake by my racing thoughts. But now, it wasn’t worry for Jasmine and Jasper on my mind, but rather it was my enchantment with The Artemis Room gallery. I am trying not to obsess… and am failing miserably.

I have memories of that place from when I was a little girl, looking up at the artwork and wondering if I would ever be that talented, and then even more memories from my teenage years, when I would walk the halls by myself, basking in the serene silence of the place. It seems almost blasphemous for a place that had brought me so much peace to become a bar or a restaurant. The thought alone causes a shiver of distaste to roll along my spine.

Alex feels my shiver, rolls over, and cracks open his eyes to look at me. His eyes, deep blue from sleepiness, take in the tightness of my mouth and the tension in my jaw. He sits up with a groan. “Can’t sleep?”

I shake my head. “Too much on my mind.”

He looks sympathetic, scooting closer to me and letting me pillow my head on his lap while he strokes my hair. “Anything that I can help you with? Baby stuff? House stuff?”

“No,” I assure him. “Just a lot of thoughts about the gallery, is all. I’m trying not to get my hopes up but every time I close my eyes I imagine how I would set the place up, which paintings I would put where, and what new artists to feature.” A sigh escapes me. “I know I’m setting myself up for disappointment, but I just can’t help it.”

Alex ponders my words for a moment, before sliding out of bed. “I’ll be right back.”

I watch curiously as he pulls on a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt, leaving the bedroom. I snuggle back under the down comforter, missing his warmth already. Whatever he’s doing, he takes his time with it, and had it been any other night I’d be snoozing peacefully by the time he got back. Instead, I’m still wide awake, tracking him with my eyes when he returns.

He pulls my velour robe off of the hook on the back of our bedroom door and tosses it to me. “Put that on and follow me.”

“Alex, what—” I start, but he’s already disappeared into the dark house. I scowl, slipping the robe over my shoulders and following him.

I tie the belt around my waist, looking around for my husband to no avail. Finally, I see a flickering light coming from the terrace, different from the static lights of the city. I walk to the glass doors and glance out, spotting Alex.

He’s lit a fire in the terra cotta chiminea and pulled our outdoor wicker loveseat close, lounging on the padded couch in the firelight. He sees me at the door and waves me over. I consider turning around and going back to bed, but with a resigned sigh I open the doors and slip out.

Despite the terrace being insulated, the poured concrete floor is freezing cold for the first few steps, and I tiptoe to minimize skin contact until I’m closer to the chiminea. About three feet away I can feel the heat radiating, and once I make it to the loveseat with Alex, I’m not frigid anymore. If I’m being honest, it may even be a little toasty in my velour robe.

Alex pulls me close when I sit down, and I tuck my feet underneath me for warmth as I fit myself against him. We watch the fire burn in silence, until I finally ask, “Why exactly are we doing this?”

“I thought some fresh air might help soothe your mind,” he says quietly, gazing into the fire.

It certainly is cozy. With all the light pollution from the city, we can’t see many stars, but the icy breeze mixed with the blooming warmth of the outdoor fireplace combine perfectly to make our own little paradise in a sea of cold weather. The wood crackles, filling the quiet air over the noise of the city beyond.

Alex throws a fleece blanket over us both, and the experience of watching the fire is almost meditative. He slips a hand under my robe to drag his knuckles up and down my bare arm, lost in thought. I can tell his mind is elsewhere from the distant look in his eyes.

“Something on your mind?” I ask in a hushed tone.

“Just mulling over some business plans in my head, that’s all,” he says.

“Anything important?”

He gazes at me fondly, tenderness written all over his features. “Pretty important, yeah. Kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing I have to throw together.”

“Sounds stressful.”

“Hopefully not,” Alex sighs. “Only time will tell.”

As the minutes pass us by in companionable silence, I feel my eyelids getting heavy against all odds. Here beneath the night sky is the last place I imagined I would find rest tonight, but with my head on Alex’s shoulder, I doze off into a deep, dreamless sleep, wrapped in the warmth of the fire and my husband's arms.

I don’t even wake up when he carries me to bed, nearly an hour later.

CHAPTER 3

Manhattan, November 19, 2021

Petra Van Gatt

I’m sleeping deeply when the sound of the bedroom door opening cuts through my slumber. Groaning, I throw my arm over my face, hoping that I’m dreaming and it’s really still the middle of the night, but whoever has disturbed me doesn’t stop. I hear the pulling of curtains, and a beam of bright sunlight cuts across my face.

“Noooo…” I mumble, pulling a pillow over my face, but Maria clucks and opens the curtains wider.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but it’s time to wake up,” she tells me.

I crack my eyes open and look at her. She’s standing with her hands on her hips, looking both amused and exasperated. I roll over to glance at the clock on the bedside. It reads nine a.m. Well, crap. I guess I really do need to get up.

“The twins?” I ask her, stretching my arms over my head with an enormous yawn.

“Lily got them up at six o’clock and fed them some formula,” she responds, bustling around the room to gather the dirty laundry. “She also suggested that you start giving them some dry cereal now that they are close to five months old.”

“And where’s Alex?”

Maria sighs. “He has to go into work again today and would like it if you two have breakfast together before he leaves.”

“Alright, alright,” I complain, reluctantly getting out of bed. Alex and I had stayed up a little later than anticipated last night, both with our joint shower and fireside nap. I thought I would catch a few extra moments of sleep before I had to face the day. Oh well.

My hair is mussed from being slept on while wet, so I pull a brush through it after brushing my teeth and getting ready for the day. Alex is dressed for work, his suit jacket draped over the back of the chair when I come in. His beard is freshly trimmed, and the ivory of his shirt complements his tan complexion. I lean down for a quick kiss and take my seat, grasping the steaming mug of matcha tea that is waiting for me.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Alex comments with a smirk over the rim of his coffee cup.

“Same to you, Prince Charming,” I reply, matching his tone and giving him a flirtatious wink. “Where are the babies?”

“Lily is getting them dressed. She’ll be right back. Something about wanting you to try and feed them some rice cereal this morning?”

“Yeah,” I mumble vaguely. “I know I shouldn’t be, but I’m still so apprehensive feeding solids to Jasmine. I think Jasper could polish off some avocado toast if we let him, but it still feels like just yesterday our little Jas had a feeding tube. Lily knows I’m nervous, so she’s pressing the issue whether I like it or not,” I explain, popping a grape from the fruit selection on the table in my mouth and chewing thoughtfully.

Alex hesitates, sitting his coffee cup on the table. “Is she sure Jasmine is ready for solids?”

“Lily suggested just a little bit at a time to get started as Jasmine needs the calories to grow.” I swirl my tea in my mug as I continue, “What if something goes wrong though?”

Alex looks ready to respond, but Lily returns with the twins just then, one perched on each hip. Carrying them both is something I’m still trying to master. We have multiple chest carriers, the traditional kind, and the baby-wearing variety, but they swiftly give me backache every time I'd tried to use them. Alex, being taller and stronger, has a little more success with them, but neither of us feels totally comfortable having tiny Jasmine in the traditional variety. She does better in the baby sling, tucked close to our chests.

Lily, on the other hand, carries them both without a carrier like it’s the easiest thing in the world. I pop out of my chair and take Jasper, kissing his face before depositing him in his high chair, strapping him in. Lily gets Jasmine into her chair, which is bigger than Jasper’s, offering more support for her little body. Both of them know what the chairs mean, and are huffing excitedly, kicking their legs and waving their arms.

Lily had been in charge of the slow introduction of rice cereal to Jasper, but I still had so much anxiety about doing the same with Jasmine. I chew a few more grapes while Lily goes to prepare the cereal.

Alex checks his watch. “I’ve got a few minutes. I’ll stay and give you ladies a hand.”

“Thanks,” I tell him, watching as he stands to roll up his sleeves.

Lily returns and hands us each a small bowl with a few spoonfuls of the beige, pasty cereal inside. “Small bites, and make sure their mouths are completely empty before their next bite. At this age they’ll have their mouths open for the next bite before they’ve even swallowed the first, so just be careful.”

Jasper nearly screams when Alex scoops some of the cereal in the soft rubber spoon and guides it to his mouth. “Patience, little man! We’ll get there!” Alex jokes, feeding Jasper with no sign of the nerves that I am currently experiencing.

Jasmine is still kicking, looking between me and the bowl. I can tell she’s gearing up for a loud protest if I don’t hurry it up, but all I can do is to stir the cereal to stall.

“Go ahead, Petra,” Lily encourages. “She’s hungry.”

Steeling myself, I scoop up barely half a spoon of cereal and hold it to Jasmine’s pursed lips. She opens her mouth like a little bird, and excitedly accepts the spoons when I give her the bite, gumming the cereal with a serious look on her face.

I’m so afraid she’s going to choke that I don’t breathe until I visibly see her swallow, opening her mouth again expectantly. I blow out a relieved breath and chuckle nervously, feeding her the next bite. She smiles hugely, all gums, and laughs along with me after she finishes the second bite.

“Amazing job, both of you!” Lily congratulates.

“You don’t think I’m silly for being so nervous about feeding my own daughter, do you?” I ask her.

She shakes her head. “Absolutely not. Everything you do with them is a first for you. Trust me when I say every parent second guesses themselves the entire way through.”

The sense of triumph I feel when I scrape the bottom of the cereal bowl is ridiculous for such a minor task, but I mentally pat myself on the back, anyway. Maria clears our breakfast away and Alex shrugs his jacket on with a sigh.

“I have to go now, I promised your dad I’d attend this meeting with him,” he says, tapping each baby on their button noses before kissing me goodbye. “I’ll see you all for dinner?”

“Of course,” I respond, walking him to the door. Once we stand alone by the entryway, I help him put on his winter peacoat, and then lowering my voice, I ask, “Did he talk to you about me?”

Alex doesn’t seem surprised at my question; after all, he knows exactly what I’m talking about. “Well, you know your dad,” he answers vaguely. “Don’t worry, he’ll get over it.”

“He hasn’t returned my calls, though.”

“Give him some time,” Alex insists, trying to appease me. “He just learned last week that his one and only daughter hasn’t been attending classes this semester. For him, that’s like the end of the world.”

I nod, knowing there isn’t much I can do at this point. Dad can be stubborn just like me. I pull on the lapels of the coat to bring Alex closer to me, kissing him one more time. “I’ll miss you,” I murmur against his lips.

“I’ll miss you too, wife,” he responds warmly.

I release my husband reluctantly. Once he shuts the door behind him, I’m left standing alone, wondering what to make of my day. Emma and I had discussed doing some early Christmas shopping for the twins. Alex would willingly hire a decorator to make the condo festive for us, but with it being the babies’ first Christmas, I really wanted Emma and I to do it ourselves. Plus, I know she loves this kind of stuff.

But there’s a shadow looming over me I can’t shake, and it’s my powered-down phone sitting on the charger in the bedroom. Once I turned it on, I would either have a response from Nico, or I’d have to touch base with him and potentially face rejection. As long as the phone remained turned off, I could stay in the dark about whether or not he had decided to sell to me.

Yesterday I had been so full of cocky confidence on the phone with Nico, but the longer without an answer I go, the more nervous I become. I have to face the music and talk to him again today, whether or not I want to. After talking to Alex last night, I realize it has been a mistake for my first real estate purchase to be something emotionally significant to me. It’d have been easier to buy something that wasn’t anything but a professionally beneficial purchase, instead of something I really cared about. Oh well, too late now.

Lily is cleaning the babies’ faces off when I return to them. “Anything special on the agenda today?” she asks me, and I chew my lip for a moment before responding.

“I was going to go shopping with Emma for some Christmas decorations for the condo, maybe a new tree,” I respond, but my heart isn’t in it.

Lily examines my expression for a moment.

“You’re looking conflicted. Do you need to go do something while I finish cleaning these two up?” she asks gently.

I close my eyes for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, if you don’t mind. I need to make some phone calls.”

“Go ahead!” Lily says. “I’ll take them to the nursery to play and work on some movement exercises.”

“Thanks, Lily,” I say, relieved and full of anxiety all at the same time.

I retrieve my phone from the bedside table and toss it back and forth between my hands, thinking everything over. Somehow trying to brace myself for what is to come. Eventually, I decide to go to our home office to make the call. Maybe I will be more in the professional mindset if I have the right environment.

Our home office is a dark forest green with equally dark oak flooring. The desk is old, antique even, and as I come to think of it, it fits Alex’s personality; strong, stoic, and unmovable. Light filters in through the open blinds, lightening up the heavy, somber room. I sink into the rolling leather chair and power my phone on, tapping my fingers nervously on the desk as I wait.

The screen lights up, and for a minute my text inbox is empty. I nearly jump out of my skin when a message comes through, but my adrenaline rapidly dies down when I see it’s just Emma.

“We still on for Christmas shopping?” her message reads. I text her back an affirmative.

Scrolling through my email, texts, and voicemails reveals nothing. Nico still hasn’t messaged me. I guess that means I’ll have to make the first move.

“Good morning, Mr. Tucci. This is Petra Van Gatt, checking up on the offer I extended to you regarding The Artemis Room yesterday afternoon.”

I read over the text a few times, debating on adding anything else. Finally, I finish it off with, “I’ll be looking at some other galleries today, so please get back to me as soon as possible. Thank you.”

Hitting send, I pocket my phone again with a sigh. Maybe if Nico knows that I’m in the market for other galleries, it will light a fire under him to get back to me sooner. I know the clock is ticking, and he could very well have sold the building already without telling me. Maybe I really should check out some other places to ease my mind.

I dial Emma’s number, and she picks up on the third ring.

“Hey,” I begin. “Can we make a few pit stops before we go Christmas shopping?”

Emma hums on the other line for a moment, thinking over my proposition, before answering, “Sure, I’ve got nothing else planned today anyway.”

“Great. I’ll see you soon.”

With quick fingers, I switch on the Mac and access a few of the local business real estate websites, printing out pages upon pages of available office spaces. Not all of them would be suited to include a gallery, but if push comes to shove, then I could have separate spaces. Ideally though, I would have one building that could do both. I didn’t want my future employees to be too disconnected from the artwork and the artists themselves. My fund wouldn’t be simply business. We had to connect with the actual people, hearing what they needed most from us to succeed in a difficult art world.

Once I’m finished, I recline back in the leather office chair, looking around the office that had been Alex’s before I’d moved in, and start envisioning what I would like my own office to look like. It would be brighter, with more open windows and sunlight. I would cover the walls with my favorite pieces of art that I’ve done over the years and some from other artists I love. Soon enough, I would have my own space. Whether it be The Artemis Room, or not.

But gosh, I really wanted it to be The Artemis Room.

CHAPTER 4

Petra Van Gatt

Emma and I hustle back to the car, jumping into the back seat before Zach can even consider opening the doors for us. The weather is overcast, not quite raining, but misty and cold enough for it to be unpleasant.

Emma rubs her bare hands together and blows into them for warmth while I shuffle through my packet of buildings that are for sale, crossing another potential off with a red pen. I exhale in annoyance, flipping through the pages.

“I’m going to assume that one was a resounding no, right?” Emma asks, tucking her icy hands into her leather coat pockets.

“The bottom floor was a doggy daycare, Emma! Not exactly conducive to artistic expression!” I rant, causing Emma to giggle.

“I don’t know, dogs are pretty inspiring, don’t you think?” she cajoles.

“You must be joking. I’m going to just assume that you aren’t being serious because if I had to run any kind of business with all that yapping, I’d go absolutely insane in the first hour.” I toss my packet of papers on the leather middle seat between Emma and me with a sigh. “The next option is over ten miles away…”

“In that case,” she says, “we should stop real estate hunting and go Christmas shopping! You know, as we had originally planned?”

Emma and I had visited five different potential galleries and offices at this point, and we had been on the hunt for over three hours. She’s always a good sport, humoring me and giving her honest opinion on each space we visited. I knew this wasn’t exactly the type of shopping Emma had agreed to, but I was still thankful for her support.

The first option had been close to my condo, and on paper, it checked all the boxes. It was an office building with a finished basement that could easily be turned into a gallery. The offices themselves were large and open, there was a built-in kitchenette, and a fantastic amount of parking. The only problem was that the building was smack in the middle of an industrial park, surrounded by some of the most boring businesses known to man, and worst of all, it was boring. Painfully boring, even. The only signage allowed was clingfilm on the glass windows. It honestly just wasn’t going to work.

Next was a two-floor rental in one of the downtown high-rises, and while a shared building wasn’t ideal, the location was very accessible. I could have made it work, except the ad for the rental failed to mention that it was two totally separate floors: the 3rd and the 26th. Not sure what they were thinking with that one.

The third option was my favorite of the bunch. It was an old one-room school building that had been recently renovated with modern windows, flooring, and roofing. It was a gorgeous piece of history that would have suited my needs perfectly for the gallery portion, even if I would need to house the office elsewhere. I had felt my first twinge of excitement, until the real estate agent took us to the basement, and we all discovered that a vandal had stripped all the copper piping, doing thousands of dollars of damage in the process.

And fourth, right before the doggy daycare fiasco, was an industrial warehouse. Spaces like this, with visible pipes and beams, were all the rage right now, and although it would have needed some serious drywall work to add in restrooms and offices, the price was just right. The agent had unlocked the door when Emma suddenly grabbed my arm.

“I have a bad feeling about this one,” she had said, uncertainty in her eyes.

We stepped back, and the agent shrugged, agreeing to go in first. He was chased out seconds later by angry squatters that had claimed the old warehouse for their own.

It had been an utter disaster.

I still wanted to keep looking, but after the agent who was showing us the last building had to pause the tour to scoop up an errant senior chihuahua that had escaped the daycare in the middle of our appointment, I was officially over it.

“Okay, okay, you win,” I tell her. “Where do you want to go?”

Emma looks at the driver through the rearview mirror and says, “Zach? Let’s head to Macy’s.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he answers over his shoulder before pulling out into traffic.

“Eek! I’m so excited, aren’t you? I bet Alex has all the usual stuffy Christmas decorations in storage. We’re gonna make sure these babies have the most fabulous, sparkliest Christmas ever!” Emma gushes, her tone dripping with joy.

I wouldn’t admit it to Emma, but she was sort of right—Alex’s Christmas decorations are actually nonexistent. After all, we had spent last Christmas in the Netherlands, so we’d never bothered to buy anything for the condo. But not having a proper decorated home is the last thing I want for Jasmine and Jasper’s Christmas.

I didn’t want classy white lights on a green tree. I wanted a riot of colors. Golds, silvers, and lights all the colors of the rainbow. Something for the twins to look at and be entertained. Something magical. We deserved it after the last year.

I can already hear Alex now, giving his usual sense of taste, “Petra, it’s overkill. It looks ridiculous in here.” But I knew he would change his tune as soon as he saw the lights reflected in the babies’ eyes.

“I’m shocked that you’re this excited about Christmas. I thought you would want a dead tree with a raven on top of something,” I joke, and she scowls at me.

“Haha, hilarious. It’s gonna be my godchildren’s first Christmas,” she says, her tone filled with enthusiasm. “I want it to be epic.”

I laugh and she reluctantly joins in. Emma may prefer leather jackets, tattoos, and dark cherry lipsticks, but she had two weaknesses: the holidays, and more recently, the twins. When it came to those things, her tough persona flew out the window entirely and she was full of whimsy. It’s why she had asked me to go shopping with her.

Sure, it was still November, but Thanksgiving was such a boring holiday to decorate for. Halloween had been fun, but the twins were still too young to take trick or treating. Instead, though, we had dressed them up and let friends and family come to us. Jasper had been the cowardly lion from The Wizard of Oz, his chubby face adorable in the furry mane hood of his costume jumper, and Jasmine had been Dorothy, wearing a knit hat with two yarn braids hanging off the side and a blue checkered dress. Of course, she had tugged and fussed with the fake braids from the get-go, so we decided Dorothy would be bald, discarding the hat with a laugh.

No candy, of course, although my dad had covertly slid a king-sized pack of peanut butter cups into my hand before he left. As I come to think of it, maybe I should give him another call. It has been a week since I told him I wasn’t attending Columbia this semester, meaning it had been a week since he stopped talking to me. The shock on his face when I told him I’d resume college only in January isn’t something easy to forget. Plus in only a few days it’s Thanksgiving and I have no idea if Dad is coming over or not.

Emma is all but glowing when we pull up to Macy’s, and for some reason, I’m pretty psyched myself. The city hasn’t quite yet transformed into the winter wonderland it’d become the day after Thanksgiving, but it’s still beautiful, the warm colors of fall broken up here and there with the glittering red, green, and silver of Christmas.

As we step in, Emma asks the security guard something, while I take in my surroundings. I have been here only once before and had totally forgotten how enormous this department store is. There are a lot of people around, and it feels quite chaotic. Jeez, only Emma would want to bring me to Macy’s.

“Santaland is on the eighth floor, but it doesn’t officially start until the 27th,” Emma informs me as we head towards the escalators. “I’m sure that’s where the decorations are, though.”

“Damn, I was so looking forward to taking a picture of you on Santa’s lap,” I tease with a grin.

“It will have to wait a few weeks, unfortunately,” Emma sarcastically replies, patting me on the arm.

The eighth floor still features Thanksgiving decorations, but more than half of it has already been switched over to Christmas. When we step off the escalator, I have to turn in a circle to take it all in. While I have been to this Macy’s once before, I’ve never been here with the intention of buying Christmas decor for an entire condo.

“Did you make a list?” Emma asks.

“Uh… no,” I grimace, but she seems unperturbed.

“Free for all it is. Let’s start with the tree!” Emma takes my hand and rushes me over to the trees, excitement written all over her face.

Her happiness is infectious, and before I know it, I’m just as joyful, letting the stress of The Artemis Room slip away for at least a little while.

The sales representative, a middle-aged woman in a crisp black pantsuit, taps her pen on her clipboard a few times as she goes over my purchases. She clicks the pen and makes a few notations before tucking it back into her lapel pocket.

“We can have everything delivered Monday around midday. Will that be suitable for you, Ms. Van Gatt?”

“Absolutely,” I reply. The wait would allow me time to break it gently to Alex that I had spent an obscene amount of money on Christmas decor and other silly things.

“That will give you time to find space to store all of this!” Emma teases, gesturing to the items the sales rep has marked with the delivery date.

Emma and I have a few bags clutched in our hands, but the tree and other items of my larger order would need to be delivered. It would never fit in the back of the car.

“Hush, you,” I tell her, waving her away.

The sales rep hands me her clipboard and I sign where she indicates, completing the purchase. I take a last look at my haul before heading out of the store with Emma at my side. Zach is waiting for us out front, the trunk wide open. We hand him our bags and settle into the car. I’m all smiles, and Emma notices.

“Feeling better?” she asks, and I nod.

“For sure,” I answer, fighting the urge to check my phone.

We have been gone a long portion of the day, and I was starting to miss the twins. Lily had called earlier in the afternoon to let me know they were having a nap, but they would most likely be awake by now.

Emma follows me into the condo, and we shuck our outwear, hanging them on the coat rack.

I offer her a drink, but she declines. I know she only has one thing on her mind now that we’re back home: the twins. We cross the hallway and get into the nursery, a bright and airy room with just the slightest color accents here and there. Lily is sitting in the rocking chair in the corner, watching the twins play.

Jasmine is in a bouncer, surrounded by brightly colored, obnoxiously loud toys that she is studiously ignoring. Jasper is loose, his pudgy hands gripping the side of Jasmine's bouncer. It’s good standing practice for him, and he’s slapping at a red rubber flower when Jasmine takes offense, pushing his hand away so she can manhandle the flower toy herself.

Jasper sticks his bottom lip out, falling to his butt. He is moments away from crying, incensed that he had his toy taken away when Emma scoops him up. She tickles his sides and rubs her nose against his, and his tears clear up immediately.

“What’s up, little man? Getting bullied by your sister already?” Emma asks him, sitting down on the floor with Jasper and plonking him down in front of her.

Jasper babbles in response, crawling right back into Emma’s lap. She lets him, stroking his hair absentmindedly as he snuggles up to her, content to play with the stuffed elephant she plucks off the floor and hands to him.

“Did you get everything accomplished you set out to do?” Lily asks.

“Yes, and then some,” I tell her, sitting down heavily in one of the plush reading chairs against the wall.

“I’m exhausted,” Emma says, rolling her eyes to the ceiling, “I must be getting old if shopping is wearing me out so much.”

“Oh, stop, you know––” I’m cut off when my phone, deep within the purse I had discarded on the floor next to me, pings with a message.

I dig through the purse excitedly, feeling a strange mixture of hopefulness and dread. I touch the familiar metal shape of my phone and pull it out, unlocking my screen and pulling up the message. It’s from Alex. Deflating a little when I see the sender, I open the message anyway.

“Hello, my beautiful wife. I’m running a bit late. I have an unexpected meeting I can’t miss. I took the initiative to order pizza for you and Emma. You should have a movie night. I’ll join you when I get off work. Love you.”

A smile flits across my face at the sweet message, dulling some of the disappointment I was feeling from still not having heard from Nico. The time on my phone reads 5:45 pm, and suddenly my stomach growls loudly, causing both babies to laugh and Emma and Lily to raise their eyebrows.

“Stop looking at me like that!” I joke, hiding my face behind my hands before popping back out, earning another round of giggles from the twins. “Emma, want to stay for dinner and a movie? Alex ordered us some pizza. He said he’d be late.”

She considers it while Jasper tries his best to reach her shoulder-length, glossy black hair, before nodding. “Sounds good. What are we watching?”

“Oh! I’ve got an idea. Why don’t we invite Matt? He’s always got the best off-the-wall movies,” I suggest.

Emma looks intrigued, and she opens her mouth like she’s about to protest, but instead simply shrugs, agreeing to it. I start to get excited about the prospect of a low-key movie night with my best friends, who just so happen to also be the twins’ godparents. I shoot Alex a text, letting him know Matt would be coming, before sending Emma out to prepare the living room for maximum movie viewing comfort while Lily and I prepare the twin’s dinner bottles.

“Ask Maria to pop some popcorn for us too!” I yell at Emma’s back as she leaves the nursery, and she throws me a thumbs up.

I snap a quick picture of Jasmine, looking particularly adorable in a dove gray romper, and text it to Matt with the caption, “Your favorite goddaughter cordially invites you to a movie night at her mother’s condo. Bring a cool flick, nothing too lame.”

Minutes later, he responds, accepting the invitation with a list of potential movies. He has a rare, supposedly nonexistent director's cut of a famous superhero movie, so I tell him to bring that one, not being in the mood for any serious documentaries.

I’m almost giddy while Lily and I speed run the babies’ baths and dinner, dressing them in matching hooded sleepers, Jasmine’s a panda and Jasper’s a grizzly bear. It’s early for their baths, and they’re both droopy-eyed when we dry them off, but with a few tickles they’re wide awake again and ready to join the grown-ups for the movie, at least for a little while.

A huge grin blooms on my face when I carry Jasmine out to the living room. Emma has outdone herself, and I’m shocked Maria allowed her so much control. The couch has been pushed back a few feet and loaded up with blankets, but she has also made what could only be called a floor bed in front of the couch.

Emma had spread comforters and pillows out to make a huge space for her and me to lie with the twins while we watch the movie, an enormous bowl of buttery popcorn resting on the table next to the floor bed. It looks like a high school slumber party, and I am so here for it.

Matt had arrived while I had been finishing up with the little ones, and was reclined on the couch, having correctly guessed that he wasn’t invited to the floor bed with Emma and I. He sits up when I walk in, holding his arms out expectantly. I hand him Jasmine with a smirk, and he takes her gently, holding her close as he looks her up and down.

“You’re growing too fast. I can’t keep up!” he tells her seriously, fighting back a smile when she screeches at him in response. He gives her a quick peck on the nose before handing her back to me and calling out, “Next baby, please!”

Matt makes a big show of struggling under Jasper’s weight when Lily hands him over, causing Jasper to cackle in laughter. “What have they been feeding you, entire hams?” Matt asks his godson, who declines to respond, instead mussing Matt’s tousled hair with his little hands.

Emma, in true best friend fashion, had apparently gone into my bedroom and changed into some of my pajamas, this pair being a navy blue and covered in tiny white snowflakes. “Nice get up,” I tell her, sitting down on the blankets with her, and she snorts.

“Like I was supposed to watch a movie and eat pizza in a Gucci leather coat and jeans? Get real,” she tells me, reaching over me and grabbing a handful of popcorn.

After some catching up with Matt, we finally start the movie, Jasper spending the entire time with Matt and Jasmine making her rounds between Emma, Lily, and I. We turn the lights out, and with our enormous TV lighting up the room, it almost feels like a real theater.

The pizza shows up a bit later. We pause the movie, and while I grab plates for everyone, the babies get passed around the group for goodnight kisses before Lily takes them up to the nursery so everyone can eat.

“I can’t believe how big they’ve gotten,” Matt comments between bites of pizza.

“You should come by more often, then it wouldn’t be so much of a surprise,” I respond, giving him a pointed look.

He rubs the back of his neck before responding. “Ah, yeah, I know. I’ve just been so busy between college, my YouTube channel, and Sarah.” Wow. They are still together? Not that I thought they couldn’t have a serious long-term relationship, but it’s still impressive that it’s working out for the two of them.

“Fair enough,” I say with a shrug.

Lily comes back after a while, snagging a few slices of pizza before heading to her apartment. Matt, Emma, and I are so engrossed in the action movie that when, a little more than halfway through the movie, Alex arrives home we all jump; he looks all of us over with an amused expression.

“I’ll be right back. Just let me go change,” he says, shaking his head as he goes.

When Alex gets back, he settles onto the floor behind me, letting me pillow my head in his lap.

“I checked on Jasmine and Jasper,” he tells me, his voice low as to not disturb the others. “They’re knocked out. What do you say after this movie is over you kick those two out and we,” he pitches his voice even lower, adding in a little bit of growl, “make our own entertainment?”

I blush, thankful for the darkened room, and pinch his thigh. “Shh!” I hiss.

He chuckles. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Emma looks over at us as we kiss and mouths the word “Gross,” at me, and I struggle not to giggle.

Alex cards his hands gently through my hair as the movie continues, and I find myself humming contentedly.

On the screen, one of the heroes has toppled off a cliff and everyone is on edge, myself included, so when my cellphone, which I had placed on the coffee table, pings with a message, we all startle. I sit up, laughing nervously and holding my hand to my chest.

“Emma, can you pause the movie so I can go check that?” I ask self-consciously.

“Sure, doll.” Emma sits up, fumbling for the remote that Matt eventually hands her, and clicks the pause button.

I find my phone in the dark, squinting from the bright light of the screen. I thumb the messaging app open, seeing a message from an unsaved number. My pulse jumps. Could it be Nico? I click it and read it so fast I have to go over it twice.

“Good evening, Ms. Van Gatt. I wanted to inform you that the building has officially been sold and is off the market. Thank you for your interest. Cheers, Nico”

My heart drops to my feet, and I exhale a shuddering breath as I try to collect myself. Misery, real and palpable, floods me, and I just want to pull the blanket over my head and hide. My distress must have been obvious, because Alex, with a concerned look on his face, lays his hand on my knee.

“What’s up? Is everything okay?” he asks softly.

I rub my eyes, hoping to avoid any tears. “Yeah, I’m fine. That was the owner of The Artemis Room. He’s sold the building.”

“Oh Petra, I’m sorry,” Emma says, her tone empathetic and her eyebrows drawn together.

Matt’s mouth tightens sympathetically. “Was that the gallery Emma mentioned earlier? That’s harsh, P. I can look into some other places if you want. I’ve got a buddy in school whose dad gets early tips from the local real estate agents and—”

“It’s nothing…” I try to convince them, even though I feel like crying. “There are other places. It’s totally fine.”

“Hmm,” Emma responds, sounding unconvinced.

“Seriously, let’s just finish the movie. What’s done is done,” I tell them.

Alex is strangely silent but gives me a reassuring squeeze on the knee. After looking a bit more convincing, we restart the movie. I can’t focus on it, of course, but I sit silently beside Alex for the remainder of the film, eventually laying my head on his shoulder and planning some sort of plan B as everyone else leaves.

I try to pay attention to the rest of the movie, laughing on cue at Emma and Matt’s quirky commentary, but it’s a huge relief when the credits begin to roll. I stand up and stretch, trying not to count the seconds until I’m alone and can pout to my heart’s content.

Matt and Alex end up conversing about something out of earshot, and I walk Emma to the door after she grabs her things. She shrugs on her coat but pauses with her hand on the doorknob. “You want your pajamas back?” she asks, pulling at the flannel pajama pants.

I shake my head, trying to grin jokingly. “It’s okay, I know where you live if I need them badly enough,” I just answer with a quick shrug.

Emma’s gaze softens, and she takes her hand off of the doorknob, wrapping me in a hug. “I know that gallery meant something to you, babe. Don’t give up. You’ll find something better, or maybe that new restaurant will bomb and close in a year or two. All isn’t lost.”

I let myself melt into her embrace, the warmth of her friendship helping to ease the ache of disappointment inside of me. “You really think so?” I ask, sounding more vulnerable than I expected.

“This is nothing compared to what you’ve been through. Everything will work out, maybe in ways you never expected.” She squeezes me tightly once more before letting go. “Call me tomorrow?”

I nod, and she leaves with a wave. I glance over at Alex and Matt, and right at that moment, Matt gives me a silly grin before turning back to Alex and talking animatedly. Alex looks mildly amused at the younger man’s enthusiasm, and my interest is immediately piqued. What could they be talking about? These two don’t have much in common, but they seem to be discussing something important. Whatever, I guess I don’t really care, as long as they are getting along.

Maria must have turned in early, so I pick up the pizza boxes and metal popcorn bowl, depositing them on the kitchen counter for the morning. The condo has that certain intimate atmosphere that only comes late at night when I should be asleep. Everything is hushed, and I can even hear the faint sound of the fridge and some noise coming in from outside.

I hear Alex bidding Matt farewell as I brew myself a cup of lavender tea. He shuts the lights off in the rest of the condo, casting everywhere in shadow except the kitchen where I stand, clutching my mug.

My husband is gorgeous, but what else is new. His plain white t-shirt hugs every dip and curve of his chest, and his gray sweatpants are slung loose on his trim waist. I’m sure that he had trimmed his beard before work, but at this time of night his jaw is shadowed with new stubble growth, and the vague sleepiness written on his face makes him even more handsome. In his element, suit and tie, perfectly coiffed hair, freshly trimmed face, and a carnivorous glint in his eyes, Alex is an almost untouchable sort of attractive. He is sharp, confident, and completely in control of everything, myself included. But here, barefoot and in comfortable clothes, Alex is a totally different sort of handsome. Warm, approachable, and yes… very touchable.

He’s so sexy right now that I feel heat pooling in my belly, despite all the craziness that has happened today.

I take a long sip of my tea as he comes to me, sliding his hands up and down my arms when he reaches me. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“About what?” I ask coyly, wanting to replace the sadness inside of me with something a little more fun.

He brushes my cheek with his thumb, tracing the line of my cheekbone. “You know what, little Petra.”

I finish my tea and set the cup on the marble counter with a click. Alex continues to trace the bones of my face and neck with his fingers and I return the favor, sliding my hands under his shirt to warm them on his skin. He’s burning hot, the softness of his skin covering the hardness of his muscles.

“Don’t get distracted,” Alex rumbles, wrapping his hands around my wrists. “We need to talk about this, sweet wife.”

My shoulders sag. “Fine. I feel awful. If I had just met Emma for lunch a week earlier, then maybe I could’ve gotten the jump on the building. Instead, I was too late. I wish I had never even known that it was for sale.”

“So he really went ahead and sold it to that hospitality brand you told me about?” he asks, trying to catch up.

“He didn’t specify, but who else would he have sold to? All he could say on the phone was convenience, convenience, convenience.” I roll my eyes to the ceiling. “He probably would have sold it for a hundred dollars and a street hot dog if it was convenient enough for him.”

Alex chuckles, his hands on my hips now, thumbs grazing my hipbones. “It all comes around. Let’s give this loss some room to breathe, and then we’ll get started on finding the perfect place. I think I might have a… knack for giving you exactly what you want.” Alex draws closer to me with each word, eventually whispering into the shell of my ear and causing my skin to rise in goosebumps.

I gasp at the feeling of his hot breath, returning my hands to their previous path up his shirt and over the planes of his body. “Do you know exactly what I want right now? Since you have a knack, and all,” I say shakily.

“In fact,” he responds, his lips moving against the flesh of my neck as he kisses me there, “I do.”

Without warning, Alex hauls me up with his hands wrapped around my waist and deposits me on the countertop. He plants a hand on either side of me, boxing me in with his tall body. Almost instinctually, I look up at him, and he slants his mouth over mine without a second thought.

Kissing Alex is like coming home, like a fire in the dead of winter, and like a bed with warm blankets and fresh sheets. When he is with me, and especially when he kisses me, I am surrounded by love.

And when he slips his tongue into my mouth, I am surrounded by something else too. Need.

“Alex,” I breathe when he starts to work his way down my neck, jerking my shirt over my head and discarding it somewhere on the floor. His fingers make quick work of my bra, and before I know it, I’m completely topless right here on the kitchen counter, under the only light burning in a sea of darkness.

His hands don’t go straight to my breasts. Instead, he strokes and caresses every inch of my arms, shoulders, neck, and stomach. Each touch is filled with more and more sensation until my body is buzzing with the electricity of it and little cries fall from my lips with each press of his fingers.

After what seems like an eternity, he rolls my nipples between his fingers, and I’m so overstimulated that the feeling shoots straight to my core so sharply that it almost seems like his hands are between my legs instead.

He makes a grunt of satisfaction and pushes his hands beneath me until he can shimmy my pants down my legs, followed by my panties. I shiver in the chill air, but he’s back on me within seconds, warming me with the press of his body.

Alex whips his own shirt over his head, but when my seeking hands go to his waistband, he stops me. “No, I’m comforting you, remember?”

“But Alex–” I protest before he covers my mouth with his again.

He trails kisses down my collarbone, palming my tits until his mouth reaches first my right nipple, and then my left, mixing long sucks with tiny nips until I’m writhing on the hard marble counter.

By the time he finally pulls away, my nipples are hard and aching, and I can’t even find any words as he lowers himself to his knees to put his head between my thighs. I moan at the erotic sight while Alex grasps my upper legs, his fingertips digging into my flesh.

“Was I right, my wife? Is that what you want?” he growls.

I wrack my brain for words, finally sputtering, “Yes, God, yes Alex.”

The grin he gives me is wicked, and before I can take another breath, he licks between my folds, expertly finding my clit. I jump as if shocked, my back arching. I’m so wet and ready from his earlier ministrations that I can feel a climax building at the base of my spine almost immediately.

“Oh…” I whisper, and he holds me tighter when my hips buck unconsciously.

Alex licks and suckles on me, not too fast and not too slow, intent on driving me to a fast and furious orgasm. He had obviously finished teasing me, having worked my body into a frenzy, and it’s all I can do to grip his hair between my fingers, my face tilted towards the sky as the telltale shivers start in my thighs.

I cry his name as the shivers turn into a wave, and I pant, grinding against Alex’s face helplessly, the orgasm rolling through me hard. He never stops pleasuring me until it’s over and I’m struggling to even sit straight, every bit of my energy gone and my brain feeling foggy.

Alex stands, a smug look on his face. He drags his forearm over his mouth. “Told you I know you,” he gloats. I look up at him through my lashes, trying to catch my breath, and he laughs low in his throat before he scoops me up in his arms, carrying me towards our bedroom.

“I can walk,” I insist, but Alex simply spanks my thigh where he’s gripping me, causing me to yelp and fall silent. I guess I won’t be walking.

He then tucks me under the covers of our bed, still completely nude. “I want to take care of you,” I huff, before yawning hugely.

He places a finger on my lips, shushing me, and pushes my shoulder gently until I relent and lie down. My eyelids are so heavy, and I blink a few times, exhausted. I don’t have to wait long for Alex to slide into the bed with me, pulling my body into his and wrapping me in his embrace.

“Feeling better?” he asks, voice soft.

“Mmhmm,” I respond, reveling in the aftershocks of Alex’s hard work. “I love you, you know.”

He places a single kiss on my bare shoulder blade. “I love you too. Goodnight, little Petra.”

CHAPTER 5

Manhattan, November 20, 2021

Petra Van Gatt

It’s seven a.m., and for some reason, I’m wide awake. The twins aren’t even up yet, but here I am. I wish my sleep schedule would settle into a rhythm again, but I guess it all happens in due time.

I’m not sure if it’s the persistent sadness of losing The Artemis Room that woke me up, but now that I’m awake I’m restless, tossing and turning on our silk sheets while Alex snoozes away next to me, shirtless and only clad in his boxer briefs. I take some time to admire him in his slumber, his face serene and peaceful, the morning light gracing his body lovingly.

He’s so handsome that it is distracting, and even after being married, I’m still struck by how lucky I am. Looking at him brings up something I’ve pushed into the back of my head though, an annoying little doubt that I’ve been trying to ignore.

I try to focus on other thoughts, but after a futile few minutes, I climb out of the bed with a resigned sigh and stand in front of the mirror over my vanity, turning this way and that to visually examine my body. Pregnancy hadn’t changed me much at all, owing to my youth and good genetics. My hips are just a bit wider, and my boobs have kept a little bit of their extra size, but all in all, I looked pretty much the same.

Except for… the scar. I pull my nightgown up far enough to see my abdomen and the eight inch scar running along my bikini line. Most cesarean incisions were only between four and six inches long, but most people weren’t delivering twins. Time had been of the essence, and the extra two inches didn’t bother me much, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have moments of seeing myself in the mirror after a shower while wincing. The scar just didn’t seem like a part of me. It’s bizarre that it’s permanent.

“It just makes you more beautiful,” a scratchy, sleepy voice says from the bed.

I meet Alex’s gaze in the mirror. He’s awoken and is sitting up against the headboard, one arm behind his head, watching me. “You have to say that,” I quip. “You’re my husband, you’re morally obligated to.”

“Even if I wasn’t, it’s a battle scar. Means you survived,” he says. “Being a fighter like that makes you even more beautiful. You fought for our babies, remember?”

I let the hem of my gown go and fall back into place. “I’d take a million more scars for them, but that doesn’t mean I have to like the scar.”

“Well, I do like it. I think you will too, in time.” He stretches and sits up fully, the blankets falling to his waist. “Your body is incredible, Petra. Stop your worrying.”

I sigh. “It’s hard to when yours is perfect, and mine isn’t.”

“Why don’t you come back to bed and I’ll show you how perfect it is,” he says roughly, patting the bed next to him.

I turn my head and look at him over my shoulder. “You can’t solve everything with sex.”

He raises an eyebrow and smiles seductively. “But can I solve this with sex?”

I can’t help but giggle and give in, slinking over to his side of the bed and straddling his lap. “I’m not sure, I guess I can let you give it a try.”

He wraps his arms around me, pushing my gown up my thighs before pulling me flat on the bed with him, ignoring my laughs as he growls in my ear, “And try I will.”

Before leaving the car, I read once more the message my dad sent me. Since Thanksgiving is in a few days, I’m thrilled to see he has put his pride aside and decided to invite us over—most likely at Alex’s request, at least that is what I assume. After more than an entire week of not returning my calls, I’d have been the last person on earth to invite him over to spend Thanksgiving with us. Plus, I don’t think I’d have had the mental fortitude to host it this year. Every day that passes means the twins are wilder, trying to sync their thoughts with their actions with variable success. It’s adorable but having to make sure your child isn’t eating whatever object they find on the floor is almost a full-time job, even with super nanny Lily on the case.

I reply a quick, “Okay, thank you, see you soon,” lock the phone, and slip it back onto my back pocket. Then I swing the diaper bag onto my shoulder and unhinge Jasmine’s car seat. “Zach, I’ll be done in about an hour,” I tell the driver.

“Not a problem. I’ll be here,” he says with a smile.

The yoga studio wasn’t an unknown place for me, but the class I had decided to take was. In the same vein, the yoga pants and sports bra under my coat were my normal accessories, but the baby I was bringing in with me was a decidedly new addition to the class.

I need to do something to relax, to decompress, and especially to let my loss of The Artemis Room go away, I had searched up some classes at a yoga studio I used to visit with Emma, but when checking out the schedule I noticed a Mommy and Me class that was supposed to strengthen the body after childbirth and help parents bond more strongly with their infants. Seemed like a win-win, so I signed up.

Being my first class, I chose the lighter baby and brought Jasmine, leaving her heftier brother back home with Lily. Jasmine, while louder, is also a bit calmer and less likely to try and jump out of my arms at any moment.

The studio is a little red brick building, unassuming and uncrowded, but inside it’s ridiculously peaceful, full of soft music, piles of pillows in place of chairs, and happy, relaxed employees.

“Welcome,” a young man, his long blond hair gathered into a bun, says. “I’m assuming you two lovely ladies are here for the Mommy yoga class?”

I nod and he leads the way to one of the large open rooms that classes are held in. There are other mothers here, with babies ranging from newborns to what looks to be kids nearly one year old. Everyone is happy and chatting, some of the older babies sitting with each other and playing while the younger ones rest in their mother’s arms, eyes wide and watching.

It feels weirdly like high school, as if I’m the new girl in class, but I straighten my shoulders, hanging my coat up on the rack and unstrapping Jasmine from her carrier. She’s warm and isn’t too pleased to be removed from her comfortable sanctuary, but her verbal complaints die out as soon as she’s able to get a good look around.

It’s an intimate room, with string lights and colorful lanterns hanging everywhere. The floors are covered with a padded mat, and I find an empty spot towards the back of the room, rolling out the yoga mat I had plucked from the diaper bag.

“You ready to do some serious workouts, kid?” I ask Jasmine, who blinks owlishly back at me but doesn’t answer.

“First time?” a voice asks from next to me.

I smile shyly, and nod. “Yeah. I haven’t really exercised since birth. You think this is a good first class to get back in the swing of things?”

The woman, who seems to be in her late twenties with a distinctly Scandinavian look to her, hefts her son on her hip. “It’s great. If I hadn’t found this class, I may have never started exercising again. I’m Helga, and this little one is Freddie.” She gives me a friendly grin, obviously waiting for my name back.

“Petra,” I say simply before fluffing my daughter’s hair. “And this is Jasmine.”

“Well, if she’s anything like my Fred, then this will be the highlight of her week. I think it’s because Fred knows it makes me exhausted, so I’m more likely to let him watch television.”

I laugh, but before I can ask anything else about the class, the instructor comes in. Instead of a baby, she’s holding a vaguely annoyed tan French bulldog under one arm. The instructor is petite, but I can see the muscles shift under her skin when she moves.

“Namaste, everyone. I’m Kiki, and this is Alfredo.” She holds the dog up for the class, and moms and children both make adoring noises. “If you’re new to the class, yes, he’s a dog. But I can’t be popping out a new kid every year for this class, now can I?”

I look over at Helga, who shrugs. “She’s not wrong.”

Well, alright. Let’s see how this thing goes, dog or no dog.

Kiki leads us through the opening poses, and Jasmine seems unsure about the entire ordeal initially, but when I lunge into warrior pose one, a hand supporting her bottom and the other wrapped around her middle, I hear her give a tentative chuckle.

I’m thrilled she’s enjoying herself, but man, even my diminutive five-month-old is getting a little heavy. Most kids Jasmine’s age weigh around sixteen pounds, while Jas clocks in at around twelve. But wow… Twelve pounds seems pretty heavy about fifteen minutes into this session!

“You are incredible, you are strong,” Kiki intones to the class. “You carried these children in your bodies for months upon months, and now you carry them outside, rebuilding your bodies with the help of your little ones. Now breathe…”

The class is only thirty minutes long and as quivery as my arms are, I’m starting to realize something. Looking at my body in the mirror this morning, or anytime, doesn’t really show me my body at all. It’s something like this, working myself into a sweat, or something like surviving my high-risk pregnancy, that gives me the actual picture of how strong my body really is.

We finish in Goddess pose, and I’m holding Jasmine like a wiggly talisman in front of me. She coos, grabbing my fingers with her chubby hands. I look down at her, and even though she feels like the heaviest object in the universe to me right now, I am filled with warm affection. Affection and awe. Jasmine, whether she knows it or not in this moment, is just as much a warrior as I am. We both survived the pregnancy, and now, we both thrive, here in this yoga studio surrounded by all the other warrior mothers.

The scar did matter, but only as a reminder of all we had been through, and for once, I could see why Alex found it so beautiful.

On my way back home, I feel not only calmer and more serene but also filled with an incredible boost of self-confidence and energy. This class was truly amazing in so many different ways. Heck, I even feel like I could climb a mountain in one breath. Okay, maybe not a mountain, but instead of giving up on The Artemis Room, why don’t I try calling the new owners of the place and buy it directly from them? I’m sure if I offer them double, they’ll accept it.

Being decided and quite optimistic with my plan, I make a quick Google search until I land on a website that gives me the landlord details of any building in New York City. As I type in The Artemis Room’s exact address, I land on Nico Tucci's details. Well, crap, the database hasn’t been updated yet with the new owners.

I try another website, and then another, but all of them lead back to Nico.

I could wait a few more days for the details to be updated, or I could try directly asking my lawyer to see if she could check the public records on my behalf. Given the fact I’m pretty impatient, I take my phone and call Anna Griffith.

“Yes?” I hear from the other side of the line.

“Hi, Anna, this is Petra,” I begin.

“Oh, Petra, so good to hear from you again. How have you been?” she asks with a very pleasant voice.

“Um, I’m doing well, thank you.” After the formalities and small talk, I jump right into the subject. “Is it possible to get the contact info of the new owners of the building where The Artemis Room used to be located? They purchased the place like yesterday.”

“Oh, only yesterday?” she repeats in surprise. “That’s gonna be hard as most databases won’t have been updated yet.” Well, yeah, that I know… “But I’m gonna do my best to find out. I’ll call you back in a few minutes, alright?”

“Thank you so much,” I tell her. “I look forward to hearing your findings.”

I hang up, my heart filled with hope. If I can make it work, it will be a miracle. That place was made for me. It was made for art, not for a freaking restaurant. I take this moment to check on Jasmine, who is quietly sleeping beside me in her car seat—a reminder of another miracle that occurred not too long ago. The drive back home is quiet. Zach had turned off the radio, so I put on my headphones and start listening to some music and looking outside of my window to the city passing in front of me, but truly I’m already day-dreaming again about my new gallery.

Twenty minutes later, as Zach announces our arrival home, he parks into the underground garage and turns off the engine. My phone starts ringing again, as if on cue, with my lawyer’s name flashing on the screen. Oh gosh! My heart is already bouncing hard in my chest in anticipation and without any further ado, I take her call immediately.

“Hey,” Anna starts. “So I found out the new details but there’s only the name of their property management firm. Do you still want the contact of the manager?”

“Oh,” I utter, quite intrigued at the finding. “Yes, that’s okay, I’ll contact them myself a bit later.”

“Very well. I’m sending you their details to your mobile number.”

“Thank you,” I tell her. “I truly appreciate it.”

“It’s my pleasure,” she answers. “Good luck.”

After ending the call, I go to my message app, and find the contact details of a certain Derek Fletcher, one of the property managers at a company called B&L Management. Decided, I dial his phone number and put the phone against my ear. The ringtone goes on, and on, and on…

A male voice from the other side answers in a hurry, “Yes?”

“Hello, is this Derek Fletcher from B&L Management and the property manager of the building where The Artemis Room was previously located?” I ask, just to confirm I’m talking to the right person.

“Yes, I am,” Derek replies. “How may I help you?”

“Well, I’d like to buy that building and I’m ready to make an offer to your client.”

“The building was just sold yesterday,” he answers. “And I don’t think they are interested in selling it any time soon.”

“Not even for double what they bought it for?” I keep asking.

“No, not even for double,” Derek replies, sounding quite sure of himself. “Our client wanted that building in particular.”

“Can you at least ask them?” I insist, unconvinced. “Tell them I’m open to negotiate.”

Derek exhales loudly from the other side, most likely displeased at my request. “Fine, I will, but I’m afraid you’re just setting yourself up for disappointment, Miss,” he says in a rush, which makes me believe he’s just telling me that for the sake of ending the phone call. “Is there anything else I can help you with?

“Please do your very best to at least get them to listen to my offer.”

Derek doesn’t answer immediately. Maybe it’s the tone in my voice that has made him reconsider my request. After a few beats of silence, he finally says, “Alright, I will do my best. What’s your name again?”

“Um, Petra Van Gatt,” I reply, realizing I didn’t even introduce myself at the beginning.

“Duly noted. I’ll try my best. Have a good day, then.” And the manager just hangs up.

Well, I don’t think he’ll be calling me back any time soon. I sounded insistent, desperate, and truly pathetic. Jeez, of course they aren’t interested. If they really wanted that building in particular for whatever the reason, I have zero chances of getting it back. I heave a long sigh, my heart pulling out of my chest at the loss of my dear Artemis Room.

I truly have to forget that building once and for all. Obsessing over it is not doing me any good.

CHAPTER 6

Manhattan, November 25, 2021

Petra Van Gatt

“May I?” Alex asks, after knocking a few times on the bedroom door. For some reason, each time he knows the babies, Lily, and I are in there, he always knocks softly before entering inside our bedroom.

“Sure,” I reply as my eyes grace him.

My husband looks like his normal handsome self with a suit jacket and button-down, but he’s relaxed enough to pair it with jeans and brown leather Chelsea boots. The kids and I on the other hand… well. It is a holiday, so I’m allowed to be a little extra.

During my Macy’s trip, I had picked up a few more items, including holiday outfits for the twins and me. My dress is a dark evergreen, hugging the curves of my body before flaring out at the waist and ending at the knees. It has long sleeves and a wide neckline, displaying a large amount of pale skin. I have complemented it with a simple pearl necklace, black flats, and dark pantyhose. I stare at my own reflection for a full five minutes, brushing my carefully curled hair back off my shoulders and touching up the smoky eye makeup. I feel… like myself.

I feel beautiful.

Jasmine and Jasper also look spectacular if I do say so myself. They’re both wearing white shirts emblazoned with dozens of pumpkins, topped with brown corduroy overalls. Jasper’s outfit ends in pants that look normal from the front, but they have a bright, multi-feathered turkey tail on the butt. Jasmine has a fluffy tulle skirt in a variety of reds and oranges, brown tights, and my very favorite addition… a huge orange and white headband bow on her little round head.

“Isn’t Jasmine lovely with this headband?” Lily asks him, gushing over the bow just how I had.

But Alex who now stands beside us just sighs when he sees it. “She doesn’t even have hair yet.”

“She does, yes!” I insist, brushing my fingers across her wisps of brown fuzzy hair. “And she looks beautiful.”

“I never said she didn’t,” Alex counters. “I just said that the bow is stupid.”

“You are stupid,” I shoot back, and Alex guffaws, holding his hands up in front of him.

“Okay, okay, you win.” Alex takes Jasmine into his arms and gives her a big smooch on her little head.

I roll my eyes, ignoring his teasing. I think I’ve grabbed everything we will need for today, but if parenting has taught me anything, it’s that something will always be forgotten. Oh well, we’ll survive.

Leaving the house is an ordeal. Alex is driving today, and we have to pack both Pack ‘n Plays along with the diaper bags before we can take the twins out.

Despite giving Lily the day off, she still wants to come with us to the underground parking to give us a hand.

“Are you sure you don’t need me to join you?” she asks, concern written on her lovely face.

“I assure you, we’ve got these two munchkins under control,” Alex responds, wiggling his fingers in front of Jasmine’s face until she gives him a gummy smile.

“Yeah Lily, please go enjoy your child-free Thanksgiving. We’ll see you tomorrow,” I reassure her.

She heaves a sigh. “Okay, okay, I’m headed out then,” she tells us, before taking me into her arms for a hug. “Call me if you need anything at all.”

“We will,” I answer back as Lily walks away. I slide a glance at Alex, a smirk playing on my lips. “She’s nervous.”

“Aren’t you?” he asks, checking the buckles and straps on both babies’ car seats, which are, of course, painfully frustrating to put in. How could they still be so difficult after all these years? Haven’t companies invented anything better yet?

“No! Why would I be? We’ve taken them out a few times now.”

“True, but we’re in for a full day. Emma and Matt are one thing, but Roy and everyone else that are bound to show up? You don’t think they’re going to get overstimulated?” Alex asks me, a tinge of worry in his voice.

Huh, I had no idea that he was bothered by our big Thanksgiving Day plans. “We’ll be fine. I’m sure there’ll be plenty of places at Dad’s that we can stow them away for a quick sleep if we need to.”

Alex mumbles under his breath, but I ignore him. His anxieties can’t ruin how much I am looking forward to today. Why? Because Dad had bought a brand-new property, not too far from Emma’s, and has decided to do the official inauguration today. According to him, it’d be his weekend residence. And just like the one we have in Bedford Hills, it’s surrounded by nature, the Hudson River, and green scenery. For someone who loves Manhattan so much, I’m positively surprised that he has finally decided to spend some time away from the concrete jungle.

The drive to northern New York is uneventful, besides the expected influx of holiday traffic. Once we emerge from the city onto the open road a thick morning fog is hanging over the fields and valleys, casting everything in a gray and somber tone. The twins fuss for a bit initially, but the subtle vibrations of the car on the asphalt lull them into a peaceful sleep. Watching the trees and horizon pass, coupled with the silence, makes me sleepy too, and it’s a conscious effort to delicately pillow my head on my hands against the window so I don’t smudge my makeup.

“Have you been sleeping alright recently?” Alex rumbles from the driver's seat, having noticed my closed eyes.

“Mm-hm. Just been a busy few weeks.”

It wasn’t a lie either. Scheduling my classes for the next semester, taking the kids to their checkups, learning to juggle their ever-increasing needs throughout the day, trying to find another space for my gallery, and rebalancing myself months after the birth has taken so much of my energy. Anytime I could grab a quick snooze, I was all about it.

“Understood,” Alex replies. He’s quiet for a few minutes before clearing his throat. “How have you been feeling, though? You know… mentally?”

My eyes pop open, and I sit up with a sigh, rubbing my temples. So much for a quick nap.

Even though my depression is now over, this is something that stuck with him, and even months later Alex continues to check with me on the off chance I start to feel unlike myself again.

“I’m great, Alex. Promise. Just sleepy.” I reach over and thread my fingers through his, and he gives me a relieved smile.

“Just checking. You know I have to look out for my little Petra.” He pulls our clasped hands to his lips and brushes a kiss across my knuckles before releasing me.

I lean my head back on the window, considering. Truthfully, I had thought about continuing therapy even after my postpartum issues had been resolved. It had been liberating to speak everything on my mind, down to the last minuscule detail. Really, I was still considering it, but first I need to balance my schedule and make time throughout the chaos of the week. I am also not the best at forming routines.

The rest of the drive is quiet. Alex keeps the radio low to not awaken the sleeping beauties in the back seat, and when we finally make our way onto the driveway of my dad’s new property, surrounded by perfectly manicured green lawns, I find I’m reluctant to wake them up to bring them in.

“They’re going to be so cranky,” I comment.

“Well, then, we’ll dump them on Roy and go hide somewhere. He’ll love it,” Alex responds with a conspiratorial tone.

“You’re joking, but he probably would love it. I have the feeling that he bought this place especially for them.”

Alex nods in agreement. “No doubt. He’s softer than I’ve ever seen him. Sometimes I wonder if he’s even the same man.”

Dad has always been a man of few words and even fewer acts of affection. It wasn’t until very recently with my mom’s death and the pregnancy that his hard exterior had started to melt. It will take a long time for me to open up to him entirely, but he is still my dad. Despite all our current issues, I love him endlessly. If he can change, I will be all the happier for it.

Actually, I hadn’t truly believed his efforts were genuine until after the twins were born. With them, he has shown all the paternal love and affection I had craved as a child. He is warm and caring, always careful with them. And yet, when it comes to me, he still manages to get annoyed because I skipped a semester at Columbia. It’s just unbelievable…

According to Alex, this new jovial Roy doesn’t extend to him either. In fact, he is apparently even more of a hard ass at the office these days. The change is only for the babies, it seems.

Alex pulls smoothly into the circular driveway and parks in front of the house beside the other cars.

“Damn,” I say as I look out of the window to the grand marble stairs and the balustrade leading to the front doors. Alex and I exit the car, and while he’s already checking on little Jasper, I’m still taking in my surroundings. There is a small fountain in the center of the roundabout, the gardens surrounding us are lush and beautifully embellished with trees and flowers. The property itself looks exactly like a French chateau, and I wonder why on earth Dad needed to get such a big place all for himself.

I unhinge Jasmine’s car seat as carefully as I can and holding her carrier, I make my way to the stairs alongside Alex and Jasper.

Once we reach the black iron doors, without bothering to knock, Janine greets us immediately.

“Welcome home!” she says, patting both my cheeks before bending over to peek in at sleeping Jasmine. “And welcome to you too, little miss.”

“Don’t forget I have two of them,” I tell her with a laugh.

Janine looks affronted, placing her hands on her ample hips. “As if I’d forget the next troublemaker of the family.” She makes the same motion as before, silently pulling the blanket covering Jasper’s carrier aside to see his slumbering face. “They are growing so fast, my goodness.”

She takes Jasper’s carrier from Alex so he can bring in the rest of the baby gear from the car and waves me inside. As I step into the grand foyer, my eyes land on the marble stairs that stand before me, then they go to the sculptures and plants filling my surroundings, and then to the chandelier glittering from the high ceiling above me. The interior design is classic, matching perfectly well with its exterior.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Janine asks, leaning slightly closer to me. “Now let me show you the grand salon.”

I follow her into what seems to be the living room where Dad and Matt are waiting, sipping port in front of a roaring fire.

I shoot Matt an amused look. “Are you even old enough to drink?”

They stop talking upon hearing me and they turn their attention on me. “If you can have babies, then I think I can have a drink,” he shoots back, causing Dad to laugh.

“Enough squabbling, children,” Dad interjects. “Put that baby down and come give your dad a hug.”

Janine and I gently sit the carriers down by the sofa, and I check that both babies are both still slumbering peacefully before following Dad’s directions and giving him a quick hug.

“Happy Thanksgiving, kid. Where is your husband? Slacking off as usual?”

“Hilarious,” Alex says from the door, huffing as he plonks both unwieldy Pack ‘n Plays down by the door. “You could have at least given me a hand, old man.”

Both older men shake hands in greeting, slapping each other on the backs as if they hadn’t just seen each other at work the other day. Matt greets Alex the same way, without the slap hug. I guess they aren’t quite old friends yet.

“Dad, I invited Emma. I hope you don’t mind,” I comment, having a seat on the red leather sofa and holding my hands out to absorb the heat of the fire. “Her parents are having kind of a second honeymoon this year and she preferred to stay here.”

“Not at all. We’re going to be eating leftovers for years anyway; the more the merrier,” he answers, pouring Alex a snifter of port.

Matt shifts uncomfortably. “Hey, uh, Roy? Did my dad ever respond to your invite?”

What? My dad invited Eric? After everything he did to our family? He must be kidding!

Dad sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, son. Eric never got back to me.”

And I heave a sigh too, but in relief. At least Eric has got some decency. It’d have been a horrible idea to have him here. Alex might have forgiven Matt, but he’ll never forgive his dad for what he did to us.

Matt’s shoulders slump, yet he doesn’t look very surprised. “I figured as much. Thanks for trying.”

Alex and I look at each other uncomfortably, not knowing what to say, but we are saved when Emma appears in the doorway, a bottle of wine bedecked with a gold bow clutched in her hand.

“Fuck that guy,” Emma proclaims, walking in like she owns the place. Janine, who must have let her in, winces at the coarse language, taking the wine meant as a gift along with Emma’s trademark leather jacket.

“What she said,” Alex says to me under his breath, and I have to suppress a giggle.

But my giggle fades away as soon as my eyes fall on an older woman making her way in with Sarah, Matt’s girlfriend.

“Oh, hey,” Sarah says, looking at me, her tone always as bubbly. She gives me a quick hug, before shaking hands with everyone else.

While I can’t figure why Matt wanted to bring his Dad here, I can understand why he invited Sarah. After all, it’s Thanksgiving and they’ve become quite serious over the past few months. But my attention is particularly perked at the older woman, sporting a classy haircut, blond straight hair brushing her shoulders, a discreet pair of diamond earrings, and an elegant fit-and-flare black lace dress falling below her knees.

“Petra,” Dad says as he goes to stand beside her. They exchange a weird look and I start to wonder what the heck is going on between the pair. I notice how uncomfortable they have become, now that introductions have to be made. “This is Catherine Dubois, a very dear friend of mine.”

My brows raise up immediately. A very dear friend? What the heck does that even mean? In nineteen years of life, Dad has never introduced me to any woman that way. Is she just a friend or is she his friend with benefits, like Sarah was to Matt before they became official?

Oh jeez, my heartbeat rises at the idea of Dad having a serious girlfriend.

No, no, no, and no! That can’t be possible! She would never be more than a friend, right?

I do my best concealing my astonishment and make a conscious effort to smile politely and extend a hand to shake hers. “Hi, Ms. Dubois. Very nice to meet you.” That’s the best I can do at this point.

“Oh, please, call me Catherine,” she says with a pleasant voice and French accent. Instead of taking my hand, she steps forward and gives me two cheek-kisses. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you in person. Roy has spoken so much about you that it feels like I've already known you for years.”

“Oh, he did?” My gaze goes right to my dad, who clears his throat and looks away in embarrassment. “How did you two meet?” I ask Catherine, already impatient to know all the gritty details.

“What if we talk a bit more about it later on, huh?” Dad interjects as he starts ushering me out of the living room and back to the grand foyer. “It’s your first time here, so let me show you around.”

If he thinks giving me a tour of his house will make me forget my question he’s very mistaken.

Before I can refuse though, Catherine takes over. “That’s a great idea.” Why am I not surprised by her comment? “I’ll stay with the rest of the guests,” she says, leaving us alone.

Without much of a choice left, I follow Dad and we take the marble stairs. We climb in silence, our footsteps being the only sound between us.

A million questions start buzzing my mind, but one in particular is imploring to be answered. “What do you mean by a very dear friend?”

Dad chuckles in return, his gaze fixed in front as we reach the first floor. The hallway of the first floor matches the interior design of the foyer and it’s just as spacious. He turns to his right and I follow him across the hall.

A few steps farther in, and Dad hasn’t said a word. His silence is killing me slowly.

“So?” I ask loud enough for him to hear.

“So…” he stops in front of a door and opens it. “This is the library of the house.” He steps aside, inviting me in first. Maybe this tour was an excuse for us to go to a quieter place so that we could talk. Either way, I walk in and Dad closes the door behind him. The library is very similar to the one we have in Bedford Hills. There’s an office desk, a big window behind it, walls filled with books, and a sitting area on my left. “As you can see, I even have first editions of many of your favorite books.”

Dad is about to go and take a few books when I ask, “Who is she?” My tone is more insistent than before since Dad has been trying hard to avoid the subject.

He turns to face me, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Well, she is a friend of course,” he answers vaguely.

“She doesn’t seem to be just a friend though.”

He presses his lips together, his gaze drifting away for a moment. “She’s a bit more than that,” he finally confesses.

My heart sinks at his answer. Oh goodness…“Is she your girlfriend?” Even the word girlfriend tastes bittersweet when it comes to my dad.

“I wouldn’t go as far as saying that, but we have been getting along…”

“Getting along?” I repeat in confusion. A sigh rolls off my mouth, tired of his nonsense. “Are you guys together, yes or no?”

He cocks his head to the side, pondering his next set of words. “It’s complicated…”

“Only if you want it to be.”

“Alright, alright,” he presses, before exhaling loudly in return. Then a few beats of silence ensue, but Dad finally proceeds, “Catherine and I have a wonderful relationship. I don’t know what I’d call it exactly, but it’s great. She’s a, um, a great compagne.” Compagne is the French equivalent of either partner, companion, or even girlfriend! Is he using the French language to remain as vague as he can?

I walk towards him, and holding him by the arms, I search for his gaze, forcing him to face me. “Do you know her well? Are you sure she isn’t with you just because of your wealth?”

“Argh…” he rolls his eyes in annoyance and takes a few steps away. “No, Catherine is from the French nobility. She comes from old money. She was born and raised in it.”

“How did the two of you meet?” I ask him, since he’s finally opening up.

Dad heaves a sigh, considering my question. “We met in the Netherlands, a long time ago.”

“I want specifics.”

Despite knowing he’s getting annoyed at my demands, he says, “We were introduced to each other by some mutual friends.” And for the sake of ending the subject, he adds, “She is trustworthy, don’t worry.”

But I’ve got more to ask. “Was she married before?”

“Oh, c’mon,” Dad snaps. “Why so many questions?”

“Because I’m curious,” I answer with an innocent tone.

“She has been married once before. Just like me.” I can see the trace of a smile settling on his lips as he thinks something through. “We have a lot in common, actually.”

I nod pensively, before looking him in the eye and saying, “Keep your head on your shoulders, alright?”

“Me?” He looks at me with astonishment. “I’m not the one who skipped out a whole semester at Columbia.”

Jeez! His comment hits me unexpectedly and I scoff at him. “I can’t believe you’re still mad at me because of that.”

“I’m not mad, just…” he looks down, searching for the best words to put on, “disappointed in your decision.”

“In a month and a half I’m gonna resume classes,” I tell him, my heart taking a reel at his obtuse attitude. It hurts seeing how insensitive he can be regarding my situation. “I went through an incredibly invasive surgery that took weeks to heal, then I had to deal with postpartum depression—”

“Maybe if you had resumed classes earlier, you wouldn’t have been depressed,” he interposes, his tone rising. My eyes widen in shock and I’m totally taken aback by his statement. Wow. What a fucking asshole he can be. A cold silence settles between us for a moment before Dad proceeds. “The twins were in the NICU for weeks. I don’t get why you had to spend the entire time sitting there doing nothing.” I shake my head, looking at him in disgust. Now I understand why he didn’t want to answer my calls; if he were about to tell me all these cruel words over the phone, I would’ve never bothered to show up today.

“Wow,” I utter, not knowing what else to say. He actually managed to leave me speechless. I want to cry from how much his words have hurt me, but I make a conscious effort to sniffle back my tears and take some deep breaths in and out. As I get calmer, I steady myself, and tell him a few truths he needs to know. “Well, because they are my children and I had no idea if they would pull through or not.” My voice is not loud or even emotional, it’s actually pretty contained, but it’s also tired—of his bullshit. “Just because you don’t understand my reasoning, doesn’t mean it’s not valid.”

Dad shuts his eyes and presses his eyelids as the tension between us remains barely tolerable. “That’s not what I meant,” he says under his breath, reopening his eyes. “But if you’d resumed college earlier, you’d have been less anxious about their state at the NICU,” he adds. “That’s all.”

I shake my head in disagreement, and my stare goes towards the window where the sunlight is emanating. I focus my attention there, but a sigh rolls off my mouth as I think how ridiculous his attitude is.

“Look, what is done is done.” My stare follows his voice and I find Dad walking in my direction, most likely trying to build a bridge between us after the chaotic discussion we just had. His face holds some candid sadness, and dare I say, some remorse? Standing in front of me, he holds my shoulders, his eyes pinned on mine. “Today is thanksgiving. We are not going to be mad at each other, are we?”

“Well, you’re the one who started it,” I refute.

“Because you were insinuating I could lose my mind for a woman.”

“A lot of men do.”

Dad shakes his head, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. “I’m too old for that.”

There is no age to fall in love. But I refrain myself from telling him that.

“Well, shall we see the rest?” he asks, which is also a way for him to put our discussion behind.

I flash him a half-smile. “Alright, let’s see your new baby.”

After the house tour finishes, we go back to the living room to join the rest of the guests. We spend the afternoon in companionable conversation, gathered in front of the bright fireplace as we wait for dinner to get ready. While everyone seems to be engrossed in the current story Dad is recounting, I can’t stop wondering who this Catherine Dubois that stands beside him is, and why he seems to be admiring her so much. She looks younger than Mom, but not by too much. Wrinkles have already perked around her eyes despite the perfect make up. She’s however very classy and elegant. Dad has good taste, that I have to admit. As soon as Catherine starts speaking, I notice how his face brightens up with a big smile and his eyes glitter like two bright diamonds.

“I’m glad you bought this place,” she tells him with a honey voice like we aren’t even here. “You needed a quieter place to relax and escape the craziness of that city. You’ve been way too stressed lately.”

Lately? How well does she know him to say something like that? And how long has she been around? Damn. I should’ve asked more questions about her when we were in his office, but he seemed so annoyed already.

“I’m too old for this,” I recall him saying.

Yeah, right…

Eventually, Janine walks in to join us while she waits on the turkey to finish cooking. I had offered to bring my own entrée, but she had insisted that the turkey itself was the only thing that wasn’t vegan being served. All the sides and desserts were safe, and Dad had even gone as far as to order a few servings of Thanksgiving tofurkey from a local vegan restaurant.

Dad starts enquiring about the poor turkey in the oven and Janine becomes the center of attention. I take this opportunity to look at Emma and with a head nod, I instruct her to follow me out of the living room, and we head to a quiet place right behind the marble stairs.

There, I give a quick glance around us and seeing we are totally alone, I lower my voice and ask, “Did you know about her?”

“Of course not,” she snaps instantly, matching my barely audible tone. “Did your dad tell you who she is?”

“Very little; just that she’s from a French noble family,” I disclose, giving another glance above Emma’s shoulder. “But he’s acting very weird every time I try to get to know more about her.”

Emma nods, considering me. “Yeah, and the way he looks at her…”

“Oh gosh, don’t even talk about it,” I interpose immediately, cringing as I picture exactly that. “She speaks like they’ve known each other for years.”

“Like they have been together for years,” she corrects, making my heart squeeze tight at the idea.

“It can’t be,” I reply. “Why would he have taken so long to introduce us to her?”

“I don’t know.” Emma shrugs, and we keep quiet for a moment as I remain thinking about this mysterious woman. And just like if Emma had read my mind, she asks, “Look, um, do you want me to do a background check on her?”

A quick smile escapes me—this is exactly what I needed. “If you don’t mind…”

“Of course I don’t.” She gives me a quick pat on the arm, before adding, “It might take a while before I get a complete dossier about her, but by next month I should have some breaking news.”

“Thank you, Emma,” I answer, my heart filled with gratitude. “By next month is fine.” After all, December is in just five days.

“Well, let’s go back inside before they start wondering what we are up to.”

Once we return to the living room, Emma serves herself a new glass of port and we sit beside each other on the couch where Alex is already enjoying another glass of wine. Meanwhile, Janine brings me a warm glass of rum apple cider as if she felt that I also needed a drink. I would’ve declined alcohol in normal circumstances, but today I truly need a beverage that would relax me. After all, the idea that my dad could have been with that woman for years while I knew nothing about it isn’t sitting well with me.

When my little Jasmine wakes up, Janine insists on holding her so that I can finish my drink. Jasper follows suit and we hear him babbling and blowing raspberries in his carrier. I stand to retrieve him, but Dad waves me off.

“Let me get my grandson. You just sit and enjoy the parade!” he says, groaning as he kneels to unbuckle Jasper.

“The parade?” I ask in confusion, looking at my husband for answers. But eventually I understand he’s talking about the pre-recorded parade, playing on the TV.

Wait—what? Dad even turned on the TV? Wow.

“Roy, I don’t even know who you are anymore,” Alex comments, reading exactly my mind as he swirls his port in his snifter.

“A grandpa, that’s who,” Dad responds, hugging his squirming grandson close before sitting down with him on his lap.

Yeah, a pity he wasn’t as sweet and lovely with me earlier today.

It turns out the twins are huge fans of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade on television, watching with their mouths open and their eyes wide. They’d never watched TV before, so it must be a one-of-a-kind experience for them. All the colorful floats and musical productions hold their attention completely. Maybe next year we would take them to see it in person, as long as we could procure a spot somewhere safely away from the crowds.

The Westminster Dog Show that comes on after the parade is a close second for favorite shows, especially with Jasper, who claps and squeals with each close up of a dog that appears on screen. Jasmine is mildly interested, but is wiggling in Janine’s grip soon enough, and the latter insists on feeding her when I get up to do so. I plop back down on the couch, shrugging at Alex. I guess neither of us is touching our children today.

I’m feeling already flushed from the rum cider burning in my empty stomach, so when Janine, with Jasmine on her hip, declares dinner is ready, I’m more than ready to eat. It’s Thanksgiving, so of course dinner is being served at five pm instead of traditional dinner time. The plan had been for the twins to chill in their playpens while we eat, but Dad surprises us by busting out two high chairs.

“He’s got a whole room of unopened baby things in the basement,” Janine whispers to me covertly. “I guess he wanted to make sure they wouldn’t miss anything while being here.”

Surprised, I watch my Dad and Alex set the chairs up at the dining table. Did he really go that far for the twins? I swear to myself that I’ll bring them over to visit more after seeing the get-up. He is clearly expecting to see them often.

Since Eric didn’t show, Janine joins us for dinner. The atmosphere is comforting and homey, the air full of the sound of clinking silverware and the smells of a decadent homemade meal. Everything is delicious, and we even chance feeding a few tiny tastes of mashed sweet potatoes to the twins. They appear shocked at the flavor explosion, smacking their lips. Matt raves about his YouTube channel, to the amusement of no one, but we all nod along until he tires himself out and Sarah gives him a peck on the cheek. A small smile stretches up at my lips as I see the gesture—they look really sweet together. Dad quickly picks up the conversation before Matt can think of anything else to go on about.

“So Petra, Alex said you were in the market for a place to start your own gallery?”

The question makes me tense. Why on earth did Alex tell him about my situation? I heave a long sigh, playing with the base of my glass as I think about it. “Yeah, I shouldn’t be, but here I am…”

“Why not?” he asks, most likely knowing already the answer. “Is it because you wanted the building that used to house that gallery you liked so much?”

My chest tightens a little at the mention of The Artemis Room. The sale of my beloved gallery still stings, and in the few days after my call with the new property manager I had made sure to have Zach take the long way around so I didn’t have to see the new owners moving trucks pouring into the place.

Two days ago we had to pass the gallery on the way to the pediatrician, and there were blessedly no signs of the eventual restaurant yet, but the empty walls I saw when I briefly glanced through the open windows broke my heart a little. The building looked hollow and sad after decades of being full of vibrant art. It should never, ever have to look that way.

I take a deep breath and plaster on a fake smile. “Yeah, it’s unfortunate, but it was sold to a hospitality brand. I hope that the new owners take care of the place like it deserves.”

Dad nods in understanding. “Look, after a while, disappointments like that won’t bother you so much, and if life has taught me anything, it’s that second chances come around when you least expect them.”

“Sure, Dad,” I respond vaguely, ready to change the subject. I feel Alex squeeze my knee in solidarity beneath the table before he asks Dad something about Gatt-Dieren Capital and the two men launch into work talk.

I look in front of me to the woman sitting beside my dad. Ms. Dubois has been quiet for most of the dinner. Pressing my lips together, I ponder whether or not I should start a conversation with her, but for better or worse, I ask the very same question I had to her earlier in the day. “So Catherine, how did you and my dad meet exactly?”

Emma’s attention perks up immediately, and she puts her cutlery down.

Catherine gives me a small smile, cleans her mouth with her white napkin, and ponders my question for a second. “We met in the Netherlands,” she begins. “I was freshly divorced, and I went to an event your dad was also attending. We had some mutual friends, and they introduced us.”

“What kind of event?” Emma asks before I can do so.

“Just a business event, actually,” she answers.

“You work?” The question rolls off my tongue instantly, without me stopping to think.

“Petra, c’mon, why are you bothering Catherine with so many questions?” Obviously Dad is already coming to her rescue.

“It’s okay, Roy.” She gives him a quick pat on the hand, before her attention returns to me. “It was an event for family offices, so yes, I was present.”

“Oh, I see…” I mumble. Despite wanting to push the conversation further, I refrain myself from doing so knowing that Dad would rebuke me again if I tried. And I’m definitely not interested in creating more friction between us, especially not on Thanksgiving. Yet I can’t help wondering why he is so worried about me asking questions relating to her? Is he afraid I’m not gonna like her? Or is he afraid that I will find the truth about his relationship with her? Oh gosh, what if Emma was right, and they have been together for a long time? One thing is sure: whatever he is trying to hide, sooner or later, I’ll find out.

Dinner winds down, finished off with pumpkin pie, as is tradition. Janine and I feed the twins their bottles, and I give them each a spoon of whipped cream, which they seem to enjoy even more than the sweet potatoes. Soon enough, they would be eating dinner with Alex and I, and all my worries in feeding Jasmine solids will be long behind us. Damn. My little ones are growing so quickly!

Full of milk and special Thanksgiving treats, the twins are more than ready for a nap. We set the Pack ‘n Plays up in the small study that adjoins the living room, gently laying them down to rest, before joining everyone else for after-dinner drinks.

The lights are low in the living room now, and conversations are quieter. We’re all completely stuffed, and in the long moments of silence here and there, I can hear the comforting crackling of the logs in the fireplace.

Eventually, close to nine pm, the twins start to fuss in the other room. “That’s our cue to head out,” Alex says, standing up to stretch. “We need to get the twins their bath.”

The whole group tag teams carrying our plethora of baby supplies out to the car, and when I emerge into the open air, Jasmine held in my arms, the chill of winter is readily apparent. I look up into the darkening sky just as fat, fluffy snowflakes begin to fall, and one lands right on Jasmine’s button nose. She grimaces from the cold, wiping at her face, but the tiny moment warms my soul.

No matter what happened between my dad and I, it has been such a wonderful day.

CHAPTER 7

Manhattan, November 30, 2021

Petra Van Gatt

I woke up early this morning, the urge to paint having dug into me during my sleep. I had been dreaming of a new art collection inspired by the transition of seasons that happens in nature but also in us. I am not one for alarms, preferring to sleep as much as possible, but I know good and well that these upcoming weeks are going to be chaotic with the amount of Christmas events and dinners Alex and I have to attend. All I want to do for now is put my brush to the canvas and heal once and for all from the pain of losing my dear Artemis Room to that hospitality brand. It has been two weeks since Nico sent me that dreadful message, but it’s still something I haven’t managed to let go of completely.

Today Alex is able to work from home, so I decide to bring him a coffee with a good morning kiss. He looks at me quite surprised for my unexpected visit but he seems to love it anyway. Then I head to the nursery to greet the twins and Lily, who’s already busy getting them ready for the day.

They are extra rambunctious, and they have no reservations with letting us know it.

“Ba ba. BA BA BA,” Jasmine chants, demanding our full, undivided attention. Lily and I look at each other, sharing a smile up to our ears, yet unsure if the little girl is just stringing sounds together, or if she actually knows what she’s referencing, but nonetheless we listen to the missy in awe and bring her the breakfast bottle.

Jasper is more reserved in the early talking department, settling for low whispers of, “Ma, ma, ma ma,” as he plays, his little brows drawn together in concentration. He’s turning out to be quite the little tinkerer, taking great enjoyment in toys that come apart. He hasn’t mastered reassembling, but it’s a start.

“What’s on your agenda today?” Lily asks me, looking radiant in a cerulean blue skirt and ivory blouse.

“I need to get some painting done. Alex is home today, so if you need an extra hand, would you mind going to him today instead?”

“Absolutely. The best mothers are the ones that take time for themselves and their passions, too,” Lily responds encouragingly.

I give both babies kisses on their plump cheeks, nuzzling them close and breathing in their baby smell. I could spend all day in here, no matter how exhausting the twins may be, and never get sick of it, but Lily is right. I have been neglecting my own interests and hobbies, and that just isn't healthy for anyone.

I leave the nursery, closing the door quietly behind me, hoping that the twins don’t notice my departure, and head to the stairs that will take me to one of the favorite places in the world: my atelier.

I haven’t been there in ages and my heart pants in excitement at the idea of painting again. As I enter, I can’t help but smile at the floor-to-ceiling windows that bathe the room in buttery sunlight. The walls and ceilings are painted in varying shades of white, eggshell, and beige. No distracting or clashing colors.

Most of the time, the atelier reflects the chaos of my creative mind. Finished projects leaning up against the walls with half-completed canvases. I reach for my smock hanging on the hook behind the door and tie it around my waist. The familiar motion helps to switch my brain from “mom mode” back to “regular Petra” and I take in a deep breath, reveling in the smells of oil and turpentine. It smells like heaven.

I take a few steps into the room and stop in my tracks, looking around. For a second, I can’t pinpoint what exactly is wrong, but after a few confused blinks my brain catches up with my eyes and I realize the problem: My paintings are all gone! Even the one that Alex had bought me by Pierre Soulages! And all of my paints are neatly arranged on one of my storage desks. The easels are folded up and stored against the wall, and all the blank canvases are arranged on the shelving. It’s organized, empty, and so not me.

Where the heck could my paintings have gone? Nervousness fills me. What if Alex had hired a cleaning service, and they misunderstood, tossing my paintings out with the garbage on accident? My hand shakes minutely as I press the intercom button.

“Uh, Maria? Can you come to the atelier, please?”

The housekeeper arrives a few minutes later, looking worried. “Are you alright, ma’am? You sounded upset. I hurried up here as fast as I could.”

I wring my smock in my hands. “Maria, do you know why my paintings are gone?”

She pokes her head into the atelier and frowns. “I don’t know ma’am, I’m sorry. Mr. Van Dieren was up here a few times last week, but he told me not to worry about anything. Maybe he knows a bit more?”

“Alright, I’ll go and ask him.”

I descend the stairs with my heart in my throat, resisting the urge to barge into Alex’s office without knocking. Despite anxiously wanting an answer, I make the conscious effort to knock for the sake of politeness and slowly, I push the door open, seeing Alex on what appears to be a Zoom meeting. I wince when he rotates his chair towards me, but he doesn’t seem annoyed, holding up a finger to let me know he’ll be right with me.

“Can you excuse me one moment?” he asks politely, before raising up from his seat.

He joins me in the hallway, looking over my paint-stained smock before his eyes land on my face, where he immediately reads my worry. “What’s wrong, love?” he asks, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear.

“All my paintings are gone. Even the one from Mr. Soulages! I’m freaking out! Do you know where they could be?”

He immediately relaxes. “Ah, yeah, I apologize. I forgot to tell you. The interior designers painted your atelier with the wrong paint. It’ll start to peel and flake after too much exposure to turpentine. I’m just having the room repainted with the right stuff, so I had your paintings moved to your old studio at Roy’s, that’s all.”

My shoulders sag in relief and I stand on my tiptoes to kiss him before falling back. “Thank goodness, I shouldn’t have worried. You always know exactly what’s going on. Is it safe for me to paint there today, though?”

“Yes, of course. Whatever you finish, I’ll have removed once it’s dry. The painters are coming this weekend.” Something pings on his smartwatch, and he checks it with a sigh. “I’ve got to get back to work. Just have Maria make a note of when your piece will be done, and I’ll have it moved.”

“Okay, thanks baby.”

Alex returns to work, and I jog up the stairs back to the atelier. Now that Alex has eased my mind, I can get started.

Every little girl that ever wanted to be a painter dreamed of a studio like this, and it makes me giddy still to gather my chosen paints for the day. I pick out an array of reds, oranges, browns, and greens. Lily and I had taken the twins on a walk through Central Park in the strollers the other week on a particularly warm day, and though some of the trees had dumped their leaves to the ground already, there were enough of them still wreathed in their fall colors to inspire me. Autumn was slowly but surely receding into winter and it’s that natural transition from one season to another that I had wanted to paint ever since. It reminded me of us—humans, and the different seasons of life.

Yes! That’s it!

The seasons of life will be the name of my new art collection! It’s perfect.

I drag one of my biggest easels in front of the windows, placing the stool in front of it and dropping the paints on the lip of the easel. Next is a large canvas, 24 x 30, my mixing palette, and my brushes. I finish off my preparations with a large cup of water for brush washing and some soft rags. My back will face the windows, meaning I won’t get to enjoy the beautiful view, but I will be able to paint in a wash of natural light; the best light for any artwork.

I ask the room’s Alexa to play “painting playlist four,” and the plucky sounds of an acoustic guitar float through the surrounding air. I hum along, knowing all of the songs by heart.

Painting is a part of me, something that is in my bones. Whenever I carry stress or burdens, I can bleed them out on the canvas, leaving me lighter than before. Or when my emotions are running high, the scrape of the brush against the white canvas is almost meditative, allowing me to get a hold of myself. I have been painting for as long as I can remember, and not to pat myself on the back too much, but I think I’ve made some good progress since Alex came to check my paintings out two years ago… Jeez, time flies so fast.

As I come to think of it, even Alex’s perfectionist of a snobby sister, Yara, had grudgingly admired my work, even conscripting me to paint a portrait of her. I shudder, remembering Yara’s nude portrait. I’m really glad that today it’d be trees flowing from the tip of my brush and not the curves of Yara’s body. Yuck…

The morning passes, sun arching across the sky as I work. I lose myself in the paint. The music wraps around me, and time seems meaningless. There is only the mixing of colors, the stroke of the bristles, and the image in my mind pouring into reality. I’m transfixed, and I have to shake off the fog of it all when Maria brings up some finger foods for lunch. I thank her, loading a plate up with a few cucumber sandwiches and grabbing a glass of lemon water.

I had one overly plush chair up here for when I didn’t want to fall out of the painting headspace, but still needed a break. My comfy chair faces the windows, and I tuck my feet underneath me as I make myself comfortable, nibbling at my sandwiches.

It isn’t a complicated piece. Everyone paints trees, and it’s the perfect subject for someone that hasn’t painted in a bit, but I still feel like there is something missing. From experience, I know nothing will come to me if I dwell on the issue, so I focus on something else while I enjoy my lunch. Suddenly though, my phone buzzes, announcing a new SMS.

I take the phone from my pocket and slide up to read the new message from Emma: “Any plans for your birthday? I was thinking to go away this weekend, but realized you’re turning 20 on Sunday! X.”

Oh gosh, my birthday! My hand hits my forehead, embarrassed to have totally forgotten about it. Does Alex remember it’s my birthday this Sunday? Should I remind him? And where are we having Christmas? We haven’t even began to discuss that yet. Jeez, all I hope is that we won’t have to go to his Mom’s estate. I start on another tiny sandwich, considering the upcoming weeks. December is going to be incredibly busy. There’s always a myriad of Christmas events to attend to on behalf of Gatt-Dieren Capital that I would have to schedule my time pretty well if I wanted to sneak away and paint at all.

Hopefully, Alex’s painters will have the atelier done in a day or two, so I won’t have to abstain for too long. I know from experience that the less I paint, the less I want to paint, and when the urge finally strikes, I feel rusty and frustrated by the waning of my skills. I really need to keep on top of it.

I dust the crumbs off my hands, getting ready to get back to my painting, when something catches my eye on the windowsill. Like a bright ruby, a male cardinal lands, joined immediately by a brown female, only the tips of her wings and the crest on her head scarlet. I keep still, watching as they stretch their wings wide and hop around the small outcropping of the building. The male is so incredibly red against the drab gray stone of the city that he looks like a drop of blood.

He’s gorgeous. A little piece of wild nature visiting me here in Manhattan, along with his mate. They remain for maybe fifteen minutes before leaping back into the air, never leaving each other’s side. Their visit had been brief, but they had given me a wonderful gift: inspiration.

I hop up from my seat and hurry back to the easel, cracking my knuckles and plucking my brush from the water, drying it on a towel. I know exactly what my painting is missing…

I fill in the trunks and the rest of the leaves of the trees, the blocks of color broken up by the thin tendrils of naked branches here and there. Once the trees are perfect, I add the final touch, given to me by the visit of my crimson friends. I paint a flock of cardinals, exploding from the trees into the air, tiny forms of red and brown. They add life to an otherwise lifeless scene, and once I put the finishing touches, I sit back from the painting, satisfied.

Not bad for someone that hasn’t picked up a brush in months, I gloat internally.

The paint is still shiny and wet, so I resist the urge to continue tweaking the canvas and remove my smock. It’ll need at least twenty-four hours to be fully dry. I find some satisfaction in my cleaning up rituals, capping my paints, and wiping any excess from the bottles and tubes, followed by washing my brushes in pungent turpentine and finally putting everything away in vaguely the right spot.

When I finish, it’s almost six pm. I have been up here for hours without realizing it! But, I feel refreshed and especially accomplished to have started my new art collection. If I keep being just as focused I could do an extra four to five paintings before the end of the year. My head is clearer than it has been in weeks, and with such a goal in mind, I take this moment to text Emma back: “I’m gonna stay home and paint. I’m working on a new art collection. Don’t worry, we can meet another time. X,” and I press send.

I guess Lily is right—good mothers make time for themselves.

CHAPTER 8

Manhattan, December 1, 2021

Petra Van Gatt

“That isn’t looking too good there,” Emma sermons me as I place the garland on top of the fireplace in the living room. While I truly appreciate her supposed good taste and perfectionist qualities, she has been such a piece of work during the entire condo’s Christmas decorating project. Jesus Christ, I’d hate to think that she’s also like that with her staff when they decorate the family estate. “Petra! Not there!” she screams again as I try different angles to fix the eucalyptus and white berry garland she picked out at Macy’s for me. Displeased with my stubborn nature, she puts down her own box of Christmas accessories and hastens in my direction, taking the garland from my hands. She then goes to the low table and lays it flat on the center, styling a bit the foliage for a finished look. A smile of pride and satisfaction slowly spreads across her lips, while I’m just left annoyed at the whole thing. “Here it looks good.”

I heave a sigh, shaking my head. When she called this morning and asked if I wanted help with decorating the condo, I had figured she wanted to come over and decorate it herself. After all, I’d never been into house decor, but I thought it could be fun to hang the Christmas decorations up with Emma since she likes these things so much. Boy, what a mistake! Next time, I’ll just lock myself inside my atelier and keep painting while I let her do her thing.

“Not bad, huh?” Her voice pulls me away from my thoughts and we glance around the living room which is now filled with garlands, wreaths, fairy lights, one tall fir tree, Christmas statues perched on the walls, candles, and God knows what else might be hidden about. Honestly, the mix of white, green, red, golden and silver tones blend perfectly well with the modern furniture, creating a cozy and wintery atmosphere.

“It looks great, yeah,” I admit. “You’re very talented when it comes to these things.” As I come to think of it, I then add, “If you ever run out of money from your trust, you could make a living as an interior designer.”

Emma snorts a bit at my comment as we both know this isn’t gonna happen any time soon. “Thanks,” she says for the sake of politeness, before giving a quick look at her watch. “Well, there’s just the Christmas tree left to decorate, but I believe this is something you and Alex might want to do.”

I give her a smile in return for the thoughtful gesture. Indeed, this is definitely something I’d like Alex and I to do together and even get the kids to help a bit.

“Thank you for everything,” I tell her as she walks back towards me. “Honestly, I wouldn’t have done it without you.”

Which is true. When I woke up this morning, decorating the condo for Christmas wasn’t really something on my to-do list.

She gives me a warm pat in appreciation, and before she can say something else, we hear the front door unlocking and cracking open. I go and check who’s here, and as I see Alex coming in, I take a quick glance at my watch only to realize it’s already six p.m. Wow! Time truly flies when you have a whole condo to decorate.

My eyes meet his and, almost like instinctively, I take a few more steps to stand before him, and raising up on my tip toes, I clasp my arms around his neck and press my lips against his. I might have tasted his lips a thousand times, but they always manage to make me fly without leaving the ground. A few seconds later, Alex breaks our kiss, his curious gaze already lingering around the hallway at the fairy lights and garlands hanging from the ceiling.

“What do you think?” I ask, noticing the reflection of the fairy lights in his eyes as he keeps observing them. “There’s just the tree missing to decorate, but I wanted to do it with you.”

His gaze finally returns to meet mine, but he seems a bit confused. “That’s really lovely, but, um, you want to stay here for Christmas?”

Now that’s an odd question. “Well, you didn’t say anything about traveling so I figured we’d be spending it here…”

Alex nods pensively before asking out of nowhere, “What if we were to go to Aspen instead? Just the four of us?”

“To Aspen?” I repeat, quite taken aback by his sudden suggestion. Jeez, if Alex wanted to travel, then why on earth did I spend all day long decorating the condo? But my thoughts quickly switch to the wintery getaway and as I picture the four of us playing in the snow, my face instantly brightens with a huge smile. “That’s a really good idea, actually! The kids are gonna love it!” And before Alex can add another word, I ask, “When are we leaving?”

Despite my excitement, he ponders for a few seconds before giving me an answer. “The last Christmas dinner we have to attend is on the twenty-first, so we can fly out the following morning.”

I heave a sigh, knowing the next two weeks will be filled with over-crowded events that will do nothing but bore me to death. “Do we really have to attend all of them?” I bat my eyelashes with a pleasant smile trying to dissuade him, but Alex just snorts in return.

“Yes, Miss Petra, we do.”

“Petra?” I hear Emma saying from behind me. I turn around and notice she’s already wearing her coat again and holding her purse. “I’m gonna go since it’s getting pretty late. If you guys need anything, just let me know.”

Alex nods at her, while I go and bit her farewell.

“Thank you again for everything, Emma.” I embrace her tightly into my arms and we remain standing there, reveling in each other’s hug for a moment. After she releases me, she gives me a quick smile in appreciation and says, “Well, um, if you do anything for your birthday, let me know, okay?”

“I will,” I reply, looking at her as she makes her way out. “Have a great evening.”

Once the door clicks shut behind her, I take Alex’s hand and lead him into the living room to show him what Emma and I—or mainly Emma—have done.

“Oh, wow,” he utters, taking in his surroundings. “I never thought you liked decorating so much.”

“Well, Emma did most of it… and trust me it was a whole ordeal.” I look around, especially at the lit candles and green garlands. “It’s beautiful though, isn’t it?”

Alex nods. “Yeah, she did a pretty good job.”

I’m about to invite him to decorate the Christmas tree when my phone suddenly starts ringing in the back pocket of my jeans. The sound is loud enough to make me stop in my tracks, and after a few more ringtones it’s becoming impossible to just ignore it, so I grasp the phone and check who’s calling me.

Oh, wow! Derek Fletcher from B&L Management? What a surprise! Why is he calling me now though? It has been what—ten days since I called him?

I turn around, ready to take the call somewhere else. “I’ll be right back,” I say before I exit the room, and go to the office of the house, shutting the door behind me. There, I press the green button and put the screen against my ear, excitement fluttering in my stomach at the hope he can bring me some good news. “Hello?”

“Good evening,” he greets, even if slightly apprehensively. “Am I calling you too late?”

“Oh no, that’s totally fine,” I answer back, my tone dripping with enthusiasm. Enough, Petra!

“Well, I just wanted to let you know that I did speak to our client about your offer…” Oh my goodness! My heart is bouncing so damn hard inside my chest in anticipation of his next set of words.

“And?” I ask, since he’s taking way too long to finish his sentence.

“And unfortunately, as I was expecting, they have already started to refurbish the building and have other projects in mind for it. As I have said before, they really wanted that place in particular.” My heart squeezes tight at the bad news, even though I already knew deep inside it was a lost cause since the day I spoke to him. “I just wanted to return your call as I said I would.”

Well, I’m not sure if it was worth calling me just to tell me that, but in any case, I take a long, deep breath, and focus on keeping myself as cool as possible. “Thank you for calling me back,” I manage to pull off. “It’s fine, I figured they weren’t interested anyway. I’ll find another place.” And I force myself to smile as I say those words, even though I know he can’t see it.

“My apologies for not being able to deliver better news.” He sounds quite sincere, but I don’t find the will to reply back. “Have a great evening.”

“You too. Thanks,” I mutter just before hanging up the call.

I shouldn’t have been so insistent about that building. The truth is I became so emotionally attached to it that now every time I’m confronted with the reality that it’s gonna become a restaurant, it hurts. Yes, it’s an historic building in downtown Manhattan where the artistic soul of The Artemis Room lives, but I’m sure I can find something else—something just as charming. I heave a long sigh, mentally putting this place in a grave once and for all. Rest in peace, my dear Artemis Room.

Knock, knock, knock.

I’m startled by the thumping sound, and before I can say a word, I see the door slowly opening and Alex standing behind it, peeking his head between the gap to check on me. “Is everything okay?” he asks gently, before coming in.

“Yeah,” I say, my eyes drifting away as I’m still trying to digest the loss of my dear Artemis Room. “I was just talking to the new property manager of the building that I wanted to buy.”

“Oh.” His eyes widen in surprise. “And?”

“And the new owners aren’t interest in selling it,” I tell him, before blowing out a breath. “Not even for double. It’s crazy.”

“Double?” he repeats, visibly shocked as he stands before me. “It’s even crazier you were so ready to pay double for it, Petra.”

His comment resonates through me and I’m left a bit regretful to have wanted to offer them so much more than its current market worth. “I know, but that place was really the perfect one for my gallery.”

“Don’t you think you are exaggerating a bit?” he asks, gently stroking my cheek to bring my attention back to him. “Sometimes we don’t get what we want in life, and that’s okay. It happens.”

“Yeah, but the hardest part is trying to accept it and move on.” I cut eye contact, my eyes dropping to the floor again.

Silence emerges between us as Alex seems to be thinking something through. “Do you want to go somewhere this weekend?” he asks out of nowhere. “It’s your birthday weekend after all.”

Oh, talking about birthday plans won’t help much to ease my pain, but I give him a smile in return. It’s really sweet of him to try to lift my mood like that. I press my lips together, and consider his question. “Honestly, just a date with the two of us would be fine.”

“Anything you have particularly in mind?” he keeps asking.

I shrug, pondering further. “Maybe a romantic dinner, followed by a play, and…” My gaze goes up again, meeting his piercing blue eyes.

“And?”

Oh dear, and I forgot what I was about to say. A thousand naughty thoughts play in my head and I wet my lips, putting myself on my tip toes so that I can whisper on his hear. “We could have a sleepover in a nice hotel somewhere, just the two of us.”

The corner of his lips curve up, forming a devilish sexy smile, most likely picturing the same as I. “Duly noted,” he says matching my low tone, before pressing those delicious lips on mine for a much-needed kiss. “Now, what if we go and decorate that Christmas tree?”

CHAPTER 9

Manhattan, December 5, 2021

Petra Van Gatt

“We’re going to be late for dinner!” Alex yells up the stairs from the foyer, and I growl to myself, pawing through my jewelry box for the right pair of earrings.

“I said I’m coming!” I shout back, cursing my husband under my breath.

When Alex asked what I wanted to do for my twentieth birthday a few days ago, I had told him what I wanted most was a date with him, maybe a dinner and a play followed by a night spent in a nice hotel room, away from all the craziness of our day-to-day lives.

He had agreed, but now that the day had arrived, I’m feeling rushed and flustered. The twins are teething, and they have regressed to crying on and off throughout the night for the past two days, meaning they had both been grouchy little handfuls for the past forty-eight hours. At 5 pm, Alex had casually dropped the bomb that he had gotten us a reservation at Blue Hill at Stone Barns, a farm-to-table restaurant with vast tasting menus and two Michelin stars––it also happens to be located very close from our home in Bedford Hills…

But it is for 6 pm!

With such short notice, I had all but ran to the shower, scrubbing the day’s sweat from my hair, and bolted from under the spray straight to my vanity to start my makeup, hair still dripping down my back. I apply my products, ending with a natural, dewy look accented by shimmering highlighter and barely there taupe eyeshadow.

In all honesty, I had been so consumed painting in my atelier that I hadn’t remembered that it was my birthday until around two pm, and I had seen the date printed on the newspaper Alex had left on the dining room table. My husband had given no hints that he recalled the significance of the day until he sprang the dinner surprise on me. It figures that Alex would remember when I couldn’t.

My long dark-brown hair has air-dried into gentle waves, so I plait my bangs back from my face and secure them with a delicate diamond clip, matching it with my diamond teardrop earrings. My neckline comes nearly to my throat, so I decide to skip the necklace, choosing to only be adorned by the Chantilly Lace of the sheath dress. It ends at my knees, and the slip underneath is a nude illusion, so it almost appears that I am wearing nothing but a delicate lace layer.

I take a step back, slipping my feet into my nude heels, and looking my reflection over. For getting ready in less than thirty minutes, I look pretty incredible. Pregnancy had widened my hips and filled out my bust just a smidge, and my tiny bit of extra curvature really makes my dress pop.

I make my way down the hall to the nursery, heels clicking rhythmically on the floor, to tell Lily and the babies goodnight. Alex hadn’t mentioned if we’d stay in Bedford Hills to spend the night, but he’d have to have given Lily the scoop if she was going to be on baby duty all evening.

“Hey everyone,” I call quietly, creeping into the room in case the twins are sleeping.

In fact, they are both bright-eyed and awake. We had bought an array of musical toys for them recently, and they are sitting on each side of a rainbow wooden xylophone. Jasper slaps at the metal bars with his hands while Jasmine tries, with all of her limited motor skills, to tap at them with the attached mallet.

Lily has been picking the room up when I entered, and she raises her eyebrows when she gets a good look at me. “I’m guessing you’re going out?” she asks, wiping her hands.

“Alex didn’t tell you?” I respond, suddenly worried that he had forgotten to inform Lily, but she shakes her head.

“Oh, no, he did. I just wasn’t sure you’d go on such short notice.” Lily beams at me, clasping her hands together. “You’re going to have such a great time!”

Her reaction is odd, almost like she’s overly excited. “Uh, it’s just dinner.”

“Sure, sure,” she snaps. “Well, get out of here, birthday girl! You don’t want to be late!” She motions towards the door and bizarrely, I feel like I’m being rushed out of my own nursery.

“Hold on! I wanted to tell the twins goodnight,” I say, ignoring Lily’s instructions to leave.

I lower myself to the ground with the babies, and they both immediately drop what they’re doing to come to me. Jasper is able to take a few shaky crawling steps forward, and though Jasmine can lift herself up for a couple of seconds, she still needs to fall to her belly, pulling herself across the floor with her arms.

I scoop them up one by one, saving them the effort of coming to me, and kiss both of their soft, warm cheeks before snuggling them close. “I’ll miss you two, be good for Lily.”

“Ma ma,” Jasmine breathes when I pull her to me. “Ma ma ma ma ma.”

Her words, intentional or not, give me a lump in my throat. I love these little humans so much that it takes my breath away sometimes. I hesitate to put her down while Jasper curls up on my lap, and for a moment I consider kicking my heels off and canceling the whole birthday dinner. This is where I wanted to be most of all.

“Petra,” Lily’s voice breaks through my thoughts. “You’re going to miss your reservation.”

I exhale, plopping my daughter back on the play rug and untangle myself from my son’s limbs, standing up and straightening my dress. “I guess you’re right…”

“You’re going to have a great time. Really,” Lily assures me, walking me to the nursery door. “Don’t worry about a thing with these two. I’ll you see tomorrow.”

I take one last look at the twins before turning towards the stairs. This better be the best dinner in existence, for how quickly I had to get ready, not to mention leaving my babies for an unknown period of time with no forewarning.

I take the stairs slowly in my stilettos, and when I see Alex, dressed sharply in a navy-blue suit and no tie, he’s anxiously checking his watch. He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees me, before looking me over with barely concealed interest in his eyes.

“Well, we’re going to be late, but if you look like that, I guess it was worth it,” he tells me, his voice rough and intimate as I approach him.

I do a full turn, letting him see every inch of me, and he makes a noise somewhere between a curse and a growl. “I’ve never been angrier at myself for making an early reservation.”

With a breathy laugh, I slither my way into his arms. His gaze is heated, but his jaw is set stubbornly. He had made up his mind about how the evening was going to go. I settle for a quick peck on his soft lips before walking around him to grab my coat. I decide on a long, cream-colored trench coat, something that I never would have worn while going out with the kids. No better time than now!

I link my arm through Alex’s, letting him steady me as we walk to the car. I expect his usual black Mercedes-Benz, but what I see idling on the curb isn’t our usual car. Alex has taken the freaking Rolls Royce out of storage, and it purrs in front of our condo, looking sleek and almost predatory.

“The Rolls Royce? Why?” I ask him, bewildered. “It’s just a birthday dinner.”

Alex gives me a knowing look. “Just let me pull out all the stops for my beautiful wife, okay? Now, get in.”

I blow out a breath. Something about Alex’s behavior, combined with the late notice about the dinner and Lily’s equally strange behavior, sets an alarm off in the back of my mind. Is he hiding something from me?

I squint at him, pursing my lips. “You’re up to something.”

He grins like a Cheshire cat, as he opens the rear door of the car for me. “Even if I was, I wouldn’t tell you. Now get in.”

“Fine. But I’m on to you.” I crawl into the car, flipping on the heated seats immediately and sinking into the buttery quilted leather.

“Ready?” Alex asks, a devious glint in his ocean-blue eyes as he comes and sits beside me. I nod curtly, and Zach, the chauffeur, pulls the brilliant machine onto the road.

Traffic in Manhattan is garbage, as usual, but we have enough moments on the open road that I can really enjoy the power of the car.

“How far is this place?” I ask, watching the city lights race by us.

“Closer than you think,” he responds coyly.

We drive for twenty minutes, Zach guiding the car masterfully through the late evening rush, but the direction he’s going seems all wrong for our destination. I’ve never been to Blue Hill at Stone Barns, but Zach seems to be taking us deeper into the city instead of towards the outskirts. The place had the word barn in it, for goodness’ sakes. It couldn’t be in a high rise.

“What’s going on?” I ask again, sitting up straight in my seat. “Alex, this isn’t funny. I haven’t eaten since breakfast, and that was just a grapefruit.”

“If you ask again, I’m taking you back home,” he snarks. I groan and slide back in my seat, crossing my arms.

Eventually, Zach flicks on the turn signal, sliding the Rolls Royce effortlessly up to a valet station. I take a second to realize where we are, but when it hits me, I grab Alex’s arm before he can exit the car, my grip tight. I can’t believe what I’m seeing out of the car window right now. No way!

“No. I don’t want to eat here. Please take me home,” I beg, feeling heartsick. Why would Alex play a joke like this?

Alex shakes me off without responding, while Zach is already handing the car keys to the wide-eyed teenage valet. Alex makes his way to my side of the car and after opening my door, he reaches his hand down to help me out, but my arms remain stubbornly crossed against my chest.

“You have to face this, Petra. I know it’s still bothering you,” Alex insists sternly.

“I don’t care. This is cruel and you know it!” I lash out, but instead of giving me a cutting remark back, he kneels down, turning my face to his with a gentle touch.

“Do you really think I would hurt you purposely on your birthday? Do you think that little of me, my sweet wife?”

My anger deflates at the hurt look in his gaze, and despite everything in me screaming to do otherwise, I take his hand when he offers it to me again. I can feel my bottom lip quivering, and Alex takes notice, stroking my cheek with his knuckles and kissing my shaky lip.

“Don’t cry. Trust me, okay? Just have a little faith here, little Petra,” he murmurs quietly, bumping his nose against mine.

I can see the valet awkwardly shifting from foot to foot while he waits on us. No matter how out of control I feel at this moment, I have to trust Alex as he says. I have no other option.

I give him a swift nod, not wanting to speak. Alex slips his arm through mine and leads me, like a starlet walking down the red carpet, up the vast concrete stairs into the formerly named Artemis Room.

My fingers dig into his arm harder with each step. I can hear the liveliness inside but can’t see a thing because of the curtains being drawn. The outdoor lighting is almost theatrical, different shades of white and golds illuminating the flourishes on the handsome stone. It’s dusk, and I try to get a closer look, realizing that the new owners had power washed the place, restoring it to its former grandeur. The two gargoyles perched on the top cornerstones gleamed almost white in the spotlights shining underneath them, their hideous visages glaring out at the city beyond.

“Do you approve of what they’ve done with the place?” Alex asks me, pausing midway so we can get a full look at the building. I have to admit, it looks a million times better than the dark, mossy appearance it had sported just a few weeks ago.

“Reluctantly yes. I was afraid there would be an enormous neon sign bolted above the entrance or something,” I admit. “But I just realized that there aren’t any indications of what this place is. How will people even know it’s a restaurant?”

Alex chuckles under his breath. “It’s a soft opening. I managed to score us an invitation. You’re a VIP, after all.”

We continue walking towards the doors when I fully process his explanation. I plant my feet, stopping him. “What do you mean, I’m a VIP?”

He looks exasperated, tilting his face to the darkening sky and exhaling, his breath misting in the cold air. “If you would quit dragging your feet, you would know already. Come on!”

He tugs me forward with uncharacteristic vigor. Alex, usually stoic and unflappable, is antsy about something. Now I’m absolutely positive something weird is going on.

I open my mouth to question him when two doormen stationed outside pull open the enormous French doors for us, illuminating our path. I swallow hard. I refuse to cry when we go in. At least they preserved the outside. Maybe the inside wouldn’t be terrible.

With a steadying breath, I let Alex lead me into the building, and thank goodness he is with me, because without his arm around me I might have fallen to the floor when, with a jolt, I absorb what I’m seeing.

Instead of high top tables, the glistening white marble floors are bare, and instead of kitschy brick-and-brack, the pale gray walls are adorned with… with…

With my paintings!

Not just my own, either. The special pieces I had collected over the years are hung as well, including our beloved piece from Pierre Soulages.

Here and there, concrete pillars stand, holding busts and carvings I had found striking, each illuminated by a low-hanging light overhead. Jeez, it’s exactly how I had imagined my gallery would look like. Except now it’s right in front of me.

And it’s mine.

Before I can even find the right words, my eyes filling with tears, the coup de grâce comes.

“SURPRISE! Happy birthday, Petra!” everyone I love screams, pouring out from behind the grand staircase.

I slap my hands over my mouth, unable to contain the sob of joy that escapes. As my friends and family flow around me, my husband grabs me around the waist, hauling me off my feet and spinning us in a quick circle before I’m being dipped down like a ballroom dancer. He flashes a triumphant smile before fastening his mouth over mine.

The crowd around us cheers, and when Alex pulls away, he whispers against my lips, “Happy birthday, little Petra.”

In stunned silence, I explore my new gallery. Alex leaves me to my party guests, disappearing into the crowd, but he’s replaced at my side almost immediately by Emma, who looks like a beautiful, sophisticated badass tonight. Her shoulder-length, jet-black hair is tied in a conservative chignon on the back of her head, and her green A-line dress is so dark that it’s almost black. Instead of dress shoes, she’s wearing a spotless pair of patent leather Balenciaga’s. Her neckline dips low, and her butterfly chest tattoo rivals some of the paintings on the wall in intricacy.

“Be honest with me,” she starts, sidling up beside me while we chat. “Did you have any idea?”

“Not an inkling of anything like this. I can’t believe Alex pulled this off. It’s… I don’t even know. I’m at a loss.” I hold my hands up helplessly.

“You must fuck him senseless for him to love you this much,” Emma gestures around the room, dodging the swat I try to give her for the filthy commentary.

“That’s none of your business,” I hiss to her, and she waggles her perfect eyebrows at me suggestively.

“Maybe he told me so,” Emma continues.

I snort. “I think not. Good try, though. Can we look at the gallery now, you pervert?”

“If you insist,” she sighs.

With my best friend at my side, I peruse every inch of the place, my brain struggling to take in everything I’m seeing. Alex has managed to arrange my paintings by age, from my blunt, primary-colored attempts as a preteen all the way up to my most recent piece, the large slice-of-life painting depicting the autumn trees and cardinals in Central Park. I didn’t even notice he had taken it out of the atelier to hang it here.

I sniffle, dashing my errant tears away as they spill over. Everything has been done with so much thoughtfulness and so much care. I can’t even fathom the time and organization that it must have taken to accomplish this in such a short period of time.

Emma draws me into a one-armed hug when I come to stand in front of a very special painting, situated directly in the middle of the display. It’s my first painting, the one that I had finally been able to gift to Alex after we had announced my pregnancy to my dad. It’s the scene that I had painted of Alex and myself, and miraculously of the twins as well. I had only been a seven-year-old girl when I put the scene to canvas, but somehow, my heart already knew my future.

“Hold it together,” Emma advises, seeing that I’m about to burst into uncontrollable tears.

She steers me away from the special painting, chattering about some of the pieces by other artists until I regain my composure. I give her a watery smile and forcing my brain to focus on something else, I ask, “Any update on our little, um, background check?”

“Still digging, my dear, still digging.” She pats my shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t worry, before Christmas I should have an entire dossier about her.” We stop in front of another wall filled with artwork, our backs to the crowd. “Are you good now?”

I nod at her, straightening my posture.

Emma leans closer to my ear and then looking to her left side, she says, “Thank goodness, because some of these people look like they might explode if you don’t speak to them soon.”

I follow her gaze and I find Matt, and to my astonishment his dad Eric, hanging out near the concessions’ table. The father and son duo look tense, and an expression of relief flits over Matt’s face when he sees us.

“Petra! Emma! Over here!” he calls, causing Eric to scoff.

Matt moves as if he wants to hug us, but at the last minute remembers his dad is watching, so for some weird reason, he just shakes our hands awkwardly. I hold out my hand for Eric to shake, but he refuses to look down, pretending to not see my offer of a greeting hanging in the air.

“Your husband must truly enjoy making the headlines to have invited so many reporters,” Eric comments rudely, craning his neck to look over the place. “Good luck with the gallery.”

I scowl, but Eric bids us a brusque farewell, not bothering to look any of us in the eye. Once he is gone from sight, Matt relaxes, a clear weight falling away from him. He blows out a breath and scratches the top of his head.

“Sorry about that, I don’t even know why he came if it was to behave like that,” Matt says, his voice filled with apology.

“Because he knows it’s a big event and it will be noticed if he doesn’t show his face, at least for a little while. Classic narcissist bullshit,” Emma says with disdain, crossing her arms.

“You’re not wrong,” Matt admits.

He hugs each of us now, and I can’t help but notice that when he pulls away from Emma, his eyes linger on the tattoo gracing her chest and collarbones. Matt coughs and turns his head, but not before I see the redness flushing his face. Poor guy, he is barking up the wrong tree for sure.

“Where’s Sarah?” I ask for the sake of politeness.

“Oh, she went to the bathroom,” he answers promptly, before changing the subject. “I’d have gotten you a gift, but your husband insisted it wasn’t necessary. We all made donations to the Turner Syndrome foundation instead,” he comments, loading his plate with some appetizers from the concessions table.

“That’s incredible! Thank you,” I tell him sincerely. “Have you seen my dad by any chance?”

“Your dad and Catherine are around here somewhere,” Matt continues. “I don’t know half of these people though, so I couldn’t tell you who they were with.”

“Thanks for the tip, Matt. I’m going to go track him and my husband down. I’ll catch up with you guys in a bit?”

Emma nods. “I need a cigarette anyway, I’m headed outside.”

“Yuck, but okay. I’m gonna check on Sarah. See you guys in a bit.” I give them a brief wave, popping a few pieces of fruit into my mouth from the catering table before braving the crowd once more.

After the burst of energy of the initial surprise, people had separated off into smaller groups to check out the artwork. Alex had found some of the original artists as well, and they stand in front of their artwork, answering questions and networking with the guests and reporters.

I make a point to greet each and every artist that came to the opening. After all, I’d admired their art for so long and it fills me with fierce pride seeing them here in my gallery. This is why I'd created the art fund, to give a voice to those who had been long ignored in the art world. My gallery would be the platform these brilliant artists needed.

Ms. Artemis had been well-intentioned, filling the need for a community-ran gallery all those decades ago when The Artemis Room first opened, but after many years in the art scene, she had begun to feature her friends more often than not, until The Artemis Room was simply a revolving gallery of the same ten or so artists.

I swore to myself I would never fall into that pattern. In my gallery, the walls would always feature someone new. This place wasn’t just for me, it was for artists all over New York and beyond. Soon, I’m positive that everyone will be flocking to… to… wait. What is the gallery even called?

“Hey, kid,” a deep voice says from behind me. I turn quickly, letting myself be wrapped in my dad’s embrace. “Happy birthday, and all that.”

“Did you have anything to do with this?” I ask him when he releases me.

He chuckles. “Sort of. Once Alex gets his mind locked in on something, there is no convincing him otherwise. I told him to store all of your things at my place until the gallery was ready, and he’s dragged me through here a few times. But really, it was mostly him. He wanted to do this for you.”

“It’s beyond anything I ever expected,” I admit.

“Don’t just look at it as a present, now. This is a gift and an investment,” he says excitedly. “You’re going to have to put your blood, sweat, and tears into this place, just like Alex did to get it ready for you. Are you able to do that and finish college at the same time?” Dad asks me, sounding quite serious.

“Yes, of course,” I answer resolutely. “I’ll have a team to help so I’m pretty sure I can do both.”

Dad smiles proudly. “Great.” Then he pauses for a beat as he seems to be thinking something through. “Catherine wanted to see you. Would you mind saying hello to her?”

My brows raise up instantly at his request. “Still with her, huh?” I ask teasingly.

“She’s a good friend,” he answers, remaining just as vague as the first time he introduced me to her. “Come over, she’ll be delighted.” I follow him as we cross the gallery, passing through a few familiar faces, until we find Ms. Dubois, with a glass of champagne in one hand, surrounded by a few artists as she delights them with her pleasantries and good manners. While they seem all smitten about her, I take a moment to admire her long, elegant black dress filled with embroideries and feathers. I wonder why she is wearing black again. Is she grieving the loss of someone or is it just her favorite color? A question I don’t think is appropriate to ask in front of my dad.

“Congratulations,” Catherine says, a perfect white smile in display as she finally looks in our direction. “I knew you were a painter, but I never thought you had such a vast portfolio at such a young age. You truly have a gift.”

“Thank you,” I reply politely before we exchange two cheek-kisses.

“This is such a beautiful set-up,” she praises, glancing around the room, before wetting her lips with the champagne. “I also used to paint when I was younger. I mean, when I was in my thirties or so.”

“Oh, really?” Jeez! I know that painting is a popular hobby, but damn, the fact she used to paint just like my mom still makes me a bit uncomfortable. As I come to think of it, from their hobbies to their physical appearances, Mom and Catherine are so freaking similar that I’m starting to believe that this is just a way for Dad to cope with his ex-wife’s death. Or is it just a simple coincidence? Who knows! I have so many questions to ask him, but now is definitely not the right moment or place to do so.

“Yes, oil painting too, but mostly still life,” she adds, my attention returning to her. “Nothing worth hanging in a gallery though.”

“Well, you never know,” I reply. “New artists have a tendency to undervalue their work, but I can assure you there’s value even in the very first painting.”

“I saw the first painting you did,” she says, her smile growing as she keeps observing me. “What an incredible little girl you were.”

I give her a smile in return, not knowing what else to say, despite her compliment.

“What’s the name of the gallery by the way?” Catherine asks me, most likely to change the subject of our conversation.

“That’s a good question,” I answer, before looking at my dad. “Hey, Dad? Do you know what Alex decided to call the place?”

He frowns. “You mean you didn’t read the engraving before you came in?”

I grimace. “Uh, no. He had me thinking we were coming to see the new restaurant that was supposedly being built here. My eyes were locked straight ahead.”

“Risky. He’s lucky you even came in! Here, come with me.”

Dad leads me through the gallery towards the entrance. The atmosphere of the building is jovial, with everyone making their way around and talking. I can only hope that every opening I host will go as well as this one.

When we emerge into the cold night air, Dad motions for me to look at the copper-colored engraved plaque bolted to the wall next to the entrance. I lean down to read, my grin growing with each letter.

The Gatt-Dieren Gallery

Gifted to a Beloved Wife and Mother,

To Uplift the Artists of New York City

“It’s perfect,” I whisper, blinking rapidly so the tears don’t start anew.

Dad pats me on the back. “I knew you’d like it.”

“Where is Alex, anyway?” I ask with a sniffle.

Dad shrugs. “I only saw him for a moment. He said he was putting the finishing touches on the second floor.”

The second floor! In all the excitement, I had totally forgotten about the offices on the upper floor. Surely Alex hadn’t had time to renovate them yet, but it didn’t matter to me one bit. After all the hard work he had fed into the gallery portion of the building, I could definitely handle arranging the revamp of the offices.

“I’m going to go find him, then. It’s so like him to drop a gift like this and then disappear.”

I check the time: seven pm, so I make a pit stop to call Lily and check up on the twins. She’s just finished their nightly bath routine and is preparing to lay them down. I fill her in on how the surprise went, and how incredible the gallery is.

Afterwards, I hang up and head back inside, my eyes already on the grand staircase that leads to the second floor. The top floor is dark, and I feel strange leaving my own birthday party, but everyone is occupied and enjoying themselves. There’s really no reason for me to remain downstairs for now, so I’ll just find Alex and drag him back to the party. He deserves to enjoy the opening, too.

No one seems to take notice as I climb the stairs, my hand gliding across the polished wooden railing that has been smoothed down by the passing of hundreds of hands over the years.

Two hallways branch off on the left and right at the top of the stairs, both completely dark. I can see the outline of the antique stained glass light fixtures at even intervals on the ceiling, but not a single one is turned on. Maybe Alex isn’t here after all?

I start to head back down when I notice the glow of a single light underneath a closed office door. I can’t imagine why Alex would hide himself up here, but my curiosity gets the better of me and I go to investigate. I rap on the door three times.

“Alex?” I call softly, my hand already twisting the handle.

“You don’t have to knock on the door of your own office, you know,” he responds from the other side.

I push the door open, and there is my husband, sitting on the corner of a brand-new computer desk. I barely have time to register all the furniture in the office when I notice something out of place: a bottle of Dom Pérignon chilling in an ice bucket next to Alex, and the two champagne flutes he holds upside down by the stems in one hand.

“Drinking up here all by yourself?” I tease, leaning on the door frame.

His lips twist into one hell of a sexy smile and he stands up. “Not quite.” Then he puts the glasses down on the desk, before carefully opening the bottle and filling them each with a hefty portion of the champagne. “I was waiting on you to start drinking, actually.” He holds out one flute to me, and when I saunter slowly over to him, I can see the gleam of lust in his cerulean gaze. It seems we might do a little bit more than drinking to celebrate…

“How did you know I would come upstairs to check?”

“Because I know you,” he answers softly, before raising up his glass. “Cheers,” he tells me, his voice thick, and we clink our glasses together.

The champagne bubbles on my tongue, acidic and bright with the hints of vanilla that denote its quality. I close my eyes and savor it slowly before tilting the glass back to finish it, sitting the flute on the desk with a “clink.”

Alex is pulling me towards him, his large hands on my hips, but I can’t help looking around the place. The hallway floors had been the same marble as the gallery, but this office had brand new low pile carpet to muffle sound and a fresh coat of pale sage paint. The desk is empty besides Alex, and it’s sleekly modern with loads of storage space. On the floor by the door is a big cardboard box emblazoned with the telltale Apple logo, indicating a brand-new Mac.

Somehow, Alex had taken care of the upstairs, too. The whole building seems to be ready to go as soon as I want.

“How did you even accomplish this?” I ask in awe. “I have so many questions.”

“Hmm,” he murmurs, pulling me closer still so I could feel his breath tickling my neck. “Can the questions wait until later?”

I melt into him, letting him drag his lips from my nape to the shell of my ear. “Just tell me one thing—how did you convince Nico to buy the building when he wouldn’t give me the time of day?”

“Businesses moguls have to keep their secrets,” he says, taunting me even more.

“I’m not buying it.”

“Fine, Ms. Curiosity. Turns out our friend, Nico Tucci, hadn’t been keeping up on his property taxes for the last few years, and delinquent taxes stay with the building under new ownership. Hakkasan Group had no idea how much was really owed, and they put a hold on the purchase once someone gave them an anonymous tip,” Alex smirks. “Nico was more than happy to sell to me when he realized that if he didn’t sell the gallery asap, he would be stuck with the taxes, especially since the city officials were already drawing up the paperwork for criminal nonpayment.”

“That’s devious,” I gasp. “You’d be so mean to that poor, old landlord?” I ask teasingly.

“I’d be mean to anyone if it meant making you as happy as you are tonight.” He drags his knuckles over my cheekbone. “But I must say, I’m quite impressed that you even tried to reach the new owners. Your determination never ceases to amaze me.”

My face falls a little with my next thought. “I still feel like I failed a bit, though. I should have been able to close the deal on my own.”

Alex shakes his head in disagreement. “Your offer was good, but sometimes to win a deal you need to go above and beyond and be more creative. That’s why getting to know the darkest secrets of your adversary gives you the upper hand.”

I nod in understanding. “Yeah, I should’ve done that,” I admit. “That was a brilliant move.”

“I agree,” he replies, his voice steady. “Plus, by purchasing it, I help retain some of the city’s historical architecture while you funnel grant money into local up-and-coming artists. Sounds like a good investment.”

I groan, touching my forehead to his. “My dad said the exact same thing.”

Alex chuckles under his breath. “We’re business partners for a reason.”

“That’s all well and good, but I so don’t want to be thinking about my dad right now.”

Alex sits back some, refilling my champagne flute and handing it to me. “Wash the images away, then,” he suggests.

I gladly take another drink of the pricy vintage, letting it tickle my nose as I do so. The sparkling wine is refreshing and cold, but the alcohol warms my belly from the inside out, making my head feel pleasantly fuzzy.

“Is it working?” Alex inquires, taking a swig directly from the bottle.

“Alex! Don’t do that!” I exclaim with laughter, trying to take the bottle from him.

He dodges me, taking another swig before depositing the nearly empty bottle back into the ice bucket. “Greedy little thing,” he comments, and I huff, acting like I’m going to storm out dramatically.

My ploy works, and he grabs me around the middle, dragging me back to him. “Hey, you’re not going anywhere,” he tells me, brushing my hair away from my shoulders and kissing the back of my neck along my hairline. “Not until we properly celebrate at least.”

“I thought that’s what we were doing downstairs,” I say, my voice catching as I feel the swipe of his tongue over the pulse point on the side of my throat.

“This is more of a… private celebration,” he rumbles, keeping one arm locked around me while the other slides my dress ever so slowly up my thighs. I’m suddenly very thankful that I didn’t wear pantyhose tonight.

“If you insist,” I breathe, shuddering at the feeling of the rough pads of his fingers trailing up my sensitive thighs.

“We have to christen the building obviously.” Alex lightly sets his teeth into my skin, and it causes a whole-body shiver. “Since this will be your office, I want you thinking about what we did in here every time you sit down to work.”

“That… that won’t be a problem,” I tell him, turning in his grasp until we are face to face.

I am drawn into him like a magnet, or like a meteor pulled into the gravity of the Earth. I couldn’t resist this man, my husband, even if I tried.

I kiss him lightly at first, just a swift pass of lips, lingering longer and longer each time until I allow my tongue to dart out to taste him. Alex makes a little grunt in his chest, slanting his mouth over mine and deepening the kiss.

He explores my mouth languorously, at the pace of someone who knows exactly what they’re doing. Heat rises in me from the tips of my toes to pool in my stomach, molten and burning, and I lean into Alex hard. I can’t get enough of him.

Eventually, he breaks the kiss. I examine his face, taking in his pupils that are blown wide with lust and the way he pants with need, as if he had been running a marathon instead of making out with his wife. I’m overcome by a rush of pure affection and make a swift decision.

“Let me thank you for this,” I purr, my hands falling to the buttons of his shirt as I begin to undo them.

“Thank me how, exactly?” he asks, jaw tight.

“I think you know how,” I respond, undoing the last button and opening his shirt wide, exposing the bronze skin of his chest and the hard planes of his muscles. I run my hands over him hungrily.

“Say it,” Alex commands, no trace of humor in his voice now.

“I want to thank you by… by…” I might be a married woman with two kids, but I’m still not over the fact my husband wants me to be that graphic with him. I take a deep breath, gain some courage, and lean slightly closer to his ear, just in case someone else could hear me. “Sucking your cock here in my new office.” I force the words out, feeling simultaneously embarrassed and turned on.

Alex stands, working at the belt on his pants until they fall to the floor. His erection is pressing hard against his black boxer shorts, begging to be touched. I swallow hard, reaching my hand out to caress him, feeling the iron rod of his cock waiting for me right behind this one single layer.

“Dress off, but leave the heels on,” Alex instructs, his voice having dropped to nearly a growl.

“You’ll have to help me unzip it then.” I turn around and he grasps the zipper, pulling it down steadily until my dress is gaping open in the back. I slide my arms from the sleeves and let the dress pool at my feet, leaving me in nothing but a matching set of white lace bra and panties.

I try to turn back around, but Alex’s hands move to the clasp of my bra, tracing the edge of the lace with his fingers before unhooking it completely, sliding the straps down my shoulders and tossing the undergarment aside. He reaches around me, palming my tits and rolling my nipples between his fingers as I suck in a stuttering breath, the sensations going straight from my nipples to the needy place between my legs.

“I’m supposed to be thanking you, not the other way around,” I protest weakly, pressing my breasts into his hands.

“All in due time, wife,” he replies.

I want so desperately to turn and kiss him, or to sink to my knees and pleasure him, but Alex doesn’t let me move, alternating between circling my hard peaks with his fingers and pinching them lightly until I’m a mess, my head thrown back and moans falling from my mouth without hesitation.

I can’t take much more. I either need to touch him or have him inside of me. Just as I’m about to protest, Alex’s hands fall away from my chest, and he turns me with a firm hand on my shoulder. “What was it you were saying about thanking me?”

I almost want to pout about being teased so mercilessly, but I think better of it, lowering myself to my knees as planned and slipping my fingers under the waistband of his briefs, tugging them down. His erection pops free from the shorts, bobbing in the air until I wrap my hand around the base of it.

Alex is watching me like a hawk as I bring my mouth to him, darting my tongue out to lick the droplet of precum gracing the tip. He blows out a breath between his teeth, cupping the back of my head with his palm to hold me in place.

He shouldn’t have bothered. There was no place on Earth that I wanted to be except for right here, right now.

Running my hands up his muscled thighs, I grip onto him while I take his manhood into my mouth, loosening my jaw so I can fit as much of his considerable length as possible. When I can go no further, I make up the rest of the length with my hand, pumping him a few times experimentally before finding a steady rhythm with both my hands and mouth.

Alex hisses before letting his head fall back, eyes fixed on the ceiling and the fingers of his right hand buried in my hair, guiding me with gentle pressure to please him just the way he likes it.

It’s exhilarating knowing the door is unlocked and being able to hear the sounds of the party filtering in as he and I share this private moment. I revel in the taste of Alex, the feeling of him bumping into the back of my throat, and the restrained noises he continues to make for me.

I could have kept going, but when I swirl my tongue around the head of his member over and over, he grips my hair harder than before and holds me still, cursing under his breath. “Enough.”

He pulls himself from my mouth with a wet pop. “But—”

“I said enough,” he insists, helping me to my feet.

My legs feel wobbly from the extended time spent on my knees, but Alex doesn’t give me any time to catch my breath. Instead, he pulls aside my lace panties and slips a finger between my folds, causing me to jump and steady myself with my hands on his shoulders.

“Did sucking me off get you nice and wet, Petra?” he asks, still probing me with his wandering fingers. “Tell me.”

“Yes,” I bite out, and he grins wickedly.

“Good. I’m going to bend you over the desk and fuck you senseless now. Is that what you want?”

“Ye—es,” I cry out as he circles my clit with the pad of his thumb. I have to dig my fingers into his shoulders hard to stop from losing my balance. He’s driving me wild with just the smallest touches, and I’m completely at his mercy. “Yes Alex, please.”

“Well,” he starts. “Because you asked so nicely, I think I can oblige.”

He pulls his hand out from between my thighs, yanking my panties down in one smooth motion so I can step out of them. I’m now completely nude besides my stilettos, and my skin is pebbling in the chill office air––causing me to feel exposed but deliciously hot all over. My core is throbbing with anticipation of what’s to come.

“You’re beautiful,” Alex tells me sweetly, before stepping away from the desk and waving an arm towards it. “Now why don’t you bend over here and show me that pretty ass of yours too?”

“Okay,” I breathe, heart fluttering in my chest.

We’re really going to do this! He’s really going to fuck me right here in my new office!

There could be no better way to mark the place as our own.

He, completely nude and looking no less intimidating for it, watches me with his arms crossed as I assume the position he has requested of me, bending over the shining new desk, my ass on full display for him.

“Just like that,” he murmurs, his tone suffused with heat.

The polished wood of the desk is cold on my stomach and breasts, and I shiver, but I’m soon warmed by Alex’s body as he stretches out above me, his hands planted on the desk. I feel the heat radiating off of him, soothing my chilled flesh.

He starts by kissing a line down my spine until he reaches the two dimples right above my butt, where he stops to swirl his tongue around each one. He spends an equal amount of time on the globes of my ass cheeks before slipping two fingers between my legs and dipping them into the well of my pussy. I moan, twitching beneath his hands in surprise.

“Look at how ready you are for me, Petra,” he says darkly.

I am panting with need as he fingers me, every few minutes stopping to spank me with a quick slap. He curls his fingers deep inside of me, and I’m almost seeing stars from how incredible it feels.

“Please,” I beg, more than ready for him to fuck me.

Everything else has left my brain, and the only thing I can concentrate on through the fog of lust is Alex, his hands on me, and his deep voice giving praise. The rest of the world falls away, leaving only the two of us.

The pleasure he is giving me coils in my belly like a thundercloud, ready to burst at any moment. His fingers feel amazing stroking my inner walls, but it just isn’t enough. I press my forehead against the cool wood of the desk and groan, all at once so frustrated but so aroused.

Finally, Alex pulls his fingers from me, and for a second I almost cry out in annoyance at the vast empty feeling he leaves behind. I don’t have to worry for too much time though. His long fingers are replaced by the thick head of his cock, pressing between my folds, and resting at the mouth of my womanhood, not penetrating me but letting me know exactly what’s to follow.

There are a thousand things I would like to say. I could plead, I could demand he slide into me, or I could groan his name to the empty walls. Instead, I say nothing, holding my breath for fear that if I said anything at all, he would pull away and start the tortuous foreplay all over again. As much as I love foreplay, I’m more than ready for the main event.

With one hand Alex holds onto my hip, keeping me in place, while the other is wrapped around his shaft as he guides himself with agonizing slowness into me. “Easy,” he grates out when I buck underneath him.

I bite my lip, toes curling in my heels. I want him now, but Alex has made it abundantly clear that he is setting the pace. He fills me centimeter by aching centimeter, until, after the longest minutes of my life, he is rested completely inside of me, the bones of his hips pressing into the soft cushion of my ass and the head of his cock kissing my womb.

“So fucking tight,” he growls, and the sound of it reaches the bottom of my soul.

We’ve done this hundreds of times before, but I’m still breathless at how fully he fills me, and how my inner walls clamp down on him like a glove.

After we adjust to each other, Alex finally takes mercy on me and moves, feeding himself into me with a steady, unceasing rhythm while I writhe under him, desperate to meet his thrusts as he bottoms out over and over.

I can hear his breath escaping between his teeth, and I feel the tenseness of his legs as he fills me, angling his hips so he pushes against that secret spot inside my pussy that has me nearly sobbing with joy. A jolt of deep pleasure flares each time, growing the storm inside of me more powerful by the second.

I all but howl his name, my eyes scrunched shut, the only other sounds in the room our ragged breathing and the erotic slaps of his flesh against mine. I suck in deep gulps of air, body arching unconsciously as Alex drives me closer and closer to the edge. I just need something more, and then I’m going to topple over that edge.

“Oh, Alex! I’m almost there, almost—” I can hardly speak, but Alex knows me and knows what my body needs instinctually.

He slides one of his hands from my hip to the place where we meet, parting my swollen nether lips to find the small pearl of my clit. Alex uses his fingers to put pressure on either side of it, rubbing up and down, and it’s like a lightning bold burning through me.

Where the liquid pleasure building in my stomach and spine had churned like an oncoming storm, his fingers between my legs were all the catalyst that storm needed to explode. And explode I did.

I push back into him fiercely as the rolling waves of my orgasm cascade over me, wracking my whole body with shivers. My inner walls clench down hard on Alex, and I hear him make a strangled noise behind me, his thrusts growing harder and more unsteady as he chases his own peak.

The climax starts anew when I feel him spill himself inside of me in a hot rush. He presses himself punishingly hard against me as he comes, his grip on my hips like iron.

Slowly, we both come down from our mutual highs. Alex almost collapses on top of me, bracketing my head with his elbows as his trim body covers mine. He peppers the side of my face, shoulders, and neck in exhausted kisses while we catch our breath, and remain motionless for a while, savoring the moment.

“Do we have to go back downstairs?” I ask sleepily, wanting nothing more than to stay here.

Alex grunts. “Unfortunately, yes. It’s still your birthday party. You’ve got a cake coming, and if we don’t return soon someone will probably call in a missing person report.”

Frowning, I turn my head to the side to better see his face. “How long have we been up here?”

Alex checks his watch and winces. “Over an hour and a half.”

“Alex!” I squeal, extricating myself from his embrace, scooping my undergarments and dress off the floor in a frantic rush. “I can’t believe you kept me up here that long! Everyone is going to know what we were doing.”

“So?” he shrugs. “Who cares if they know?”

I hook my bra back on, jerking the dress back over my head. Before I can step into the leg holes of my panties, I feel the warm drip of his cum running down my inner thigh. I feel my face flush while I ball the panties up in my fist. “Where is the bathroom?”

It turns out my office has its own attached bathroom, and I’m able to get myself cleaned up and my hair straightened enough that it isn’t immediately obvious that my husband and I had been fornicating like rabbits during my birthday party. Once I’m cleaned up, I slip back into my underwear and return to the office to find Alex.

“Do I look presentable?” I ask him, turning in a slow circle.

He nods, and I stand on my tiptoes in front of him to straighten his collar. “You look perfect,” he tells me. “Let’s get back to this shindig before someone comes looking for us.”

I’m startlingly self-conscious that I look messier than before, but Alex, of course, looks completely put together. It’s almost infuriating how he could look so polished mere minutes after railing me against a desk in my office.

We descend the stone staircase arm in arm, and receive waves from a few guests, but nothing inflammatory enough to suggest they knew what we had been up to. It isn’t until we’re almost down to the main floor that I make eye contact with Emma, who is hanging with a group of alternatively dressed artists. She gives me an exaggerated wink before motioning to Alex, and I give her a death glare, but she pays it no mind, returning to her conversation.

“Wow,” Alex comments, having seen the exchange.

“Don’t… She must have been drinking.” I say with a roll of my eyes.

At the bottom of the stairs, Alex and I split off. It’s clear the party is winding down, and there is only one more event that has to take place before the night is over. The birthday cake.

One of the caterers wheels out a white trolly holding a cake that is covered by a protective lid. Everyone gathers around and I fidget, feeling oddly nervous about being the center of attention. I take a steadying breath and stand beside the trolley while the caterer removes the lid with a flourish.

My birthday cake is a three-tiered, semi-naked green matcha cake with cream cheese icing between the layers. Twenty gold candles are scattered on the surface of the cake, and after the caterer lights every one of them, he steps back so I can take the place of honor next to the cake.

The lights in the gallery grow dim, and I nibble at my lip while everyone surrounds me in a semi-circle. The guests look at me expectantly, and I cough, clearing my throat before speaking.

“I just want to thank everyone for coming out to celebrate not just my birthday, but the grand opening of the Gatt-Dieren Gallery. I’m touched that all of you came to spend this evening with us, and hope that we will have many more of these exhibits and parties to come in the future.”

I fold my hands in front of me, not sure what to do next as the crowd murmurs amongst themselves, but the ice is broken when Matt yells from somewhere in the group, “Happy Birthday, Petra!”

As if on cue, the party launches into a cheery, if disorganized, rendition of the happy birthday song, and as the notes of the final words float through the air, I bend down and blow out my candles.

For a brilliant moment before the flames are extinguished, I can see the faces of my husband, friends, and family through them, shining like the bright jewels that they are. I blow on each candle one by one, filled with a contented sort of joy. This is everything I could have ever wanted for my birthday, and more.

This year, no wishes are even necessary.

CHAPTER 10

Manhattan, December 19, 2021

Petra Van Gatt

Alex grips the steering wheel even though we’ve stopped. His knuckles are white. “This is a mistake.”

“You’re overreacting,” I tell him, starting to exit the car.

But he doesn’t seem convinced and grabs my arm to stop me. “Petra, let’s just go home. They’re too young for this.”

I shake him off, disbelieving. “You said we needed to go out with the kids more often, so I planned this outing for all four of us and now they’re too young for it? Quit being weird!”

“We’re going to Aspen in three days,” he reminds me, causing a smile to spread up to my ears. The idea we’re gonna spend our first Christmas together, the four of us, fills me with excitement. Jeez, in just three days we’ll finally be off to our winter residence but this time with our kids! It’s crazy how fast time has passed, and the anticipation makes my heart flutter in my chest. “There will be plenty of suitable activities to do there with them.”

“I’m sure they are gonna enjoy being in a pool,” I insist, refocusing on the present issue. “And today it’s perfect since the instructor was available for a private class.”

I can see the tension in his jaw as he puts the car in park and takes a huge breath before blowing it out slowly. “We could have hired the teacher and done it in our own pool, you know.”

“They told me their pool is suitable for infants, but they couldn’t guarantee ours is,” I tell him, making this up. Truthfully, I really just wanted to get out of the house and go somewhere new to spend some family time. “Jasper already loves water and Jasmine seems pretty okay with it, so I’m sure they’re gonna be fine.”

“Alright,” he mutters. “But I still don’t like it.”

I give him another annoyed glance. Hopping out of the car and moving to the back door, I open it with a dramatic flourish that causes Jasmine to laugh, her lips drawn up in a grin that puts her gums on display.

“You ready for a special afternoon, princess?” I ask her, unhinging her car seat to carry her inside while Alex does the same for Jasper on the other side.

“We’re going to need a new car sooner or later,” he tells me casually as we head into the building.

I huff at his observation, head shaking. “What are you talking about? This one is perfectly fine.”

“As of right now it’s okay, and it’s got the bulletproof glass, so I’m not in too much of a hurry, but when they grow up, they’ll need a bit more space in the back.”

“You just want a new car,” I say, sliding him a glance out of the corner of my eye. “Admit it.” But he ignores me, using his hip to open the door to the glass and brick building, stepping out of the way so I can follow him inside.

The smell hits me immediately: chlorine and bleach, strong in the hot, humid air. It’s a nostalgic smell that reminds me of the swimming classes of my own childhood.

Everything, from the floors to the walls, is tile, with the exception of the wooden check-in desk with a bright-eyed receptionist sitting behind it.

“Take this,” I tell Alex, handing him Jasmine’s carrier and approaching the desk.

“Hi!” the receptionist says with a wide smile. “How can I help you?”

“We’re here for the two pm Tadpoles swim class, two babies and two adults.” I lower my voice, just in case anyone recognizes my name. “I made the booking under the name Petra Van Gatt.”

“Wonderful,” the receptionist says, her nails clicking rhythmically on the keyboard in front of her. “I’ve got you all checked in. You can take your little angels to the back wading pool. Here is your key card for your private family changing room. Enjoy!” She slides a key card across the counter to me and I pocket it.

“Thank you,” I tell her, heading back to Alex.

He’s taken a seat in one of the chairs dotting the lobby, having set both carriers down. The twins are wide-eyed and very awake, but quiet for the moment, taking in the blue and teal surroundings. Alex had brought in their diaper bag as well, brimming with white, fluffy towels. We are prepared, if not overly prepared, but Alex’s face still seems tense.

“You ready to go get changed?” I ask him, my hands on my hips.

“I’m assuming I don’t have any choice,” he mumbles grumpily, rising from his seat and grabbing Jasper’s carrier.

I know Alex has a valid point in thinking that a swimming class for infants is kind of crazy, but Lily had suggested I do some research into it and that she thought it would be a great experience.

After doing some reading, I had gotten more and more excited about the idea. The benefits of water time with young babies are huge, especially those like Jasmine, who are weaker than others her age.

The classes are less actual “swimming” and more spending time moving their bodies against the gentle resistance of the water to build strength in an easy, relaxing way. Floating is also good for the little ones, allowing them to relax their muscles while also building trust between parent and child. There is a reason why water exercise is used in physical rehabilitation after all!

“Will you just relax?” I ask him, keeping my voice low so no one else can eavesdrop. “It’s not like we’re training them for the Olympics or anything. It’s just a children’s swim class.”

Alex’s shoulders slump in resignation. “I know. I just don’t enjoy taking unnecessary risks with them after all we’ve been through.”

My annoyance with his resistance wanes. I still think this will be a wonderful experience for us, but I can sort of understand where he is coming from. “We want them to thrive, though, not just survive. For that, we need to take minor risks here and there. Plus, we’ll be holding them the whole time.”

“You’re damn right we will,” he insists, causing me to laugh.

I stop and kiss him on the cheek quickly before we head into the changing room. “You’re very dramatic.”

It would have been easier for us all to wear our suits to the swim class, but with it being nearly freezing outside, I had decided we would just change when we arrived. The whole facility is in one of the nicest parts of the city, and besides the specialty children’s swim experiences, they also offer water aerobics classes, authentic Swedish saunas, and hot mineral soaks, so it’s no surprise that their private family changing rooms are comfortable and borderline luxurious.

I tap the key card to the lock and the light above it turns green, allowing us inside. The floors are still tile but there are absorbent mats underneath the changing tables and in the shower to prevent slipping, along with our own lockers, a long wooden bench, and a mini fridge filled with cold bottled water.

Alex and I change first, him into simple black trunks and me into a red sporty one piece I had purchased for the occasion. I have drawers full of fashionable bikinis in the pale shades that compliment my skin tone, but I have this vision in my head of one twin yanking down my top or undoing a tie when I’m not paying attention, so for once in my adult life I purchased a proper athletic bathing suit.

Alex raises his eyebrows when he sees me in it, and I shoot him a glare. “Shut up. It’s a necessary evil and you know it.”

“I didn’t say a single thing,” he replies, amused. “But if you ever want to pursue a career in lifeguarding, just let me know.”

I fling a towel at him, and he laughs. As annoying as it is for him to poke fun at me, at least he is lightening up about the class.

We tag-team changing the twins, both in equally simple suits since the website for the class had said frilly or extravagant suits would get in the way. At least I was able to get them matching suits, both sporting a dark blue ensemble emblazoned with little orange goldfish. With their chubby legs and round bellies sticking out, the twins must be the cutest things on the planet.

When we’re all changed, we head out the second frosted door in the back of the changing room and emerge into the wading pool area. I’m glad that it doesn’t look as clinical and utilitarian as the pools of my childhood memories. Instead, the sides and edges of the large pool slope naturally down, including a gentle ramp for us to enter the water. It is noticeably hotter here, and I can feel the sweat beading on my forehead almost immediately. The overhead lights are bright LEDs, but the scenes of the forest painted on the walls nullify the harshness.

The instructor is already in the pool, a young woman with jet black hair tightly pulled into a ponytail and a blue bathing suit. The water reached her waist, and I’m glad we won’t be going any deeper this time around. She beckons us into the water, her brilliantly white teeth gleaming in her smile.

“Welcome in, guys! My name is Alana, and I’ll be showing you the ropes today. Since you’ve purchased the private class, it will be just us as I’m sure you already know.”

I smile back, holding Jasmine tightly to me as I descend the ramp into the water. “Hi, Alana. I’m Petra, this little chunk is Jasmine, and that’s my husband Alex with our bigger one, Jasper.”

“Love the names,” she says. “Is this your first time in a pool with them?”

I nod. “They were born in the summer, but they were preemies and swimming was just not in the cards.”

Alex comes in after me, and Jasper, our water lover, seems to sense what’s going on, and becomes increasingly excited about the prospect of an extra-large bath. His breathing is fast and loud, and he kicks his legs in anticipation.

The water is so warm that there is no hesitation as it brushes my calves and eventually my waist. Jasmine squeals as it laps at her feet, but I hold her out of the water mostly, letting her get used to the idea.

Alex, on the other hand, seems to be fighting a losing battle. Once the water touches Jasper’s foot, he becomes obsessed, wiggling in his father’s arms like a frantic fish. Alana raises an eyebrow and chuckles at the two of them.

“I guess it’s time to get started, then,” she declares happily.

She leads us through the first exercise of lowering the babies slowly in the warm water, letting them both adjust to being submerged instead if it being a shock. Jasper laughs loud enough to echo off the tile walls, but Jasmine is more reserved, watching me with a touch of apprehension in her blue eyes, as if to say, “I’m trusting you here, but I’m still not sure,” but once she’s up to her belly, she lets out a few inquisitive noises, splashing at the water with her hands.

I can sort of see why she’d be iffy about the situation. In the bath, they were always sitting on solid ground, but here, the only security they have is Alex and I’s grip. Alana has us hold them in place until Jasmine is comfortable and Jasper has settled down before we could move on to some movements.

First, we spin in a circle slowly, holding the babies around the middle. They both kick and splash, the instinctual swimming movements that all babies have coming out. Alex is as tense as I’ve ever seen him, but Jasper’s joy is infectious, and I can see the smile pulling at his mouth after a few minutes.

“Let them get a feel for the freedom of the water,” Alana instructs. “Don’t hold them with a tight grip, hold them loosely but securely so they have a range of movement.”

We stop and start a few times, moving in circles and straight lines, letting the twin’s reactions set the pace. Jasmine’s tiny face is scrunched in concentration as she paddles her legs through the water. She seems to really think she’s propelling herself, even though I’m the one moving her, and her stoic insistence on working hard is positively adorable. Jasper’s “swimming” is more chaotic, his stronger legs kicking up enough water to soak Alex’s hair. He sputters, but ultimately laughs along with his son, bobbing him up and down in the water to both of their delights.

“Now, for the biggest part of our lesson today: floating. Hold your baby in front of you and slowly rotate them to their back and place your hands under their backs, not gripping, just supporting. Once they realize they are floating nearly on their own, they will become calm.”

This is the part I know Alex has been the most concerned about, but he follows the instructor’s directions. With Jasper’s enthusiasm, Alex is having a harder time than me, but once he has him on his back the flailing subsides and Jasper seems almost serene, babbling quietly at the ceiling with his dad’s hands supporting him as he floats.

Jasmine doesn’t give me any sass, thankfully, and is easily moved into the floating position. Her tiny body is stiff with tension at first, but when she realizes she is safe and weightless, she relaxes into my supporting hands, a peaceful smile suffusing her face.

“Ma ma ma,” she whispers, eyes fluttering.

“I think she’s dozing off,” I tell Alana in a quiet hiss.

“That means she trusts you and the water fully. She’s completely at peace.”

Alex looks over at us. His expression is soft and loving. I smile back at him, and we both enjoy the quiet moment with our twins, all four of us completely at ease.

“I told you so,” I murmur to Alex, who sighs, looking at the ceiling briefly with a long-suffering look.

“I guess you did, didn’t you?”

Once the class is over, we go back inside our changing room, the kids already half-sleeping in our arms, wrapped in dry towels.

“It was such a great class, wasn’t it?” I ask Alex in a whisper so not to wake them up.

“Much better than I thought,” he admits, before he starts rinsing Jasper off at the showers. I do the same with my little princess, who opens her eyes wide once she feels the warm water coating her skin. My heart is full, filled with gratitude to have spent such a great time in the water with my two little mermaids. After the twins are fully clothed, Alex heads to the shower while I take a moment to check if I received the photos Alana sent me. She was kind enough to take a few pictures of us at the end of the class and I couldn’t wait to go and check them out. I plug in my phone and see a few unread messages. I find Alana’s and the beautiful photos we took during the class, but I also find another SMS. This one though is from a Dutch number I don’t recognize. Curiosity taking the better of me, I click on it and start reading: “Thank you so much to have invited me to Aspen for Christmas. I can’t wait to see the four of you very soon. We’re gonna have such a great time together. Best wishes, Margaret.”

WHAT! I nearly drop my phone in shock. What did I just read? It’s impossible! Not her! Not Margaret! Why is she even thanking me to have invited her? I never did that!

Unless…

My attention goes to the person standing tall inside the shower and my nerves start boiling under my skin, thinking about the probability that it was Alex who invited her on our behalf. “Petra and I would be delighted to have you with us,” I picture him saying to his mom.

I swallow the lump in my throat, filled with anger and sadness. I can’t believe she’s joining us for our first solo family trip in just a few days. What a nightmare… I look at the screen of my phone again, focusing in on the text message, making sure I read it properly. Damn, it really was Margaret.

“Are you okay?”

My eyes drift to where the voice is coming from and I find Alex standing tall out of the shower, a white towel wrapped around his hips, confusion laced all over his face.

After taking a few deeps breaths, I finally say, “We need to talk.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

HAPPILY EVER AFTER

MELANIE MARTINS

BOOK TWO

Melanie Martins, LLC

www.blossominwinter.com

Copyright © Melanie Martins 2022

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrial system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of its publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar conditions being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

First published in the United States by Melanie Martins, LLC in 2022.

ISBN (ebook) 978-1-7333564-1-1

ISBN (paperback) 978-1-7333564-5-9

CHAPTER 1

Manhattan, December 19, 2021

Petra Van Gatt

“What’s wrong?” Alex asks in the most innocent voice I have ever heard as he cautiously walks towards me. Despite his question, I’m pretty sure he knows exactly what’s wrong.

I can barely contain my anger, but I make an effort to extend my hand and show him the screen of my phone that displays his mother’s message.

My husband narrows his eyes, focusing on her SMS. “Oh, jeez!” He blows out a breath, running a hand through his wet hair. “I never thought she’d do that. I swear.”

My brows raise up instantly in confusion. “Do what?”

“Send you a text like that,” he answers. “I’m so sorry.”

The text doesn’t matter for god’s sake, I want to say out loud, but instead, and keeping my tone low so as to not wake up the twins, I ask, “But is it true or not that she is spending Christmas with us?”

“She was gonna spend it all alone Petra…”

I can’t help rolling my eyes, unable to give a damn about it.

“All of my sisters are spending Christmas abroad this year.”

As if it makes any difference!

“Yara is in Paris, Julia in a safari with her family somewhere in Kenya, and Maud will be in Germany. They nearly begged me to take her.”

I shake my head, so freaking disappointed at him for not standing his ground. “You could have said no.”

“She’s still my mother, Petra.”

“But she killed mine!” I scream in a whisper.

We see the twins moving slightly in their carriers, most likely disturbed at the strange noises coming from us, so we remain silent for a few seconds, while I try to calm down.

“The thing is, it’s not just my mom who is joining us,” he ventures cautiously.

“What do you mean?” I ask, already worried someone else from his family is coming over.

“Your dad and Catherine might have also invited themselves along.”

I let out a breath in exasperation at the news, dropping my arms against my hips. I purse my lips tight in a failed attempt to chill. Well, our first Christmas together and Alex managed to ruin it. “Why would you invite them?”

“Your dad wanted to invite us over and I told him we couldn’t as we were going to Aspen and he just… invited himself,” he says, keeping his tone so low that I can barely understand everything. “What could I do? Besides, he booked a villa for himself and Catherine, so it’s not like they are staying with us.”

As I ponder his explanation, having Dad and his girlfriend in Aspen is not that problematic—after all, I know Dad enjoys his privacy and is not a pain in the ass like Margaret is. “That’s not an excuse to bring your mother too.”

“Look, she will be there just for four nights. That’s it. She flies back to the Netherlands right after Christmas,” he answers as he starts drying himself with the towel. “It’s not the end of the world.”

It might not be the end of the world for him, but having to spend Christmas with the woman responsible for my mother’s death was the last thing I wanted to do.

The drive home is the tensest thirty minutes I have experienced in weeks, and I think the twins can sense it too. They fuss quietly in the back seat, clearly feeling some of the unrest flowing between their parents.

I’m dumbfounded still. Christmas with Margaret? Of all people. What have I done over the past few months to make Alex think that this is something I would ever be okay with? I waffle between being pissed off and on the verge of tears, feeling like my holiday is entirely ruined.

“You’re going to have to stop pouting,” Alex tells me, his jaw clenched and staring straight ahead.

I cross my arms and ignore him, staring resolutely out the window at the city as it passes. Damn it, I had plans! A calm, gentle Christmas with my family. I deserve the whole cheesy Christmas experience after everything I have been through this year, but no, Margaret has to stick her nose where it doesn’t belong and ruin everything. As always.

“You were excited about Aspen and totally fine with your dad being there,” Alex tries to speak to me again, taking a different tactic. “Isn’t that a bit hypocritical?”

I can’t hold my tongue any longer. “You like my dad!” I snap. “It’s different. For fuck’s sake, Alex!”

“It isn’t,” Alex says tightly. “But whatever you need to tell yourself, Petra.”

I’m so angry that I can hear my pulse in my ears, the blood rushing in my head. I take a few deep breaths, trying to lower the tension inside of me before we get home, and everyone knows that we’ve been fighting.

We drive in silence for the majority of the rest of the trip, Alex tries to goad me into talking a few more times, to no avail. I refuse to fight in front of the kids, so I bite the inside of my cheek until we finally get home.

I can feel the situation starting to heat up again as we unlatch the car seats from their bases and head to the lift. The twins are fighting sleep, and I can’t help but think they aren’t fully taking a nap because the almost fight between their parents has them grouchy.

We enter the condo and silently unbuckle the babies. I know that my refusal to talk is eating away at Alex, but I haven’t really had time to digest the news. It had been like whiplash, to go from joy at spending Christmas in Aspen with Alex and the babies, to the despair of knowing that Alex’s mother would be joining us. Not to mention the more subtle blow of learning my dad and his new girlfriend would be coming too. I felt like I had only a scant few weeks of peace with my children, and now I’m being thrown right back to the wolves.

As much as Alex is the love of my life, the underhanded manipulation that comes along with his social and family circles are exactly what I had wanted to escape when I was a little girl. No one ever seems to behave like a real person around Alex and me, besides the ones closest to us. Instead, everyone wears a fake face. Cleverly decorated masks that they all use to stab us in the back when we least expect it. It’s exhausting and his mom is a perfect example of such.

Jasmine clings to the collar of my shirt, her little fists tight, and nuzzles her face into my collarbone. It eases some of the anger burning inside me, and I return her snuggle, placing a kiss on her downy-soft hair. She sighs heavily, relaxing against me. Yeah, she’s really sleepy, poor thing.

Alex lifts Jasper out of his carrier, and I can see our son is equally tuckered out. Alex opens his mouth to speak, but I hold up a finger of my free hand to my lips, telling him to hush. His expression turns pinched and annoyed, but now just isn’t the time. I honestly just needed some time to think.

I know… I’ll go up to the atelier and paint my feelings out. There is a certain quietness in my mind when I paint that makes it the perfect activity to sort through tough thoughts and decisions. First, I have to ditch Alex. I can tell he’s brimming with unsaid words.

I brush past him, Jasmine still nodding off in my arms, and nearly run into Lily. She greets me with a polite smile.

“Welcome home, everyone. How did the little mermaids do at—oh.” She pauses, looking from my face to Alex’s, and she reads between the lines, sensing the brewing argument.

Lily reaches forward and gently takes the snoozing Jasmine from my grip, her words coming out more carefully this time. “I’m going to go put Jasmine down for her nap. Alex, I’ll be right back for Jasper.”

He gives her a curt nod, and she looks at me questioningly. I shake my head quickly, and she takes the hint, carrying Jasmine to the nursery. I follow behind her and then take the next set of stairs to the atelier, knowing that Alex must be internally fuming at my retreat, but hopefully he’ll take the hint and leave me alone for a little while.

The smell of paint and turpentine washes over me as I open the door to the atelier, and it immediately relaxes me. My little bit of sanctuary. I shut the door behind me, and stand in the open room for a moment, soaking it all in.

The hazy winter lights illuminate the room through the enormous windows, with lazy snowflakes falling sporadically over the city. None of them stick around long, but they are a forewarning of the winter to come. We can’t hide from the impending snowstorms forever.

The building is much draftier up here, and I rub my hands together as I gather my supplies, not having any sort of painting in mind, but just going with the flow. I grab grays and blues and a single evergreen, depositing them on the lip of my easel before setting a medium-sized canvas in front of them. I gaze out at the city, but instead, I see the mountains of Colorado. Okay, well, if I’ve got mountains on the brain, I’ll paint mountains too.

I start to paint and let my thoughts wander. The trip is problematic, and if I put my foot down, I’m sure I can avoid going, but it will upset Alex if I refuse. After the tumultuous year we’ve had, I’ve tried to avoid fighting with him when possible, and this is the biggest scuffle we’ve had in so long. Honestly, it leaves me a bit shaken. I don’t enjoy thinking about all the other fights we’ve had.

I sketch my mountains out with a dull pencil and chew absentmindedly on the eraser, as I think. How much does escaping this awful vacation mean to me? Would I be having Christmas alone, which would also mean that Alex would be away from his children during their first Christmas? I frown. No, that would never happen. So either he’d stay and be miserable or I’d go and be equally miserable.

Both of those options suck. Spreading the first dollop of paint on the canvas, I work it in. Can I tolerate Margaret? After all, the vacation is only a few days long, and from what Alex says, she is just desperate to spend time with her grandchildren and son, given the fact she hasn’t seen us since the twins’ baptism. Plus he claims that she’ll only be there until the day after Christmas Day… but who’s to say she won’t find a way to stick around longer?

Is Alex actually fooled by her act? I thought that he and I were on the same page regarding his snake of a mother, but I guess not. I toss the brush I’m using in the jar of water next to me, but before I can pick up the next brush, the door to the atelier creaks open.

Alex has apparently changed into jeans and a fitted black t-shirt, his hair wet all over again. Either the shower at the swim school hadn’t cut it for him, or he’d also needed some alone time to think. His feet are bare on the wooden floor, and if we hadn’t been in the middle of a disagreement, I’d have found him ridiculously handsome in this soft, domestic form.

“How long are you going to keep avoiding me?” he asks, leaning against the doorframe.

“It’s only been like an hour,” I reply, snatching a new brush up and continuing to paint. I can’t stand sitting here under his watchful eyes without keeping busy. This topic makes me nervous.

“An hour too long,” he replies, his tone neutral. At least he seems to have chilled out a bit.

I keep painting, but as the seconds stretch on I blow out a breath and respond. “I don’t know what you want me to say exactly. I hate the idea of being anywhere near your mom. I hate her holding my children and pretending that everything is fine. Sorry to say, but with the exception of your dad, I don’t have any interest in being around your family.”

He closes his eyes for a second. “I thought you’d realize by now that it’s not as simple as that. I came with some baggage, and that includes my family.” His face takes on a guarded look. “Are you regretting taking on that baggage, Petra?”

“Never,” I say meekly.

He seems momentarily relieved. “Petra, we’re going to Aspen.”

I rub my hands over my face, hoping that I’m not smearing paint all over myself. “I know.”

“Can’t you find even a little bit of excitement about this? We’re spending Christmas exactly where I took you two years ago. We’re going back to our winter wonderland.” He puts amused inflection on the last two words, but it doesn’t drag the smile out of me he’s expecting.

Although... I appreciate how calmly he’s approaching this problem. When I saw the look on his face in the car, I was sure I was going to see some of the cold and calculated Alex that comes out when he really needs to win an argument at work. When we had first gotten together, Alex had used that cutting edge of his personality to win disagreements between us, too. I don’t love the cajoling, but at least he’s trying.

“Petra,” he sighs. “Can you at least look at me?”

I set my brush down and turn to face him, our eyes meeting. He holds my gaze, and the space between us seems both miles long and mere inches. Neither of us speaks for the moment, and I hope he can see in my gaze the turmoil that I’m going through. Alex seems to explore my eyes for a few moments, and I sort of wish that I had something to say to end the argument, but there was nothing new to add. Alex knows I don’t want to see or be around his mom, and he also knows how important this Christmas is to me. What else is there to say, knowing he’s going to get his way and I’m going to be left with no choice? Left empty handed.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh. “I’m done talking about this for right now.”

He barks a laugh, incredulous. “Done? We haven’t even really started. You just want to pout and paint and ignore me.”

I bristle at that, and in a fit of making a point, I stand and turn my easel and chair away from him, continuing to paint with my back towards him. I can almost feel Alex stewing behind me, and if I could see him, I know that he’d be clenching and unclenching his fists in frustration.

I expect another cutting remark, or maybe that he’ll just turn around and leave. What I don’t expect is Alex’s swift footsteps behind me, and then suddenly he’s there, one hand clamped on the back of my neck while he growls into my ear. “You will not ignore me like this, little Petra.”

I gasp when he fastens his teeth on the shell of my ear, the brush clattering to the floor. He moves his hand from my nape to my shoulder, thumb brushing against my pulse point. The heat of his anger has transformed into another sort of heat, and if we weren’t going to work through our issues with words, apparently we were going to work through them another way.

I try to turn to face him, but he holds me fast, a hand on each of my shoulders now, as he nips and kisses at the back of my neck, his breath hot on my chilled skin.

“Alex,” I breathe, and he chuckles sarcastically.

“Oh, so now you’re speaking to me. Stand up.”

Gulping, I do as I’m told. Alex doesn’t even bother to shut the door of the atelier or the curtains over the windows that face out into the city as he pulls my soft cashmere sweater over my head. I hadn’t bothered putting on anything underneath after the class, figuring I’d have a long hot shower and change once I got home. Now I stand shivering in the drafty room only in jeans, my bare toes curling over the old wooden floors.

Alex moves so that he is now in front of me, undoing the button of my jeans as his eyes sweep over my body, taking in how my nipples have pebbled in the chill and the goosebumps rising on my flesh. He works at the zipper of my pants as he leans in, kissing me briefly.

“Have I got your attention now?” he asks in a low growl, pinching one nipple and causing me to cry out. For some reason, I hold my tongue and the dark laugh he gives me makes me momentarily wary.

“I said,” he starts, tugging my pants to the floor and pulling me forward so I stumble out of them. “Have I got your attention?”

I turn my jaw away, both flushed with the heat of his touch while still being mildly annoyed that he is blindsiding me by turning my very real feelings into a sex game, but any of my rational thoughts are thrown out the window when he cups my pussy over my white cotton panties, sliding a finger down my covered slit. I don’t know if it was the adrenaline of having Alex undress me here, or how turned on his domineering side always makes me, but I’m already soaking wet for him.

“Answer me,” he demands, yanking my panties down too so I’m completely bare before him. “Or I leave you up here, alone. And nude.”

“Yes,” I bite out, swaying into his touch when he rewards my reluctant answer by pulling me into his embrace. “Yes, you have my attention.”

“Good,” he tells me shortly, and he gives me a minute to snuggle my naked form into him, absorbing his warmth, before he slips his arm under my bottom and hoists me up. I instinctually wrap my legs around him as he carries me to the enormous windows, cloudy with frost, and before I can muster a squeal, he has pressed my bare back to the glass.

I suck in air, shocked at the sudden, nearly unbearable chill, and try to squirm away. Alex supports me with one arm, keeping me pinned to the glass as he works at his own jeans until they fall to his ankles.

The only source of warmth for me is the hot press of his unclothed hips and erect shaft crowding against my thighs. I’m full-on shaking now, both from the cold and the thrill of what we’re about to do. As he wordlessly fits himself at my entrance, I dazedly realize he hadn’t been wearing underwear. That prick, he had been planning this all along!

My treacherous mind goes blank when he pushes himself inside, through my damp folds, and straight to my core. A small whine escapes my lips, while Alex presses his forehead to mine with a drawn-out groan.

“You win,” I pant, stopping my struggles and wrapping my legs tight around him. His huff stirs the loose hair at my neck, and after he lets us both adjust for a few seconds, he begins to move.

I’m freezing when he starts, but within minutes I’m hot all over, the heat of our bodies clearing the fog from the windows. Alex cups my chin with one hand, supporting my weight with his body and my arms around his shoulders. “Look at me,” he says, his voice leaving no room for argument.

I lift my eyes to his, feeling dazed as he drives into me over and over. Satisfaction and triumph flash over his expression, and he kisses me bruisingly before pulling back. “Keep your eyes on me the whole time. Don’t hide from me, wife. Stay with me.”

Oh. This isn’t just about the sex or the argument. Was Alex… afraid that I was shutting him out? That had never been my intention. He watches my face, my eyes, the curve of my throat as I throw my head back, tension building inside me like an oncoming storm.

“Stay with me,” Alex repeats, his own voice fraught with how close he was to finishing.

“Always,” I whimper. “I’m so close, Alex.”

He tilts his hips, just so, and the thick head of his manhood strokes my inner walls in such a way that suddenly I’m having trouble breathing. “Just like that,” I encourage. “I’m going to… I’m g—”

The back of my head hits the glass with a “thunk” as lightning shoots down my spine and I come undone around Alex’s cock. He curses, clutching me harder as he thrusts into me erratically before he too is coming apart at the seams.

My peak rushes over me in waves as Alex stays pressed against me, and for a time I’m not sure where he begins and I end. As I come back to my senses, the cold seeps in from my back again, and I feel his body start to relax in small increments.

Still, I don’t fight him or protest as he takes my lips in an achingly tender kiss, telling me without words that he needs me, and not to shut him out again. I let my fingers tangle through his hair, and in the back of my mind, I vaguely think, Fine, Aspen it is.

Alex and I dress quietly, having said so much of what needed to be said with our bodies. My insecurities are still rolling inside me like the tides, but there is nothing to do about it now. I hadn’t even seen Margaret yet, and here she was driving a wedge between Alex and me. We needed to get ahead of that negativity, and the sooner the better.

He kisses my forehead gently, and we walk downstairs, leaving my half-painted mountain scape behind. There’s a lot to do, so I decide that I can just pick things up later again.

Back on the first floor, I make my way to the shower while Alex goes to his office to get some work done. I try not to think about the insane amount of packing that will have to be done for myself and the twins as I shower, letting the hot water pour over me and wash away at least some of my worries.

Scrubbing my hair between my hands, I mentally take stock of my biggest concerns so I can deal with them first. There was no ditching Margaret. She was undoubtedly coming with us, but that didn’t mean we had to spend all our time with her. I make a mental note to check out all the family friendly activities in the area to keep us busy and away from his mother.

Since Margaret is only staying with us for four nights, I’m sure I can convince Alex to take us out to dinner for two of them, which eliminates at least a little bit of Margaret time. Jeez! And Lily had requested to take a few days off for Christmas. It didn’t bother me when I thought it’d be only the four of us going to Aspen, but now that Margaret would be coming too, it’s a whole different story. Not having a nanny isn’t the end of the world, but it means that this vacation won’t leave any time open for Alex and I to be alone. The thought gives me a pang of sadness, but maybe we could go back some other time by ourselves.

I towel dry and wrap my robe around myself, examining my reflection in the mirror. Alex and I both have a decent collection of winter clothing from living in Manhattan for so long, but I haven’t skied in two years. I’ll have to get some snow-proof clothes and shoes, a few different coats, and nice warm buntings for the twins. Picturing the kids playing on the snow with us brings a much-needed smile to my lips.

Winter is my favorite season and not even Margaret is going to ruin it! Come to think of it, I wonder if our trip is last-minute enough that the press won’t get wind of it? The paparazzi were frantic during the lawsuits and even after we brought the babies home, but soon enough they discovered how boring we were in our normal day-to-day life. There were only so many photos that could be taken of Alex and me pushing a stroller. In Aspen, on the other hand, it would be fresh, new scenery with a host of different photo opportunities that would include his mom. If word gets out that we’re headed there for Christmas, there might be trouble.

I shrug off my concerns and change into my leggings and crew neck sweatshirt for the evening. If they wanted to take pictures, so what? It’d just be more stroller-pushing… only in Aspen this time instead of New York.

Feeling a little more in control of my plans, I grab my laptop and notebook before jogging down the stairs to the dining room. The twins are already settled into their high chairs and are being spoon fed by Lily, who waves me off when I try to take over.

“Don’t worry about it! Alex told me about your vacation plans… I’m willing to bet that you’re itching to do some research.” Lily’s smile drops a little, and it seems she’s unsure about her next question. “Are you… excited?”

I plop into one of the dining room chairs closest to the three of them after giving Jasper and Jasmine quick kisses on the forehead. “I’m resigned, and reluctantly optimistic.”

“I understand,” Lily responds with a nod. “Last minute plans and babies just don’t mix, especially if they’re vacation plans. But I’m sure you’ll enjoy yourself.”

I contemplate bringing up Margaret and getting Lily’s thoughts on the whole ordeal, but that isn’t fair to Lily. She’s our live-in nurse and nanny, and always has a listening ear when I have questions about the kids, but burdening her with my inter-familial drama is probably crossing the line. I give her a tired smile, cracking open my laptop.

“Have you ever been to Colorado, Lily?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “If I wanted cold weather, I would just stay right here in New York.” She appears to shiver a bit. “My family is originally from Jamaica, so the cold isn’t my favorite thing in the world, as you can imagine. What will you guys be doing in Aspen?”

I shrug. “Well, skiing is what most people go for, and the mountain views of course. But there are some great hot springs, and all the Christmas events going on this time of the year. Lights, carolers, meeting Santa, horse-drawn carriages—oh! That’s a great idea. Let me make a note of that.”

I scribble down “carriages” on my list I had titled “Distractions from Margaret” while Lily wipes Jasmine's mouth, followed by Jasper’s.

“It all sounds lovely,” she comments as she cleans the twins' dinner up.

I make a noncommittal noise, scrolling through the attractions in the Aspen area with rapt concentration. I’m so involved that I jump when a mug of orange spice tea, steam coiling off it, is plonked down next to my laptop. I turn to see Alex, arms crossed, and an eyebrow raised.

“I made you some tea,” he says blandly.

I scramble to shut my notebook, so he doesn’t see my anti-Margaret plans. “Thanks, honey, all done with work stuff?” I ask, wrapping my hands around the mug he’d just given me.

“Yes.” He glances at the empty high chairs. “I passed Lily on the way to the nursery. You, uh, want to watch a movie? Us and the kids?”

“A movie?” I repeat, reveling in his uneasiness. I smile at him, sipping my warm drink and remembering how cold, and then burning hot, he had made me earlier. “I’m not sure Jasmine and Jasper are at movie watching age.”

“It’s tradition, though,” he insists. “Frosty the Snowman is on.”

It’s my turn to raise an eyebrow at him. “Seriously?”

Alex’s face softens. “Let’s just chill out, Petra.”

It’s such a silly idea and request that I can’t help but be charmed by it. I nod, closing my laptop and Alex laces his fingers through mine as we walk to the living area for our Christmas movie evening.

The twins, already sleepy with their full bellies, are content to sit on our laps in the dark, all of us wrapped in warm fleece blankets as Frosty the Snowman plays on the screen in all its technicolor, claymation glory. I haven’t seen the movie since I was a kid, but seeing Alex bounce Jasmine along to the songs, just to hear her little laugh, makes me realize he was right. Things like this can be Christmas traditions if we want them to be, and what better time to start than now?

Jasper has grabbed huge handfuls of my sweater and nuzzles his face into my middle, his eyelids heavy. I pull him close, and although he gives the movie more attention than I thought he would, it isn’t long until his squirming has stopped and his breathing evens out. He’s completely asleep.

I peek over at Alex and Jasmine to see the same scene. He gives me an indulgent smile. “I guess they had too big of a day to watch the whole thing.”

At that moment, I yawn hugely, and Alex chuckles. “They aren’t the only ones,” I say.

“You want to put them to bed?” Alex suggests.

We should, but I don’t really want to. Jasper’s body is warm and heavy against me; he’s already so much bigger than he was nearly six months ago, and I just want to take in this sweet little moment. Just a mom, a dad, and their two sleepy babies under the light of the Christmas tree.

“Let’s wait awhile,” I tell him in a whisper, and he nods.

I watch the children’s movie, not really paying attention to it, just soaking in the peaceful night after such a tumultuous day. I think back on my anti-Margaret list, and all the activities I have already mapped out for us to do without her.

What does she have in mind? Is she looking for this little vacation as a way to get closer to me? If she thinks I’m gonna put my guard down, she’s very mistaken.

I don’t know if it’s the movie playing, my thoughts surrounding Margaret, or my soft little Jasper sleeping in my lap, but my thoughts wander to my own mother. Did we ever have moments like this? Did she ever decorate a tree with me, or watch these silly movies? I honestly can’t remember, but it all just makes me feel sad. My expression must reflect my thoughts, because Alex clears his throat softly.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Just… everything. I’m worried, Alex.”

He can’t move too much without jostling Jasmine, but he runs his sock-covered foot over my calf. “I know. Just trust me a little, alright? You can tell me anything, but just trust that I’m trying my best to do what I think is right.”

I swallow hard, still feeling shaky, but I’ll try to give him the benefit of the doubt and have faith. “Okay. I’m gonna do this…for you.”

A few more quiet minutes pass before he asks, “Is there anything else, love? Any other reservations about this whole thing?”

I nibble my lip, wondering if what I’m about to say is shallow. “I know it seems stupid, but Emma and I worked hard picking out all these decorations and stuff. I hate to leave it all behind after the effort we put in.”

Alex blinks a few times, looking pensive. It’s clear he hasn’t considered this. I can see the gears turning in his mind as he looks around our overly decorated living room. I giggle, seeing him wince at some of the gaudier decor.

“It will look nice, Petra. The villa should already be done up with proper Christmas decorations before we get there, and I made sure there is an enormous, natural tree too.”

I sigh. I appreciate the effort, but I know what Alex’s idea of a “proper Christmas” is. Whites, silvers, and golds. Reserved, expensive, and flawless. He just doesn’t understand my drive and desire for a more colorful and childlike Christmas experience. But… at least he’s trying.

I fake a grin for him. “Thank you. I’m sure it will be perfect.”

We spend the rest of the evening talking softly about presents, what to buy the twins, and some of the Christmas traditions we both had as kids. The last subject leaves me feeling a little hollow, knowing that he and I both had Christmases filled with expensive gifts but very little genuine affection and love.

Kissing my son's head, I vow it will be different from here on out. For all of us, not just Jasper and Jasmine. Alex and I will open presents on the floor with the kids, throwing wrapping paper everywhere and laughing. We’ll make Christmas cookies and even leave some out for Santa. We will watch these goofy movies year after year, until we know every word. My babies will grow up with great Christmas memories.

We are going to have an amazing holiday in Aspen, Margaret and all her scheming be damned.

CHAPTER 2

Manhattan, December 22, 2021

Petra Van Gatt

“I’m really trying my best not to cry at your feet and beg you to come with us,” I tell Lily, only half joking.

She laughs sweetly and hugs me. Her bags are loaded in the cab waiting downstairs, and I’m sure she is itching to get out of gray, slushy New York. Lily is spending the holiday with some of her extended family back in Jamaica, and she’ll no doubt be unwinding from being my right-hand woman all these months.

“You’re going to be perfectly fine,” Lily insists.

I want to tell her I don’t believe her, and that I’m nervous as heck about not having her be a text or intercom call away, but I also don’t want her carrying any guilt into her vacation time. So I swallow my fears and plaster on a grin.

“I know you’re right, but we’re all going to miss you!” I assure her. Jasper and Jasmine, temporarily contained in the extra-large playpen we had set up in the living room, shout their agreement and rattle the sides of the pen. “See what I mean?”

Lily blows the twins a kiss before disappearing out the door, and suddenly, I’m alone. It’s eight a.m. on December 22nd, and I’m completely running solo for the first time in months. Maria had taken off yesterday evening, after asking Alex at least a dozen times if there was someone to cook for us at the villa. He had laughed and assured the small woman that we would be well fed and taken care of, and she had finally left.

It’s silly that I feel so strange being here by myself, but I just can’t help it. I can’t remember a time that Lily wasn’t either helping me or was just a floor away in her basement apartment if I needed her. This really is a novel experience for me.

Alex texts me saying he’s finishing a few things at work, and then he’ll be home to take us to Teterboro for the flight. Dad and Catherine left this morning, so we might be the last ones to leave for Aspen.

After reading his SMS, I type, “I assume your mother is flying her broom down?” and briefly consider sending the message, but I decide at the last minute to delete it. Still, I give myself a good laugh.

After a much more polite query on my end, Alex informs me that Margaret is already on her way to our villa.

Our villa? I ponder the phrase, tapping my finger on my lips as I read the message over a few times. Surely Alex didn’t mean that Margaret is staying with us? I want to grill him about it, but eventually I decide to let that slide too. Today is already going to be tense enough without Alex and I arguing. I’ll find out the truth soon enough with my own two eyes, anyway.

I pocket my phone and sit on the floor next to the playpen, absentmindedly entertaining the twins while I wait on my husband. Today will be the twins’ first time on a plane, and I’m already dreading the experience. Flying to Aspen takes between four and five hours, since we don’t have any layovers, so it isn’t an excruciatingly long flight, but still… Four to five hours with unhappy twin infants is never a good time; especially when you’re not in the comfort of your own home. I wish it was as easy as a car ride, but the takeoff and pressure changes are sure to make their ears hurt, and with no way to bring them relief, they’re going to be royally pissed for a while.

After we are safe in the air, I can take them out of their seats to console them, which should help a bit, but four hours is still a long time. I woke them up early today, at 5:30 a.m., hoping that they would be well and truly tired by takeoff time and sleep through a good portion of the flight. If I could get them to sleep through takeoff, things would be even better.

“You two little muffins have no idea what’s in store,” I tell them.

Jasper has managed to crawl a few shaky paces, but Jasmine is still locomoting by rolling and scooting herself around. She doesn’t get far, and she definitely isn’t fast, but she is determined. Her pediatrician said that it’s normal for her to be a bit behind with physical milestones, considering how small she is, but the fact that Jasmine seems so dead set on keeping up with Jasper is a good sign.

Sitting on my knees, I let them show me their toys one by one, babbling to each other and to me as they occupy themselves. Two sets of bright blue eyes watch me carefully examine each toy they hand me, excitedly snatching it back when I’m done.

“Fascinating,” I say once I’ve finished giving a stuffed teal duck a thorough once over. “Here you go.”

They squabble over the duck, Jasmine winning the tugging contest while Jasper sits in defeat, his bottom lip pushed out.

“Oh no, poor little prince. Come to mommy,” I tell him, scooping him up and planting kisses all over his soft, chubby cheeks. I’m just about to switch out for Jasmine when the door opens and Alex enters, a beautiful smile stretching his lips upwards.

“Are we all ready to leave?” he asks, an excited tone in his voice. He clearly hasn’t thought about how stressful the flight will be.

“Yup,” I respond. “Help me get the seats and we’ll get out of here!”

We snap the two wriggling babies into the car seats, tucking thick blankets around them for warmth once they are buckled safely. Alex seems to be in a rush, and I’m not sure why. It is his jet after all. It’s not like it’s going to leave without us.

I’m about to ask him what the deal is when he turns to me, Jasper’s car seat held in one arm and our leather diaper bag slung across his chest. “Sorry, it’s just that my Mom arrived way earlier than I anticipated.”

I nod with a small smile, but wince once he turns back around. The last thing I needed to know is that Margaret has already arrived.

The drive to Teterboro is uneventful, besides Alex buzzing with excitement in the front seat beside the driver Zach. I’m sitting in the back between the car seats, determined to keep the twins awake so they would sleep through the flight. I tickle tiny feet and play over a dozen games of peek-a-boo, but I still feel like I’m losing the battle. Every time I turn to one twin to entertain them, the other’s eyes get suspiciously droopy.

I’m sure I’m about to lose Jasmine to nap time when Zach blessedly pulls into the airport, sliding the car into the parking space effortlessly. The sky is spitting a disgusting mix of sleet and snow, and I wait patiently for Zach to get the huge umbrella out of the trunk so we can head inside.

The cold wakes the babies up fully, turning their little cheeks rosy. The inside of the small airport is wonderfully toasty, but it isn’t long until Alex has confirmed all our details and we are headed out to the tarmac to board the jet.

I take one longing look over my shoulder at what little of the city I can still see before I climb the stairway into the plane. It’s a familiar space, full of whites and creams, with huge seats up front and the small but fully functional living area in the back. I blow out an exhausted breath and strap Jasmine’s car seat into the chair next to me before taking a seat myself.

Alex follows suit, and before I know it, we’re ready for takeoff. I chew my bottom lip nervously, but Alex reaches across the aisle to me and lays a large, grounding hand on my knee. “We’ve flown so many times. It will all be okay.”

I nod tightly, not completely convinced. The flight attendant checks on us briefly, but I decline the offer of any refreshments, my stomach roiling with anxiety. Motherhood has made me more perceptive of the dangers of everyday life, flying included, and I can’t help the sinking feeling I’m experiencing as we prepare for takeoff.

Jasmine, on the other hand, has realized that she’s finally been spared from my efforts of keeping her awake. I motion for Alex to pass me one of the prepared formula bottles out of the portable bottle warmer in the diaper bag, and I feed Jasmine a quick half-portion of milk.

“Not the entire bottle,” I instruct Alex, who has followed my lead and is feeding Jasper. “We don’t want them to get sick on takeoff.”

“Right,” he says, not looking up from feeding his son. There is a little wrinkle of concentration between Alex’s brows, and it reminds me of the same one Jasper gets when he’s thinking really hard about crawling or pulling himself up. It makes me giggle, and some of my tension flows away. Okay, we can do this. It’s just a flight.

The twins, with their bellies full, doze off fully right before we take-off. I grip the arms of the seat, my knuckles white, but the babies sleep through the whole thing as we begin our ascent. I exhale slowly as everything evens out.

Take off completed, now we just have to make it through the flight itself and landing. I have no illusions that the kids will sleep the whole four hours, so my plan is to wake them up around hour three for the rest of their bottle, diaper changes, and whatever else they need at the time. The white noise of the plane engines and the low voices of the pilots and flight attendant talking help to sooth my nerves, and I settle back into my seat and let my muscles relax. Alex looks up from the laptop he had grabbed once Jasper fell asleep and gives me a patient look.

“So far, so good,” he comments. “Why don’t you go in the back and try to get some sleep? You look like you’ve been up all night.”

I touch the thin skin under my eye, wondering how bad my dark circles are. Even though it’s still early, it’s been a busy morning, and a nap doesn’t sound all that bad. I shoot a look at the sleeping babies before turning back to Alex, a questioning look on my face.

“Don’t worry,” he assures me. “If they wake up, I’ll take care of them. Go on.” He waves towards the back of the plane.

I relent, feeling relieved. Now that I’m acknowledging it, sleepiness is weighing my limbs down, and my jaw cracks as I yawn hugely. I don’t even bother flicking the lights on in the plane's bedroom, I just crawl under the covers of the queen-sized bed. I leave the door open, and the daylight from the open door makes me feel a little better about leaving Alex alone with the twins. They’re only a few steps away.

My nap is wonderfully deep and peaceful, at least for a while, but I’m awoken when I feel a weight sitting on the other side of the mattress. I open one eye to see Alex holding both twins in his arms. Jasper is on his way to crying, making unhappy noises while he rubs his eyes, while his sister pulls at her father’s short hair.

“They’re awake,” he explains as I haul myself up into a sitting position against the headboard. “And a bit grumpy.”

“I gathered that,” I tell him, reaching my arms out. Alex hands me Jasmine, to the relief of his scalp, I’m sure. He plops Jasper down next to me on the bed before going back out front to grab their bottles.

“We’re about an hour out.” Alex tells me as he settles in next to the twins and I. “Think we can keep them entertained until then?”

“I don’t think we have much of a choice,” I say, stretching my arms over my head before taking one of the warmed bottles from Alex. Jasmine reaches out excitedly and I cradle her in my arms, letting her have her post-nap meal. “We’re going to have to do a lot of that this week.”

Alex hums in agreement, kicking his feet up on the bed and leaning over Jasper so he can feed him too. After a minute, he comments, “It will be fun.”

I smile down at my daughter’s little face, her sapphire eyes content as she drinks. “Yeah, it will.”

CHAPTER 3

Aspen, December 22, 2021

Petra Van Gatt

The jet circles Aspen-Pitkin airport briefly, giving us enough time to drag ourselves and the twins out of the bed and get them back into their car seats. After their stint of freedom crawling and rolling around the bed while Alex and I tried to distract them with cartoons on the iPad, they are not thrilled to be going back into their confining car seats.

We'd avoided the ear-popping with the pressure change on takeoff, but we aren’t so lucky during the descent. They have contented themselves to play with the baubles and mirrors hanging from the handle of their car seats at first, but it doesn’t take long until they furrow their brows and start to pull at their earlobes.

It escalates to full-blown crying, which is only slightly alleviated by the pacifiers I give them halfway through. Once the plane touches down, I blow out a relieved breath, rubbing my temples to dissipate the headache building.

The pilot brings the plane to the stopping point, and we prepare to disembark, grabbing the diaper bag and discarded coats and blankets. It’s amazing how chaotic a space can become in such a short time when six-month-olds are involved.

I’m trying not to be excited, to temper my expectations of this trip and accept that there is going to be a good dash of interpersonal drama with my dad, Catherine, and Margaret all present, but as soon as I get a glimpse out the plane window all my logic floats away like petals on the breeze. Oops. I’m excited.

Mountains loom over the town like guardians, massive and casting us in their shadows. The snow here is different from how it is in Manhattan. Instead of slushy and gray, everything is pristine and white, as if someone has delicately frosted all of Aspen in confectioners' sugar.

My heart warms up at the memories I have from here and especially my last trip here with Alex, two years ago. It’s insane how fast time goes.

I’m internally kicking myself for leaving my mountain painting undone at home, because one look at the place has me itching to put a brush to canvas. It’s like an artist’s dream, inspiration wise. I hold Jasmine’s carrier in the crook of one arm once we reach the bottom of the plane's stairs and use my free hand to dig my phone from my pocket and snap a few hasty pictures for later. Maybe there’s an art store somewhere where I could pick up a travel kit.

“Roy and Catherine got in a few hours ago,” Alex says, checking his own phone for messages. “They want to meet us at a cafe near their villa if you’re okay with that?”

I slide my phone back into my pocket and nod. “Yeah, that’s fine. I’m a little peckish, anyway.”

We don’t have a driver for our time in Aspen, but the Audi Q7 that Alex rented is waiting for us in the parking lot outside of the airport, car seat bases already installed. We click the chilly twins in, and Alex starts the vehicle up. I immediately turn on the heated seats, melting into the leather with a heavy sigh. Alright, we’re here. Let the Christmas wonder commence.

The cafe is a good halfway point between the airport and the villa, and since it’s a Wednesday, the traffic isn’t too hectic. The closer we get to downtown, the more intense the Christmas decor around the city becomes; the kid in me wants to press my nose against the car window and take it all in. I can hardly wait for nighttime when everything is lit up.

Cafe Jour De Fete is nearly empty, the lunch rush having departed a few hours earlier, and it’s easy for us to find the table near the back where Dad and Catherine are seated. Catherine's sporting dark snow pants and an elegant white turtleneck sweater but she doesn’t bother standing as we approach.

Dad, thankfully, does rise, shaking Alex’s hand before wrapping me in a quick embrace. He leans over to greet the twins, who both start to kick happily.

“Good to see you, kid,” Dad says gruffly. “How was your flight?”

“It went as smooth as could be expected with the babies,” I answer before turning to Catherine. “Good afternoon, Ms. Dubois,” my voice is wary, unsure about the energy she’s putting off.

“Oh please, call me Catherine,” she says with a dismissive wave, offering me no greeting in return before she takes another sip on her cup of hot chocolate. Did the flight leave her in a bad mood? Alrighty then, I guess that’s how things will be.

We’ve just sat down, Jasper held in my lap while my father holds Jasmine, when the bell of the entrance door tinkles, alerting us that someone else has entered the cafe.

If I was a little more dramatic, I’d say that the temperature in the place dropped significantly when Margaret walked in, but since my back was to the entrance, the only two things that clued me in were the tensing of my dad’s shoulders and my husband rising up from his seat.

“Mother,” I hear Alex say, his voice cautious, and I have to close my eyes to prepare myself.

I’d have liked to ignore Margaret the whole time, or pretend that she was invisible, but Alex’s mother simply can’t be ignored. Her presence seems to fill the small cafe, causing the room to shrink and the air to be thinner.

I look over my shoulder to see Alex and Margaret talking softly by the counter, Margaret wrapped in a white fur coat that seems to double her in size. Her pale silver hair is swept back into a classic bun on the back of her neck, and her ears are covered with white earmuffs that perfectly match her coat. She radiates wealth and importance, and I cannot help but roll my eyes at the whole thing.

I’m still watching Alex and his mom, but out of the corner of my eyes, I can see Catherine lean over to whisper something into my dad's ear. He shakes his head sharply, and Catherine sits back in her seat, mouth pinched. Uh-oh, I’m sensing some sort of conflict on the horizon. How will this all go down, I wonder.

Alex takes Margaret's coat when she shrugs it off, and she pulls down the earmuffs until they hang around her neck. She’s dressed in a dark green turtleneck that looks incredibly soft to the touch, paired with dark tailored snow-pants and short-heeled booties. They clack on the tile floor as she comes over to us, eyes hungrily taking in first Jasper, who is in my lap, and then Jasmine, in my dad’s.

Dad stands to greet her, and they exchange three-cheek kiss. Catherine, on the other hand, just smiles politely at her and I wonder silently if the two have ever met before. I know next to nothing about Catherine, but her presence may be enough of a distraction that Margaret’s laser-focused attention won’t be on me this whole time.

“Roy,” Margaret says with a curt nod, her voice lightly accented and polished. “And my beautiful daughter-in-law, Petra. How are you, my dear?”

My spine tenses, but I try my best to keep it from showing on my face. “Fine,” I bite out, my arms tightening around Jasper, who squeaks in response.

Margaret, seeming to have forgotten our last tense interaction, reaches out a perfectly manicured hand to stroke Jasper’s cheek. Every instinct in me wants to slap her hand away, but Jasper, not being one for strangers, turns his head away on his own accord. Margaret pats his soft hair instead, looking slightly disappointed.

“They look wonderful, Alex. So healthy,” she says, taking the teacup her son offers her as he returns. “May I hold one of my grandchildren?”

I stay silent, turning my body so she can’t try to pluck my son from my embrace. Alex starts to say something, but my dad interrupts by holding Jasmine up slightly. “You can take her, Margaret,” he says, before sliding me a look that reads “Don’t argue.”

I think about all the ways I’m going to scold my dad when we’re alone for this breach of trust, but I shouldn’t have worried. As soon as Margaret reaches down for Jasmine, she clutches my father’s arms like a life raft, even going so far as to turn her head away from her paternal grandmother and lean heavily away.

Margaret looks more annoyed by the second. “Oh, will you just hand her here? She’s just being contrary.”

I’ve still only said one word to Margaret, because everyone keeps stealing my thunder when it’s time to talk. This time, it’s Catherine, who barks out a laugh loud enough that I jump.

“She obviously doesn’t want you to hold her,” Catherine says simply, sipping her drink, unbothered, when Margaret stares daggers in her direction.

“And you are?” Margaret inquires, voice dripping with icicles. She finally looks at Catherine fully, and I can’t help but notice an odd moment pass between the two of them. It almost seems like the next few seconds are being read from a script.

“Catherine Dubois, but don’t worry, I already know who you are, Ms. Van Dieren.”

Margaret tilts her head slightly. “Has anyone ever told you that you look shockingly like Roy’s ex-wife?”

Catherine fluffs her short, yellow-blond hair with one hand. “Yes, actually. Seems like Roy has a type. Say, Ms. Van Dieren, you knew Tess too, didn’t you? Rather…personally?”

If the temperature had dropped when Margaret arrived, Catherine had just thrown us all into the Arctic Ocean. The silence is so deafening that it presses unpleasantly on my eardrums. Everyone is refusing to even breathe for a second, and my chest is tight with the shock of Catherine’s words. Who exactly is this woman?

“Catherine,” Dad hisses, taking his girlfriend's arm in a tight grip. “I think it’s time we head back to our villa.”

Much to Jasmine’s intense displeasure, my dad hands her over to Margaret, who takes her with a smug look on her face. Jasmine leans hard away from her grandmother, but Margaret has her held quick. I shiver, seeing my daughter in her arms. It’s one of the things I had hoped to never see in my lifetime.

“Yes,” Catherine purrs. “Let’s go back to our private villa. You’re staying with your son, right, Ms. Van Dieren? I understand.” Her smile turns wicked on her lovely face. “It’s not every day you can see him.”

The smug look is wiped from Margaret’s face, and she visibly bristles at the veiled insult. Dad pulls Catherine towards the exit, but before they’re out the door, something strange happens. Catherine digs her heels in before Dad can pull her out and turns back to us a last time.

“No hard feelings, Margaret?” she says, and it’s such a pivot from her previous antagonistic attitude that it feels like whiplash. “Wouldn’t want us to get off on the wrong foot.”

Margaret is silent for a minute, gazing at Catherine neutrally until a smile pulls at the corner of her mouth. It almost seems like two worthy adversaries facing off, but with mutual respect being understood by both. Margaret nods curtly, and Catherine lets Dad pull her outside.

I look at Alex, who looks equally baffled. Did I miss something? He shrugs when I mouth, “What in the heck was that?”

“Roy always did like them feisty, so I’ve heard. More the pity, he needs a calmer influence at his age,” Margaret comments as she sinks into the chair Catherine had abandoned. Jasmine gazes up at her dad with wet eyes, and Alex lets her grasp at his outstretched fingers, but doesn’t remove her from his mother's arms like she truly wants.

“Now,” Margaret continues. “Shall we discuss sleeping arrangements?”

Crap, I think miserably. I guess we really are bunking together.

“I thought you already understood that she was staying with us, Petra,” Alex insists as we drive to the villa, tapping his fingers on the leather steering wheel.

“There’s a difference between vacationing with us and staying in the exact same house,” I grumble, sinking lower into the heated seat of the SUV.

“If it helps, the villa undertook a big extension last year,” he offers, but I roll my eyes and watch out the window as we go, not wanting to look at him.

“The villa could be the size of a football field and it would still be too small to share with Margaret, but whatever. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. She’s already caused us to argue enough.”

Alex exhales, but after a few moments, he slides a hand to rest on my knee. A peace offering. Resigned, I lay my hand over his. I meant what I said. I will not let Margaret’s presence cause anymore strife between Alex and me. We’ve already bickered enough about it.

Margaret has taken a private driver to the villa, which is located on the top of a hill, a bit isolated from the rest of the city, but with the best views to downtown and the mountainous skyline.

After checking where my dad is staying, I realize the villa he booked is not too far from ours, and also includes an inner courtyard and pool, while the back seems to offer similar views. Good; at least if we need something they are only a short distance away.

Pulling up to the villa, a smile spreads up to my ears, recognizing the place we went to for my eighteenth birthday. Alex gives my hand a quick squeeze, as if he was reading my mind, before getting out of the vehicle.

It’s so cold outside, but it doesn’t faze me, bundled up in my new winter gear. I feel like a puffed-up marshmallow, but somehow Alex manages to pull his look off much better. He looks like a professional snowboarder, or maybe a distinguished ski instructor. The image makes me laugh, and it lightens my mood as we unload the kids and head inside.

The villa is exactly like I remember—all warm, welcoming neutrals, different colors of blunt wood, and gleaming chrome fixtures. Orange and red firelight reflects off enormous windows bracketing the living area, giving us an incomparable view of Colorado’s natural beauty.

What I didn’t expect was the thick, towering evergreen pine in the corner of the place, white lights twinkling, and piles of gifts wrapped perfectly and placed underneath. Attached to the stone fireplace mantle were four stockings, two silver and two gold. The rest of the villa is lovingly decorated too, the holiday accents looking like they had always been part of the townhouse. Nothing out of place, nothing awkwardly added.

Is it the rainbow Christmas I had wanted? No. Is it much more than I expected? Heck, yes. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Alex watching my face, trying to gauge my reaction. His expression is carefully even, so I turn and offer him the most brilliant smile I can muster.

“It’s gorgeous,” I say, and he looks relieved, carefully setting Jasper’s carrier down and cupping my face in his hands to kiss me softly.

“I’m glad you like it. It will do for now, won’t it?”

“Of course it will,” I purr, basking in his loving attention.

He kisses my mouth again, longer this time, before pulling away just enough to tell me, “You can thank me more thoroughly tonight.”

I playfully slap his arm but let him link our fingers together afterwards and give me a quick tour of the refurbishment and extension the villa went through. The ground floor didn’t change much, being the same sprawling and open concept with two suites, while the upstairs have been expanded to accommodate two more bedrooms, each one with an enormous bathroom––the smaller of the two having been prepared for the twins.

At the top of the stairs, the railing curls around, leaving an overhang where you can view the ground floor. It gives the place an airy, rustic vibe, even with all the state-of-the-art appliances.

“Let’s go check our bedroom,” Alex says as we go back downstairs and head to the place we share the best memories.

After we get inside, I notice our luggage has been delivered and is waiting for us by the door. A quick smile escapes me—this time the porter didn’t leave mine in the other guest bedroom. Then my eyes alight on the beautiful scenery presented on the other side of the floor-to-ceiling windows in front of me. It has been two years, but the view is just as breathtaking as before. Afterwards my attention goes to the bed which is enormous, and looks to be made almost completely of whole logs fitted together, with red plaid sheets and an enormous white comforter topped with a quilt made of even more plaid.

I sink into the bed when I try to take a seat, and it’s everything I can do to not snuggle into it and zone out for a little while. Sure, the plane nap had been great, but there is something to be said about a pillowy mattress, fluffy blanket, and snow falling outside the crystal-clear windows. It’s perfectly cozy.

Alex leaves me there, heading out to greet the butler who has just arrived with a cheery “Hallo!” from the foyer. I kick off my fuzzy boots and let myself go boneless before my husband reappears in the doorway.

“No more sleeping,” Alex warns from the doorway, depositing the Pack ‘n Play on the floor. “You can sleep back in Manhattan.”

I shake my head. “Just put the kids in their cribs and come lay here with me for a while,” I suggest, patting the mattress beside me. Alex scoffs and ignores me, assembling the Pack ‘n Play.

“The butler’s name is Earl,” Alex explains as he works. “I left the twins in their seats with him while I set this up. He looks to be about three-hundred years old, but I’m sure he’s great. I guess we have a cook, too, George, and yes, before you ask, I warned them you’re vegan.”

“Thanks, babe,” I murmur, only half paying attention.

“You should thank me,” Alex quips. “If I have to turn away any more complementary charcuterie trays, I may lose my mind.”

“Hilarious.”

“Come on,” he says once he’s finished setting the play pen up. Alex grabs me by my limp wrists and hauls me, unwillingly, into a sitting position. I’m dead weight, but he’s persistent, and it isn’t long until I’ve tugged him down with me, and we’re both laughing, facing each other with our noses almost touching, legs tangled together.

“My lazy wife,” Alex complains, touching our foreheads together.

“Hey now. You have no idea the things I have planned. This vacation is going to knock your socks off. You’ll see.”

Alex hums. “As long as there is time for the special trip I’ve set aside.”

That piques my interest. I raise up on an elbow, looking down at him and the mischievous glint in his eye. “What is it?”

Alex puts a finger on my lips. “Hush. It’s a surprise.”

I bat his hand away. “Give me a hint, at least.”

He rolls to his back and folds his hands behind his head. “Okay, one hint. Bring a swimsuit.” He seems to consider something for a moment before wrinkling his nose and adding, “Not the one from the swim class, though.”

“Asshole,” I gasp in mock offense. “That’s my favorite suit and you know it!”

“Get your eyes checked when we get home, then.”

I poke him in the side, which leads to us wrestling around the bed again until somehow Alex is on top of me with my hands pinned above my head. In the span of a second, I’m aware of his denim-clad thigh pushed between my legs and the rasp of his stubble on my cheek as he leans over to whisper in my ear.

“Got you,” he says, voice rough. “Now what am I going to do with you, my overly tired wife, with horrible fashion sense?”

I turn my head to meet his lips, a shiver skittering across my skin, but before I can truly kiss him, we both hear the entrance door creak open, followed by Margaret’s voice calling, “Alex! Hello!”

Alex groans, letting go of my hands and rolling off me. I whimper a complaint, but he ignores my protest, straightening his shirt and collar in the mirror before making his way to the door. He pauses right before leaving the room and glances at me over his shoulder.

“Go ahead and start unpacking, I’ll deal with Mom and the kids.”

“Maybe we should get one of the rooms upstairs to be closer to the twins?” I ask. Despite loving this bedroom due to the view, I’m pretty sure the view from the ones upstairs must be just as good.

“We’ll see,” he answers, before closing the door behind him to give me some privacy. Knowing him like I do, that means more like a no than anything else.

I’m not tired anymore. Alex has me worked up, and if I didn’t know any better, I might think that was his plan all along. Blowing out a breath, I unzip my suitcase and sort my things out in piles: needs to be hung up, casual clothes, pajamas, undergarments. The piles are rather large… but I like to be prepared. One never knows what life can throw at you.

I shoot a text out to Emma, letting her know that we’ve arrived safely.

Freezing your tits off yet? Emma messages back, and I snort.

As of right now, my tits are safely inside the villa AND my sweater, thank you very much. They’re quite toasty, I respond.

She must have been scrolling Twitter, because she texts back again right away. Yeah, for now. In other news, I’ve got a little bit of info for you on Catherine, but I want to do a little more digging b4 I give my full report, ok?

For sure. Thanks again, I reply back.

Hm. It’s definitely interesting that she’s found some good gossip about Catherine already. That at least lets me know that there is more than meets the eye. She’s not just a middle-aged widow looking for love, I guess. For a second, I feel a pang of guilt snooping on my dad’s girlfriend. He might be a workaholic, and he has strained our relationship for most of our lives, but I still want him to be happy. Hopefully, whatever Emma digs up isn’t so bad that I have to blow the entire relationship out of the water.

Once I’m done throwing my things in their appropriate storage area, I grab the duffle bag full of the twins' things, planning to put them away in the makeshift nursery. I’m sure Earl wouldn’t mind unpacking for us all, but every time a housekeeper or butler does it for me, I’m completely confused on where everything ends up. As a serial late-arriver, sometimes I just need to grab and go.

I’m enjoying the feel of the plush carpet under my bare feet when I hear Margaret’s voice drift up from the living room, clear as a bell here in the other side of the hallway. As I look towards the door, I notice Alex hadn’t closed it completely, he had just pushed it against the doorframe, leaving a small gap.

“Oh please, Alex. She clearly can’t stand the sight of me.” Margaret huffs.

I open the door and dare a few steps towards the hallway until I can just see her and Alex’s heads standing in front of the fireplace, Margaret waving one hand dismissively while the other arm holds a supremely displeased Jasmine against her body.

I bristle. Of course, she took the first opportunity she could to get her scaly hands on my children. I try to push down the sound of blood rushing in my head so I can hear them talk more clearly.

“Maybe if you acted warmly for once in your life, she wouldn’t feel that way,” Alex responds. Jasper is sitting happily in his embrace, watching the situation play out with his classic wide-eyed gaze.

I can see Margaret pinch her lips together, probably holding back some smarmy remark, but she thinks better of it and exhales, shoulders sagging. “I will try, Alex. I will, if it means the chance of having my family back in my life. Part of it at least.”

It’s a sweet speech, but I can see how torn it makes Alex from the strained expression on his face. I, for one, don’t believe a word of it. Alex massages the bridge of his nose with his free hand. “Mother…”

Margaret waves her hand in the air again, as if blowing the rest of his words away. “Let’s not discuss it right now. We’re all a bit tired and need to settle in.” Her gaze slides to the fire, as if she can’t look at Alex as she asks the next question. “Could I… embrace you, son? I have missed you, whether or not you believe it.”

Don’t do it. I think desperately, but of course Alex can’t hear my internal pleas. His shoulders stiff and body vibrating with uncertainty, Alex steps close to his mother and gives her a one-armed hug, barely an embrace at all because of the babies they both hold. I can’t see Margaret’s face over Alex’s tall form, but when they pull away, I think I see a small shiver pass through her.

I feel nauseous, my stomach in knots. I press a fist to my offending abdomen and back slowly away, silently grabbing the twins’ luggage again and fleeing upstairs towards the nursery, away from the strangely private scene between mother and son that I feel incredibly uncomfortable observing.

A few hours pass while I unpack for the twins, but the fluttery, nervous feeling in my stomach refuses to abate. I push it aside, eventually going downstairs to get the twins so they can go for their afternoon nap. They’ve done a lot of sleeping today already, but even if they don’t completely go to sleep, having them safely in their cribs will give me time to shower and get ready for dinner.

I had planned on cajoling Alex into taking us out tonight so I could avoid his mother, but he beat me to the punch by informing me that the cook had already been preparing dinner for us this evening. Resigned, I decide to flee back to the sanctuary of our rooms and have a nice long soak in the jacuzzi tub before dressing for the meal.

With the twins placed in their pale wooden cribs, complete with soft blankets and the ever-present heart rate monitors tucked under the sheets, I turn on some soft music for them and return to my room. After a plane ride and unpacking all our belongings, I’m dying to wash off and refresh.

The bathroom attached to the master suite is covered in white and gray tiles, with an open rainfall shower-head, and a sinfully large jacuzzi. I’m almost giddy as I draw the bath, adding some of the rosemary and lilac oils that were provided.

Sinking into the steaming water is heavenly. It takes away any remaining chill from outside, and I can feel my muscles unwinding slowly.

Finally alone, I let myself consider the upcoming days. We have reservations at the Silver Queen Gondola tomorrow morning, and I’m hoping afterwards Alex and I can do some last minute Christmas shopping at all the adorable boutiques downtown. The gondola trip is supposed to be a surprise, and I hope it doesn’t all unravel at the last minute like so many of our plans seem to.

I’m still not completely sure what our plans for Christmas Day are, if I’m being honest. In the hustle of preparing for this last-minute vacation, I had lost sight of how little time there actually was before the big day.

I sink down into the jacuzzi, considering. At least I had been able to get the delivery address for the special gift I had commissioned for Alex changed to the villa and not to the condo. I had hired a designer in Manhattan to make Alex a wool peacoat, but instead of polished wood buttons, the buttons are made from mother-of-pearls sourced from the island where we had our honeymoon. I hope it will be a nice call back to simpler times in our lives, and whenever he looks at the buttons, he’ll be reminded of those blissful days spent under the blazing Seychellois sun.

I’ve dunked my head beneath the water when a muffled knock sounds at the bathroom door.

“Can I come in?” Alex asks.

I give him the affirmative, and he opens the door just wide enough to slide in before closing it again behind him, saving as much of the precious heat in the bathroom as he can. He raises his eyebrows, giving my body, concealed beneath the scented water, a thorough once over.

“Join me,” I offer, folding my arms on the rim of the tub. “There’s plenty of room.”

Alex hesitates before turning the lock on the door handle and undressing. He’s beyond handsome as he shirks the layers upon layers of winter clothes to reveal his lithe body and the muscles shifting underneath his skin. He looks perfectly bronzed and tan, almost like he should be in some paradise somewhere and not in this snowy town. I smile indulgently, making room for him as he lowers his powerful form down next to me.

He hisses, recoiling from the water before slowly lowering himself down again. “This water is hotter than hell.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” I tell him, flicking water at him from the tips of my fingers.

He grumbles but settles in on the other side of the tub. It’s so huge that only our ankles intertwine. We’re silent for a minute, both of us soaking up the warmth in the heavy air and the peacefulness of just being together. It’s both intimate and comforting.

Alex’s eyes are almost glowing, brilliantly blue and lit from within. He curls a finger at me, inviting me over into his space, and after a little bit of adjusting, I’m cradled against his chest, my back to his front, and his arms locked possessively around me.

“Even if you’ve fought me every step of the way,” he says against my wet hair. “I’m glad to be here with you, wife.”

“Hmm,” I reply, drawing circles in the water with my fingers. “I think I’m glad, too. I’ll let you know for sure later.”

“Ungrateful girl,” he quips, squeezing me a bit tighter until I squeak.

I try to poke him in the ribs, but he holds me fast. After a few seconds of struggling, I relent, going limp again in his grasp and letting myself be held in his embrace. I hate to ruin the moment, but in the quiet of us just relaxing together, I still feel that upset feeling in my gut.

“Alex,” I begin. “I heard you talking to your mom earlier.”

He sighs. “She’s been so cold and strange. I mean, she wanted to do Christmas in the Netherlands, but I insisted if she wanted to do it with us, she had to be the one to come over.”

What? I wasn’t even aware that Margaret had insisted for us to go with the kids to the Netherlands. What’s her problem? That woman is beyond ungrateful!

“Now she seems to be almost happy to be here, in her own weird way.”

I think about my own mother, and bite my tongue, choosing my words carefully. “Why exactly won’t anyone else in your family spend the holidays with her? Paris or Germany isn't that far.”

He makes a speculative noise, and his chest vibrates against my back. “I don’t know, maybe for the same reasons you don’t want her here, I suppose. Well, sort of…” he trails off, and the ghost of Tess Hagen seems to hang in the surrounding air.

“I know what you mean,” I say quietly.

“All my sisters told her they had plans, but they probably just didn’t want to bother with her scheming.”

“Or maybe that was just a plan your mom set up with your sisters to look like you had no other option left but to invite her over,” I tell him tensely, but I try to move us away from that line of thought. Too little, too late. “Oh well… she’s here now.”

“Mmhmm,” Alex hums.

A thought pulls at my mind, and I almost smirk. “I guess we know where Yara gets her lovely personality and social skills from.”

“Oh God, Petra. Can we stop talking about my family while we’re naked in the bath?”

“I’m just trying to keep up, you know. I feel like if I’m going toe to toe with them, I need to understand them. And maybe even be a little more like them.”

Alex runs a hand down my shoulder, putting his lips on the nape of my neck, telling me softly, “Please don’t do that. What I love about you is that you aren’t like them, or like any of the other women I’ve known. You grew up around all of this nonsense, but it never permeated your spirit. You’re still pure and good. I don’t want you to become conniving.”

I soften, turning my face so our lips touch in a whisper of a kiss. “Are you sure? I hate thinking that you’re going to be stuck with a silly wife who is blind to everything going on around her.”

“For one,” he starts, “you’re never blind. You’re incredibly perceptive, even if you don’t let on that you are. And two, your open, loving heart keeps me grounded, Petra. Never change.”

I drag my lips over his again before rotating in his arms until I’m straddling his waist. Alex makes a strangled noise in his throat, grabbing my thighs, his fingers denting my soft flesh.

“Fine,” I tell him. “But only if you show me right now how much you love me, just as I am.”

Over the next hour in the bath, he doesn’t answer me with words, but somehow I still get the message.

Feeling utterly relaxed and satisfied, I finish braiding my slightly damp hair back and start on my makeup. I want to look natural, but still put together enough that I won’t draw any condescending looks from our unwanted dinner guest. I dip my makeup brush in a taupe shadow and start working it into the crease of my eye when my phone rings.

Emma’s lovely face flashes across my screen. I hop up and shut the door of the bedroom, wanting some privacy for this conversation. Emma is sure to have some news for me, if our last text talk a few hours ago means anything, and I have a few tidbits to tell her, too. I’m sure she will not like what I have to say.

I pop my AirPods into my ears and answer the call, wanting to be hands free so I can finish my face. “Hello, Ms. Hasenfratz,” I say when I answer.

“I hope I’m not interrupting your Hallmark movie moment in Aspen,” Emma replies, her cheeky tone already on.

Thinking back to the last hour with Alex, I feel my cheek heating. “Maybe a little R rated for Hallmark, if I’m being honest.”

“Gross,” Emma comments. “Let’s not get into details.”

“Fine by me,” I say with a laugh. “So what’s up?”

“My peeps have done some serious digging into this Catherine Dubois, and some stuff doesn’t quite add up,” she tells me, her joking tone becoming more serious.

“Wait,” I cut her off before she could get into it. “Did I tell you she came here with my dad to spend Christmas with us?”

“Really?” Emma snaps.

“And not only her,” I add, keeping the best part for the end. “Someone else also came to join us all the way from the Netherlands…”

“Who?” she asks instantly.

I lower my voice, making sure I won’t be heard from the outside and say, “The one and only Margaret Van Dieren.”

“No shit!” Emma shouts. “She’s there?”

“Yep, and staying at the very same villa as us,” I add, nearly whispering.

“If this isn’t some weird coincidence…” Emma points out, her words trailing off. “That might explain a few things.”

“Like what?”

“Well,” Emma says happily as she moves on to other subjects. “I think it’s time for me to fill you in. Because weirdly enough, we’re going to dive into even more of your husband’s family. How do the Van Dierens seem to have a hand in every piece of drama?”

I scrunch one eye closed, curling my lashes in a failed attempt to finish my makeup. “What do you mean? Catherine is tangled up with the Van Dierens?”

“Sort of,” she says. “See, Catherine used to be married to a man named Paul Dubois, who was independently wealthy. I couldn't find much about Catherine before her marriage, but I can confirm she comes from a French noble family…who declared financial bankruptcy six months before she tied the knot.” Holy shit! My mouth gapes open at the news. “Anyway, Paul was known to be a philanthropist and introduced her to one of his very dear friends: Sebastian Van Den Bosch.”

“No,” I breathe, shocked. “As in Julia and Sebastian Van Den Bosch?”

“Exactly,” Emma confirms. “Catherine and Julia became close, even closer than Paul and Sebastian. They seemed to fund some of the same charities, and were almost inseparable for a time, my team found plenty of pictures of them together at philanthropic dinners—the Van Den Bosches and Duboises were always sitting at the same table. They even used to go on vacations together.” Damn, my heart skips a few beats at the revelation. “Ten years ago, Paul and Catherine divorced—a very nasty divorce by the way—and she disappeared from the public eye for some time. There isn’t much about Paul, either, but then Catherine shows back up recently with your dad at a few receptions here and there but with a total makeover—blonde, short hair, nose reduction, skinnier…”

“Jeez,” I mumble as I mull it over in my head. I remain silent for a moment, tapping my makeup brush against my pursed lips. All of Emma’s information is buzzing in my brain, but I haven’t quite figured out how it all pieces together yet. If Catherine and Julia were close friends and attending the same events, that should mean Margaret would at the very least have known about her in passing, right? An alarm starts to sound deep in my psyche.

“Emma,” I start, working out my thoughts as I speak. “Dad introduced Margaret to Catherine when we all arrived, as if they were strangers. And then, out of the blue, the women started to argue. That’s weird, right? Margaret would have to know Catherine.”

Emma hums on the other side, lost in thought too. “I mean, if she is using the same name she used when she was married, then yeah, I would think they’d have to know each other.”

An idea suddenly occurs to me, and it chills me to the bone. I pull out an AirPod, listening to make sure there is no one hovering outside the door. I hate the thought I’m having, but the more I think about it, the more the pieces fit together. Catherine used to be very close to Julia and Sebastian Van Den Bosch. Now that she’s divorced, she has been with my dad and they were introduced at a business event by “friends in common.” What if it were the Van Den Bosches who did the introduction? Maybe in the precise intent to play the matchmakers? But why my dad though? I mean, with the amount of men out there, why him in particular? As I keep pondering, the Van Den Bosches know that Dad and I have reconciled, and especially after the death of my mom, we have been much closer than before, so any leverage Catherine can have over my dad…

“Can be used against me,” I say in disbelief, all the blood draining from my face.

“What?” Emma asks, confused.

I shake myself, my heart racing. I explain everything to Emma, and while at first she seems dubious, by the end of me explaining my theory, she sees the sense in it. “After Margaret and Catherine argued, they had this weird moment of making up with each other. If they continue to get along… then I think I’m right. I think Catherine is a plant set up by Margaret and Julia,” I finish, having laid out everything on the table.

Emma whistles a low note. “This is some soap opera shit, Petra. Like, why would they want to use your dad like that to have leverage over you? That doesn’t make any sense. Every dirty secret you know about them involves your husband, so it’s obvious you’re not a threat.”

“Well…” I purse my lips together, not knowing how I can tell her what I have in mind without creating some serious damage between us. “Not all dirty secrets I know involve my husband, no. And Margaret knows that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Um…” I’m left speechless as I search for the best way to start. “Are you and Yara still together?”

Emma is silent on the other side of the line, probably taken aback by my sudden question.

“Why do you want to know that?” she asks, her tone coming off more aggressive than usual.

After all, we had mutually promised not to talk about her relationship with Yara, but with Margaret being under the same roof as me for the next few days, I feel like Emma should know that Margaret is aware of the affair. I want Emma to be happy, even if that means continuing her fling, but this might be the reason why they have sent Catherine to be a plant.

It’d be a social catastrophe if I told even a single person about Yara and Emma, and Margaret knows it. Being one of the few people that knows of the affair means I hold a tremendous power over Margaret, and the only real danger is that she will try to make Emma’s life harder. I have to make sure Margaret stays on the straight and narrow regarding my friend’s relationship.

Not that I care what happens to Yara, but unfortunately, whatever happens to her affects Emma, too.

“You don’t have to answer,” I assure Emma. “I just needed to know because, um…” Words are hard to come by when you have to admit something like this to your best friend. “I might have told Margaret about you and Yara.”

“What the fuck!” Emma shouts in astonishment. “Why the hell did you do that?”

Guilt hits me hard like a truck and I close my eyes at the blow. Yet, despite hating this moment more than anything, I owe her an explanation. “It was at the Cathedral when she came for the twins’ baptism,” I disclose for the very first time. “I wanted her to stay away from us once and for all, so I decided to use that secret to have leverage.”

“Fuck,” Emma mutters, letting out a loud breath in annoyance. “I can’t believe it. Damn it! You’re my best friend for fuck’s sake!” she rebukes non-stop, and there’s not much I can do if not agreeing with her. “Why did you have to use my secret for her to leave you alone?”

I shut my eyes tight, feeling just as disappointed with myself. “I know,” I mumble feebly. “I’m so sorry, Emma, I shouldn’t have done that, but she killed my mom,” I remind her, my voice nearly quivering at the end. “The last thing I wanted was to see her ever again.”

Emma doesn’t answer right away, and it seems like the comment about my mom has eased the tension a bit. “I’m so lost right now…”

“Please, don’t be mad at me, I never thought she’d come here to Aspen after what I told her. I’m so sorry. I’ve been fighting to have her not come with us since I found out. I hoped that she wouldn’t come honestly, and that she was just saying she would as a way to make me freak out.”

“Fuck,” is all Emma says.

“I’m not going to bring you and Yara up once, I promise. And maybe she doesn’t want to think about it, either, knowing it would ruin her family if word got out.”

Emma takes a few deep breaths, considering me. “Well, you might be the only person on Earth with leverage over Margaret right now, so I don't think it’s a coincidence that she’s there.” I can hear the clicking of Emma’s fingers on her laptop's keyboard over the phone, and I wonder if she’s typing a frantic email to her lover. “You know I don’t care what the public thinks of me,” Emma continues, “but Yara does. Her marriage with Elliot…” Emma spits the word marriage like it’s poison. “It means something to her. I’m not sure what, but something.” Given the fact Yara has his name branded on her skin, I can only assume the same.

“It will be okay,” I try to reassure my friend, feeling heartbroken for her. “I think she is here just to make my life a living hell. She’s only here for a few days. That’s not long enough to manipulate me into anything. I think this is all about ruining the holidays for me. I don’t think you’re going to get pulled into anything.”

Emma leaves me with another bout of silence, and what she says next cracks my heart even farther. “I hate knowing you and my godchildren are there with that psycho. Margaret holding my little princess…” Shockingly, I think I hear a hitch in Emma’s voice. Emma, one of the strongest people I know, never cries. I hear a small sniffle and a muted “fuck” before she comes back to speak, her normal aloof voice in place. “Petra, I don’t think you should be alone. Alex is great and all, but I don’t know if he can be unbiased around her. I’m going to come up to Aspen to be with you.”

I blink a few times, taken aback. How did we go from sharing information about my dad’s girlfriend to Emma offering to come be my backup? Absolutely not. She doesn’t need to be here, facing Margaret, who I know Emma is a little frightened of, only because she could ruin her relationship with Yara. I shake my head, even though Emma can’t see me.

“No, Emma, I’ve got this. It’s really only a few days. Trust me, okay? She won’t do anything to us, don’t worry.”

Emma exhales in relief and sounds much more like her normal self. “Yeah, okay, if you’re sure. But please, be careful with Margaret, alright? God knows what she’s capable of.”

“I will,” I say warmly.

“And you need to watch your step,” she adds, concern thick in her tone. “If what you said about Catherine is true, you’ll have to warn your dad.”

“I know,” I say shakily.

“Poor Roy,” Emma comments. “Being used like that is really fucked up. Especially if he really likes her.”

Ugh, I hadn’t even thought that far yet. If Catherine is a plant, then Dad is going to get his heart broken. With a knot in my throat, I say, “Yeah. Poor Dad.”

We’re both quiet for a minute, the enormity of these claims laid out before us. If all of this is for real, then I’ve got a lot more on my hands than an awkward vacation. But either way I’ll have to play it cool if I want to find out the truth.

“Emma, I love you. Have I told you that lately?” I comment after a bit, wanting to lighten the mood before getting off the phone with her. Suddenly, all of this drama could very well include her, too.

“Get in line,” Emma tells me with a chuckle. “Call me in the morning, okay? Or at least sometime tomorrow. I want to know everything.”

“I absolutely will. If we’re right, you’re the only one I’ll be able to talk to about this. I can’t tell Alex until I’m completely certain.”

“Agreed. Be careful out there, snow princess.”

“I will. Bye.”

I remove my AirPods gingerly, setting them on the vanity and resting my freshly powdered face in my hands, gazing absentmindedly at my reflection. Despite the heavy news from Emma, I had pulled my makeup off well enough, and my face glows with health, my tight braid making me look fierce and no-nonsense.

Standing to grab my clothes off the bed, I straighten my spine and make myself a promise. If Margaret wants a fight, she’ll get one. And I’m not going to lose.

The right clothes can be like a suit of armor. They can change your entire outlook on life and give you confidence you never expected to have. I had felt that way, confident and armored, in a perfectly tailored violet silk cold shoulder shirt, black booties, and blue-black designer jeans, when I had crossed the hallway an hour ago to have dinner with my harpy mother-in-law.

Except, of course, I’m the mother of twins––her grandchildren. Which is why I’m scraping butternut squash puree off of my gorgeous shirt in the bathroom while dinner continues for everyone else. This is just my luck.

It had started out as a lovely dinner, all things considered. The table was long and grand, the antiqued wood shined until it sparkled. There was no tablecloth, just linens at each table setting in shades of reds and golds. In the center of the rustic table, there was an old glass milk jug, up-cycled into a charming vase and filled to bursting with fresh flowers, despite the time of the year.

Flames were burning in the fireplace which were taller than I am, and the radiant heat was like a warm hug the moment you entered the dining room.

Alex had given me a knowing grin, no doubt recalling our recent tryst in the bathtub, and our children were dressed in comfortable one-piece outfits, warm and apparently starving if their huffs and squeals were anything to go by. It was a perfect family portrait that I was happy to join.

Except, of course, seated on one side of my husband was his mother, looking for all the world like a queen reigning over her kingdom, her sharp chin held high. She gave me a polite nod, but I know I saw a glint of hostility in the depths of her gaze. I didn’t return even that small greeting, instead choosing to sit next to Alex, giving him a quick peck on the cheek before doing the same to Jasmine and Jasper.

“Ma ma ma ma MA,” Jasmine insisted, reaching to be let out of her high chair prison. I shook my head and booped her on her button nose.

“Not yet, little princess. We have to eat first.”

Jasmine screamed her protest, causing her brother to stick out his lower lip in a pout of disappointment.

“Is the cook warming up the baby food Lily sent with us?” I asked Alex, and he had shaken his head.

“George says that anything eaten under this roof will come from his kitchen and his kitchen alone,” Alex said with a laugh. “He was adamant.”

“Whatever.” I shrugged, reaching for my glass of iced cucumber lemon water and taking a sip. “I just hope he hurries before the twins revolt.”

“It seems to me only little Jasmine is protesting,” Margaret intones, but I ignore her.

I pushed the paper straw down into my glass, covering the top hole with a finger to trap some water inside before offering it to Jasmine. She opened her mouth, displaying empty gums, and greedily drank the refreshing offering. I offered Jasper the same, and he drank too, but screwed up his face at the taste.

“I guess cucumber isn’t his thing,” I chuckled.

Before I could give them a second taste, one of the strangest looking men I’d ever seen emerged from the kitchen, carrying a few plates while another man followed with more.

The cook was wearing checkered chef pants and a white coat, as if he was working in a Michelin star restaurant and not a villa in Aspen. He was tall, around Margaret’s age, but his posture was slightly stooped and a round paunch of a belly pressed against the lower buttons of his coat.

He had wispy, dark hair that came to a point in the front, and an equally sparse beard. The entire picture was finished by his scowling expression, the lines of his forehead pressed together in obvious wrinkles. He looked very odd, but at the same time, so freaking familiar!

I wracked my brain as the man distributed the meals, glistening butternut squash raviolis in a cream sauce with wilted spinach, and it wasn’t until he set my plate down with a sullen, “I hope you enjoy, madame,” that I realized who he reminded me of.

Holy crap, I had thought. He looks exactly like the Grinch!

My laughter had bubbled over until I couldn’t help but guffaw, but quickly coughed into my hand to disguise the noise. Alex looked at me, concerned, and I waved him off, planning on explaining later.

Chef George returned to the kitchen to bring out dinner for the children, and my eyebrows shot up to my hairline with surprise.

“For the small masters of the house, I have prepared a butternut squash puree with browned butter and mint garnish,” he said, presenting the small bowls to my baffled-looking children, before placing them down on the high chairs with a flourish and departing.

“It looks delicious,” Margaret commented.

Forgetting for a moment that I was ignoring her, I answered, “It does, wow.”

The ravioli was probably incredible, but I didn’t get to try any yet since the twins had immediately wanted to sink their little fists into their gourmet dinner. So while Alex and Margaret made stilted small talk, I started feeding the babies.

The butternut puree smelled divine, at least, and eventually I’d be able to try out that ravioli. Jasmine and Jasper also approved, so much so that it was almost impossible to keep up with them both. As soon as I scooped a bite into one waiting mouth, the other baby was fussing for their next spoonful. I was keeping up valiantly for a few minutes, but I had made a critical error by leaving the bowls on the trays of their high chairs. As I reached over to feed Jasper, Jasmine decided she was done waiting, hitting the corner of the bowl with a quick slap, just hard enough that it fell from the tray…

And all over my chest.

Conversation between the two other adults at the table had ceased, and I could see Earl puttering over to help. Suddenly, being the food-covered center of attention was humiliating, and I stood up, the bowl falling to the floor with a clatter. Jasmine watched it all happen in silence, her sweet face devoid of any pity for her mother, simply wondering when her next bite was coming.

My face had flushed bright red. “I…uh, I’m going to go clean up. Be right back,” I stuttered.

Alex stood. “Do you need help?”

“No. Nope. I’m good,” I said in a rush, power walking to the bedroom and completely avoiding looking at Margaret, afraid to see a smug look on her face. The hallway had seemed to be the longest of my entire life, but I had finally made it to our bathroom, where I was right now.

“Dammit,” I sigh, stripping off my shirt before I rinse it in the sink and then throw it into the laundry basket in the bathroom's corner. It’s a lost cause, for tonight anyway.

Resigned to my fate, I bypass my drawers and pull open Alex’s, grabbing a gray crewneck sweatshirt of his that has a small BRIONI emblazoned across the front in darker gray lettering. It’s huge on me, but I push up the sleeves and give myself a quick once over in the mirror. I guess if I can’t rub it in Margaret’s face that I’m young and beautiful, I’ll show her that her son belongs to me, so much so that I can wear his clothes.

Not only that, but his sweatshirt, worn and soft from dozens of washings, is crazy comfortable. It’s a win-win.

I head back down the stairs briskly, sliding my hand down the railing as I go. I don’t want the twins to wait too long to finish their meal, plus I’d like to get them fed before my food gets too cold for me to enjoy.

When I reach the bottom floor, I pause. Margaret has moved to my seat, and is feeding both kids, a spoon in each hand. She looks comfortable, like this isn’t the first time she’s had to feed two little ones at once. I come up short, stopping in my tracks, and give Alex an uncomfortable look. He knows how I feel about Margaret messing with the kids.

Alex shrugs, and motions for me to sit next to him in the chair Margaret previously occupied. Margaret must see Alex move, because she glances over at me. “Oh, Petra, go ahead and eat, dear. I’m already finished, I can handle these two.”

I want to argue, but the look on Alex’s face says, Please don’t make this difficult. My shoulders sag in defeat, and I give up easier than I would have liked. It must be because of how hungry I am.

Someone, either Alex or Margaret, has moved my plate and drink over to her previous seat. I sit down, watching Margaret warily. Jasper is clearly just happy to be fed, but Jasmine is still cautious of this new person. Not cautious enough to refuse the food she’s being offered, mind you, but she isn’t quite as comfortable as her brother. Assured that they are eating, I relent and start on my own meal.

It’s rich, the flavor coating my tongue, and I savor each bite of pasta and spinach. Alex looks at me, pleased to see that I’m eating. “Do you approve, lady of the house?”

I nod, my mouth full, before swallowing. “It’s delicious. Seriously.”

His plate is already empty, and he’s slowly working on a glass of dark, amber colored whisky which he swirls in his glass. “I’m glad to stay in tonight, but I’ll also be glad to do some exploring tomorrow. Did you say you had something planned for us, Petra?”

“Yes!” I say between bites. “It will be fun, don’t worry.”

“I trust you,” he says, patting my leg. “I’ve got a couple of things in mind, too, but I’m not sure if we’ll be able to make them happen with the twins here. I’m not sure what you’re thinking, but I think they’re a little young to take up skiing.”

I pretend to consider the idea. “Really? I think they’re about ready,” I joke.

Alex chuckles. “Maybe next year. I do wish we could go, though. It seems a shame to come to Aspen and not ski.”

I’m not bothered by the lack of skiing in my life, but I do feel bad that Alex has to miss out. I’m about to suggest that he and Dad take a trip to the slopes when Margaret butts in, sounding for all the world like a sweet grandmother.

“Well, I could watch the twins, of course. A young married couple needs some time alone after they have kids, don’t you agree, Alex?”

“Yes…” he says reluctantly, noticing that I’ve set my fork down at Margaret’s suggestion. “But, Mom…”

“Nonsense. Don’t argue. Go with your wife and unwind a little. Petra looks like she could use some relaxation.”

“Hey!” I start, but Alex talks over me.

“It’s not a decision I can make myself. We only usually leave them with our nurse, Lily,” Alex explains. I could groan when he looks over at me, a smidgen of hope for alone time in his eyes. “What do you think, Petra?”

I close my eyes, gathering my thoughts. My immediate response would be Hell. No. but if I draw too stark of a line in the sand, Margaret will surely see that I’m on to her and Catherine. If I want to find out the truth, I’ll need to play it cool.

“I don’t like it,” I grit out. “But okay, once or twice would be fine. You can’t leave the villa with them though!”

“Of course not,” Margaret says, her tone suggesting I’m being ridiculous even hinting that she’d leave with them. “I’m not gonna be out in the freezing cold, pushing a double stroller on my own.”

Alex is over the moon. I can see on his face how happy he is to be able to spend some couple’s time with me, and I hate to rain on his parade. If he and I can get away for a little while, maintaining the facade of knowing nothing about the Margaret and Catherine connection, all the better.

His large, warm hand settles over mine and his thumb sweeps over my knuckles. It melts my heart a little to make him happy. I look over at my twins to see that Margaret has finished feeding them and is wiping their faces with a soft linen. Full to the brim of squash, sitting in front of the roaring fire, the twins are as content as I’ve ever seen them.

Realizing I’m the last one with food on my plate, I resume eating, the ravioli only a little colder than when I’d initially been served. I wish life was as simple as it seems to be right now; a loving mother and father and a doting grandmother, but I know something is lurking under the surface that I just haven’t figured out yet.

Sweeping up the remainder of the pasta sauce with a piece of crusty bread and popping it into my mouth, I can at least rest assured that we won’t starve during this trip. Everything else is still up in the air.

CHAPTER 4

Aspen, December 23, 2021

Petra Van Gatt

It’s a bright and early eight a.m. the next morning, no clouds hanging in the sky, just sunlight reflecting off of the crisp, white snow. Inside our villa, I’m zipping the twins into their bunting coats, making sure their fingers are covered by the built-in gloves and adjusting their hats while Alex finishes his coffee at the breakfast bar. Margaret is reading a book in the living area, apparently enjoying the impressive view out the large bay window.

“You should come with us, Mom,” Alex offers for the second time, to which Margaret shakes her head again.

“I’m going to stay in, I’m just not interested in the gondola ride.”

I’m sure her disdain for the activity stems from the fact that I had planned the gondola ride myself, but I’d not give her the satisfaction of acknowledging it. I’ll definitely enjoy everything more if she isn’t present.

Alex sets his now-empty coffee cup on the marble counter and sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “The whole reason you wanted to come to Aspen was to spend time with Jasmine and Jasper, but now you’ve decided you don’t want to leave the house?”

“The tourist attractions just don’t interest me, Alex. I’ll join you for your next outing.” She waves her hand dismissively towards him, never looking up from her book. I see Alex’s jaw tense and wonder if this is a small glimpse into what his childhood had been like.

“Suit yourself!” I hear him saying as I look at the twins finally ready. Their coats are so thick that they’re having a little more trouble moving than usual, and if their pinched, annoyed expressions are anything to go by, we need to get on with the entertainment before they decide they are done with the outdoor wear. Jasmine’s coat is a soft heather purple and Jasper’s a diluted gray.

Alex looks like he wants to say something more, but he snaps his mouth shut and takes their stroller to the car, deciding to abandon the disagreement with his mother, to my relief. I give the back of Margaret’s head a jaunty wave as we leave, feeling lighter already as I close the door behind me. Good riddance!

In this area of town, people dressed casually were mixed pretty evenly with the skiers and snowboarders making their way from slope to slope. We aren’t the only ones out with kids, but it’s pretty clear what most people are in Aspen for: The winter sports.

Despite the focus on skiing and snowboarding, everything is decorated for Christmas, with long ropes of pine needles bedecked with red bows wrapping themselves around every light pole and fence post. I thought we’d beat the rush by leaving so early, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. I guess skiing is an early morning extreme sport.

The twins seem to have gotten used to their huge snowsuits and are looking around with wide, curious eyes as we push them on their stroller towards the gondola. Sitting straight up in their seats, they get a full view of everything going on around them, and more than a few other pedestrians stop to give them little finger waves, gaining joyful giggles from Jasmine and more reserved chuckles from her brother. Between the bright outerwear everyone has on, the glittering snow, and all the splendid holiday decor, there is something for them to gawk at in every corner. It is certainly enough to distract them from not being able to put their arms all the way down.

Alex peeks over the hood of the stroller to look at his daughter. “Why do they look like starfish in these snowsuits?”

I scowl, fighting the urge to laugh. He isn’t wrong. “Because they’re the warmest coats that I could find.”

Jasmine looks back at her father and grins, barely able to turn in his direction because of the puffy coat. “Well,” Alex says, “they’re certainly warm. That’s all I’m going to say on the matter.”

“Hey! The coats are cute!” I insist.

“No comment,” Alex replies, miming zipping his lips and throwing away the key.

It’s only a few blocks to the Silver Queen Gondola, and I expected it to be frigid out, but I’m pleasantly surprised at how much the buildings on either side cut down on the wind chill. That, combined with the shining sun, makes it a pleasant winter morning, all things considered. We could have driven, but I’ve been dying to check out the surrounding shops, so after the gondola ride, I’m hoping to tempt Alex into some retail therapy.

In the plaza where the loading dock for the gondola is located, we meet up with Dad and Catherine, the latter of which is dressed in enough mink fur to make me curl my lip in distaste. I’m not one to preach my vegan lifestyle on others, but I can’t help wondering how many innocent animals were killed to make her long coat.

Alex and Dad do the typical manly handshake-hug combo, while I give Catherine a tense smile in place of the warm greetings everyone else is exchanging.

“Nice to see you,” I tell Catherine, my tone hollow.

“Same to you, dear,” she responds distractedly, bending over to look at the twins in their strollers. “My my,” she comments. “Your mother certainly overdressed you two, didn’t she!”

I want to grind my teeth. How did I get trapped on this vacation with not one old harpy in Margaret, but now two with Catherine included! I keep my false smile plastered on as I answer her. “They’re preemies. They get colder easier. But thanks.”

Catherine shrugs delicately. Feeling my eyelid beginning to twitch from stress, I turn to my dad and accept his warm embrace, happy for some honest-to-goodness genuine affection and not the cold, glib phrases I had been getting my fill of lately.

“Thanks for booking a gondola at the ass-crack of dawn!” Dad says with a laugh, patting me on the shoulder. “I’d hate to sleep in on my vacation.”

“Glad I could help,” I reply. “You can thank your granddaughter, though. Eight a.m. is basically noon for her, so I was just going by her schedule.”

“An early riser, eh?” Dad asks Jasmine, who is making grabby hands at him to be removed from the stroller. “That will be an exceptional quality to have when you and your brother take over the company.”

“Already thinking about that?” I ask, teasingly. “Why not let them decide when the time comes?” I don’t like the idea of my children being stripped down of any choice like my dad tried to do with me. Only time will tell what they want to do later on, but I hope Dad and Alex both know that Jasper and Jasmine will have their choice in lifestyles once they are grown. CEOs, biologists, philosophers, or anything in between, they will have the choice to follow their dreams.

Alex checks his watch, shaking his wrist so he can see the face. “I think we'd better get going unless we want to wait in line with everyone else. Separate gondolas or one?”

Separate, please, separate, I think frantically, but my dad responds, “One, of course. I want to see my grandchildren’s faces when we go up. No point in Catherine and I riding alone.”

I pout as we enter the boarding building. There are two lifts stemming from this plaza; a traditional ski lift on my right and the Silver Queen Gondola on my left, which ends in a black glass building where the gondola cars slide through to let riders embark and disembark. They’re enclosed, and warm enough from the sun reflecting off the shining surfaces and glass, but it’s a tight fit for four adults. We park the strollers outside the building, Dad carrying Jasmine and Alex carrying Jasper, who has his arms tightly linked around his dad's neck as he silently takes in everything new and exciting around him.

There isn’t much time to waste, since the gondolas are constantly in motion as they make their way up and down Aspen Mountain, so we board quickly when the attendants motion us over. Dad and I hop into the swinging car first, followed by Alex and Catherine. Alex sits next to me and across from Catherine, while I sit across from Dad, so we can all have the maximum amount of knee room in the tiny gondola.

We start to move with a hard jerk before swinging around and back outside into the daylight; the gondola is climbing the metal cord that it is attached to with ease. Surrounding us outside are hundreds of skiers and snowboarders, moving around casually, as if they were born with their skis and boards attached, all of them dressed in rainbows of colorful gear that pop on the bright white snow.

The ascent is timed to be about fifteen minutes, and I have to admit, the view is even better than in my memory. Downtown Aspen gets smaller and smaller as we climb, and the slope becomes heavily forested, besides the open swath of snow for the skiers.

Jasmine presses her gloved hands against the glass, leaning over Dad while he holds her for balance. Her warm breath fogs the glass as she leans close, fascinated by the world passing by outside and completely unbothered by the clunks and clanks when the gondola passes over the junctions of the towers.

Jasper is more reserved, keeping himself firmly pressed into Alex’s arms while he observes everything. Alex scoots as close to the window as he can, letting Jasper gaze his fill from the safety of his arms. My babies… they’re so similar yet already so different personality wise. Jasmine has been a warrior since the beginning, and her brave, fighter spirit remains, showing itself in everything she does. She will need her cool, collected brother to keep her grounded when she’s older. They’ll be the perfect team.

We rise into the air, snow kicked up by the wind glittering like diamonds in the surrounding air.

“It’s different to look at this place without there being a rush to ski down the mountain,” Dad muses as his granddaughter slaps handprints on the clean glass. “It’s good to slow down.”

Catherine leans her blond head on his shoulder, a blissful look on her face. Gold digger, my brain hisses, but I keep it to myself. I can only hope my theory about Catherine is wrong, but there’s just too many coincidences.

“Are we disembarking at the top, or riding all the way back down?” Alex asks me quietly.

“We’ll stop for some photos,” I tell him. “I’d like to make family photo albums of all of our trips. Like with real, physical pictures. Not just the digital ones on our phones.”

Alex squeezes my knee with his free hand. “Sounds perfect.”

I don’t have any time to bask in the quiet moment between my husband and me before Catherine raises her head from my dad’s shoulder and taps him on it with a white painted fingernail. “Roy?”

“Yeah?” he answers absentmindedly, giving all his attention to Jasmine.

“Can I hold her?”

I snort, biting my lip so I don’t giggle. Good luck, lady. Should have asked for Jasper.

I get it, really I do. Jasmine is irresistible, a six-month-old with her huge cerulean eyes and fluffy brown hair, but she is decidedly not an easygoing baby if she isn’t down for whatever is happening. And strangers holding her is not on Jasmine’s list of “things I enjoy.”

“Uh, sure,” Dad says distractedly, turning to hand Jasmine to his girlfriend. Jasmine balks at the offer, recoiling from Catherine’s grasp and filling the gondola with an ear-piercing shriek. Catherine jumps, and her hands fall down to her sides.

“I guess that's a no!” I tell her with a sarcastic shrug. Catherine frowns, sinking back into her seat and saying nothing.

Alex gives me the smallest pinch on the knee, and when I look at him to frown, I see he has the same amused look on his face I do. I guess we’re both proud of our little princess for holding strong to her boundaries.

Stepping out of the gondola, I stagger a few steps before catching my balance, unprepared for how fast the car was still moving. Everyone else gets off without a hitch, and I wait for my husband so we can walk out onto the pavilion together.

With the air being much brisker up here, I pull my gloves from my pocket and pull them on as I look around the place, taking in all the views.

“Anything specific you wanted to see while we’re up here?” Alex asks, wrapping an arm around my waist.

I shake my head. “Nothing specific, I just wanted to check everything out.”

It’s clear that this area is mostly for skiers, and there probably isn’t much to occupy a family of four––besides taking in the scenery. The only must-visit place on the summit is The Sundeck Restaurant, where a heated outdoor tent sits right on the precipice of a cliff overlooking everything.

“We’re gonna go look around a bit,” I tell Dad, who hands me Jasmine. “You two don’t have to wait for us, you can head to the restaurant and get started. I made a reservation.”

As much as I look forward to having breakfast with my dad, I can’t say the same about his female companion, who is already eyeing The Sundeck with considering eyes, her hand placed on her hip.

“Yes, that sounds nice, actually. See you later then,” Catherine says, having decided.

“Okay. Awesome,” I grit out. I wait until she turns back to ask my dad something before rolling my eyes. Alex takes notice, threading his fingers with mine and pulling me away to explore.

“Come on, grumpy girl. Let’s see what there is to see,” he tells me placatingly.

I let myself be led away, but I can’t hold hands with Alex for too long before I need both of my arms to support Jasmine’s weight. Soon I’ll have to break out the chest carriers for them if I want to carry them anywhere!

“I have to say,” Alex muses. “For a self-proclaimed introvert, I’m impressed that you reserved both an activity AND a meal for us.”

I brighten under his praise. “I talked to strangers on the phone and everything. Can you believe it?” I comment jokingly.

“Such bravery,” he adds before stopping, pointing out a quiet area with an empty stone bench overlooking the valley. “How about there for some family pictures?”

“Perfect!” I exclaim.

I spend the next ten minutes adjusting hats, wiping runny noses, and making my two less than thrilled children as happy as can be before quickly posing Alex, both babies now in his arms, on the bench. Alex had been wearing our backpack-style diaper bag, and I stash it behind a small tree for safekeeping.

“Aren’t you going to be in the pictures?” he asks as he wrangles the two squirming infants.

“Yes, yes, just give me a second.”

Setting my phone in the crook of a sapling pine growing eight feet away from the overlook, I make sure the bench and its occupants are perfectly centered and focused. I rush to turn the timer on and hustle as quickly as I can to sit down next to Alex.

“Three, two, one,” I murmur. “Smile!”

I can hear the clicks of the burst of pictures being taken, and I hop up to see how chaotic they have turned out. I had set my photo app to take a burst of twenty photos in two seconds, and out of all of them, 4 have the twins looking forward with their eyes open and Alex and I both smiling. It’s not perfect, but it’s endearingly adorable. I save them, clearing the failures.

“A success!” I tell Alex cheerfully, taking Jasper from him. Alex’s hair and collar are both a little out of place from holding both babies and their four seeking, curious hands, but he is full of patience as I snap more pictures.

Some are just of Alex and the kids, some I have him take of just the kids and I, and I even lay myself flat on the ground while Alex sets the twins in the snow, letting them slap at the white fluff while I take candid shots of them with the spectacular view in the background.

Eventually, a good Samaritan sees our shenanigans and comes over, offering to take the pictures for us. I gleefully agree, and we add some standing, much more organized shots to our collection. I thank the older man profusely and pocket my phone after checking the time.

“It’s about time for brunch,” I proclaim, sweeping up our diaper bag from the snow while I balance Jasmine on my hip. The cobblestone pavilion is alive and bustling, even this high up, but the cold is turning the twins' cheeks and noses red, so it’s a relief to step into the warmth of The Sundeck and be led to our table on the heated patio.

Dad and Catherine are waiting for us patiently, Catherine enjoying a cappuccino. Alex and I don’t even bother getting high chairs. I simply hand Jasmine to Dad and pop their formula bottles into the heating cups inside the diaper bag, letting them warm while we wait.

“You two see anything interesting?” I query, to which Catherine sniffs disdainfully.

“Not unless you count a ski shop interesting.”

A quick chuckle escapes me. I definitely didn’t see her comment coming and refrain myself from shaking my head at it. Turning my attention to the waiter, I order a cup of orange spice hot tea once he comes by, and Alex goes for an espresso, and we all share an appetizer of various offerings. There’s no time for a proper meal, with Alex and I feeding bottles to the twins, stripped out of the confines of their buntings and happily cradled in our laps. Conversation is stilted, as I had expected it would be, but I don’t really mind. As much as I’d like to spend more time with my dad today, I’m more than happy to shed Catherine and the negative energy she brings.

“Petra,” Catherine says airily, picking at an edamame pod. “I suppose I should invite you to the spa with me after we take the gondola back down. I know I could use it after all of this skin-drying cold air.”

Uh, absolutely not. “Oh, I’d love to go, but we’ve got a few more things to do today. Maybe another day we can?”

She raises a single shoulder in a shrug. “Suit yourself.”

I wonder what she could want from spending one-on-one time with me? Probably planning on getting me relaxed and asking some probing questions to see how open I’d be about Dad. No way, lady.

Once the babies are fed, their eyes start to become heavy, and I zip them into their coats before they’re completely asleep and I can’t get their limp arms and legs into the sleeves and pants. Dad pays the bill, and we make our way back to the Silver Queen Gondola. It’s only 11:30 a.m., and there’s a lot of day left in front of me. I plan to make the best of it.

And truthfully, had Catherine not been going to the spa, I definitely would have found my way there sometime today. Oh well.

The trip down the mountain is much speedier, with the gondola occasionally moving fast enough to make my heart rate pick up. Of course, I know it only feels so fast because we’re up so high, but still, yikes.

I almost groan in relief when I set Jasmine, who is working her way to a nap, down in the stroller. My arms ache from carrying her for so long, but the sleepy grin she gives me as I lay her seat back in the flat position makes the workout worth it.

“You’re too cute for your own good,” I tell her, running a finger over her soft cheek.

“She certainly is,” my dad says from behind me. “Just like her mother, of course.”

“You flatterer,” I laugh, slapping his arm jokingly.

“Thanks for inviting us today,” he says, pulling me in for a quick hug. “It was nice, we enjoyed it.”

I raise my eyebrows, and he laughs self-consciously.

“Okay, okay,” Dad continues. “I enjoyed it, at least. But listen Petra, I can tell you and Catherine are a bit antagonistic towards each other. I hope it will fade in time, when you get used to her, and she gets used to all of us as a family. Just try to be a little happy for me, okay?”

“Mm-hmm,” I say, unconvinced and full of trepidation from my suspicions about Catherine’s actual intentions. “Just be careful, Dad. I like this new you. I don’t want Catherine messing that up for us. Or you getting hurt.”

“I can handle myself, I promise,” he tells me, shoving his hands in his pockets. “We’ll see you later, darling daughter. Have a good afternoon.”

“You too, Dad,” I tell him, watching him retreat to link arms with Catherine and head for the spa. I stare at them departing for a minute too long, causing Alex to sidle up next to me.

“Having trouble with Roy’s new flame, huh?” he asks me, pulling me close so I can lay my head on his shoulder.

“It’s more complicated than that…” I sigh. It IS complicated, I think. But I could still be wrong. Part of me really hopes that I am, so Dad can have this little slice of happiness.

“So, master planner,” Alex says, breaking the tension. “What’s next on the agenda?”

I shake my melancholy attitude off and give him a mischievous grin. “Clear your schedule, buddy, because we’re going Christmas shopping.”

It’s noon, and the kids are passed out, so Alex and I take this opportunity to go downtown and get some last minute Christmas presents for our friends and family. I rub my hands together gleefully as we head to the small vintage shops with unique items. Closest to us is The Little Nell Boutique, and it looks perfect for our first stop. The display windows are filled with wintery goodies: fluffy jackets, tall leather boots, and cape-style ponchos in shades of Aztec red and blue.

Inside, the heat is welcome, but it soon becomes stifling in my heavy winter gear, so I strip my coat off and tuck it in the mesh basket under Jasmine’s stroller. She’s still snoozing away, but I take the opportunity to tug her hat off and undo a few of the buttons on her jacket, hoping the change in temperature won’t wake her.

The shop is carpeted with cream Berber, with dozens of handcrafted items on shelves and hangers. It’s one of the many upscale boutiques in the area, and it definitely gives off the “luxury” vibe. There aren’t any pressing crowds or loud tourists, for which I’m utterly thankful.

Alex goes off to browse on his own, no doubt thinking about all the other places he’d rather be and how many ski slopes he’s going to drag me down for forcing him to come on my shopping spree. Thankfully, his gift is already on the way, and should arrive tomorrow according to the tracking on my phone, that I may or may not have checked over twenty times over the last few days.

Shopping today there are only a few people I’m looking to buy for: Emma, Dad, Matt, Lily, and a few extra things for the twins. They’re at the age where the wrapping paper is going to be the most entertaining part of the gift, but it doesn’t matter to me. I still want them to have plenty of things to open and for their first Christmas to be wonderful.

In New York, this would be a store I frequented often, but faced with the decisions of buying for others besides myself and the twins, my brain feels a little mushy. I’m out of practice when it comes to social gifting, but I must persevere.

Okay, I swear I’m here to buy other people’s gifts, but the poncho from the window is calling my name. After only a few moments of hesitation, I slide over to the display and shrug the cape off the mannequin. The fabric is thick and warm on the outside but lined with soft fleece inside, and it stands out sharply from the creams and neutrals of the other items in the store with its brick red and turquoise chevron pattern.

The saleswoman at the front gives me an amused look and cocks an eyebrow as I whip it around me to settle in on my shoulders with a contented sigh.

“I’ll wear it out,” I tell her, and she nods, tapping a few keys on her computer.

Poncho acquired, I firmly focus on my Christmas shopping. Annoyingly, I realize that with Margaret staying with us in the villa, I’ll have to buy her a gift, too. Oh well, something nice and generic will work just fine for her.

There’s something special in the atmosphere this time of the year, and everyone I pass in the quiet aisles stops to say something kind about the babies or to show me some item that just can’t be passed up. It’s a far cry from the insanity that is Christmas in Manhattan, where it’s almost a physical fight to get down the sidewalks and into the best stores. It seems everyone in Aspen is on the same page about how the holiday should really feel, and it gives me a fuzzy feeling inside.

Riding the high of that feeling, I take a kind older woman's advice on a locally made goat's milk soap and lotion combo scented with lavender, adding it to my order for my mother-in-law. If anyone could use some lavender, it’s Margaret, the most uptight woman alive.

I waffle for a while on what exactly to get Lily. On one hand, it seems a little strange to buy my children's nurse, and my former doula, a gift, but on the other hand, she’s almost become part of the family over these past few months with how often she’s with us. I ask one saleswoman for advice, and she directs me to a selection of delicate glass bead bracelets, and I immediately decide on a jade one with a tree of life pendant on it.

I’ve almost decided to move on to the next shop when I spot my first perfect gift. On one of the glass shelves is a set of carved marble chess pieces, the stone hewn roughly to create a blunt and striking version of the traditional chess shapes. I stand on my tiptoes to grab the small box full of the pieces, turning them this way and that in my hands. The marble is cold and smooth, the white pieces shot through with gold flecks while the black pieces are as solid and dark as night. They’re perfect for Matt, and I clutch them to my chest with happiness. One friend down.

Aspen is known for a few different kinds of shops. Ski and snowboard shops are obviously the most prevalent, followed by the high-end boutiques and clothing stores, but after that the scene is completely owned by two factions: antiques, and thrift shops. Emma is a big fan of vintage items from high-end brands, especially when she can score some limited editions, but it isn’t my scene. So, after checking out at The Little Nell, we make a beeline for the famous Daniel’s Antiques.

This isn’t the stuffy, overly stocked antique store I’m used to, that’s for sure. Everything looks flawless and is displayed elegantly. There aren’t any boxes of records to sort through or Ziploc bags of costume jewelry; only the best antiques are here. I’m almost nervous about pushing the strollers through the place, terrified of knocking something priceless over with an errant turn.

Alex is immediately drawn into a conversation with the cashier, pointing out a watch or a compass or something, and talking in hushed tones. He’s parked Jasper’s stroller next to him, and I can see that our son is still happily napping. I shrug and leave him to it, on the prowl for something for Emma.

The thing is, I don’t know what exactly I’m looking for. Like the chess pieces, I want the gift to jump out at me. I want it to be personal rather than expensive, though in this shop I suspect it will have to be both.

I tuck Jasmine’s blanket around her a little tighter and peruse, her little snores bringing a smile to my face as I do so. It’s really an incredible shop, almost like a museum, and it makes me wonder what the previous owners of these items would think of them being here, scrubbed clean and marked up to outrageous prices.

I consider quite a few different things for Emma, but none of them seem to fit right, until I spot a glass display case full of antique books. I’m not sure how much Emma reads these days, but I’m just too curious not to take a look. On the shelf right in front of me is a dark-brown, leather-bound book, with yellowed pages and bits of the leather curling on the edges of the spine. Emblazoned in gold letters on the cover is Edgar Allan Poe: The Complete Tales & Poems. It’s clearly an old copy, and it reminds me of back in High School when “The Raven” was the only piece of literature Emma actually cared enough to read. We had spent a ton of time analyzing that poem together, and I guess Poe is the only poet she ever enjoyed. That should make the perfect souvenir for my best friend.

I go up front to ask the cashier to unlock the case for me, but Alex stops me before I can ask.

“Petra, I know you wanted to pick out the gift for your dad, but can I make a suggestion?”

“Sure,” I tell him. He’s almost vibrating with excitement, and I wonder what he’s found for Dad. Alex rarely wants to participate in overly sentimental things, so I’m surprised he’s so invested.

The sales associate, wearing white gloves, carefully takes a watch from the case. From what I can tell, it’s solid gold, from the face to the band. The man holds it gingerly, bringing it up high enough that I can get a decent look at it.

“A 1977 vintage Rolex with Jubilee band, miss,” the sales associate informs me.

I blink a few times, taken aback. “Alex, this must be insanely expensive.”

“It can be from all four of us,” he explains, waving at the sleeping babies in the strollers.

I shake my head. “I can’t get my dad a Rolex, Alex! I’ll never be able to top that in the future.”

“We’ll take it,” Alex tells the sales associate, who looks like he’s so happy he could faint.

I start to argue, but then think better of it. Dad is Alex’s friend too, after all. Maybe this is Alex’s way of smoothing over all the drama of the past year, and it will be a gracious gesture to show how much our reconciliation means to me. I blow out an exasperated breath, looking at the sales associate.

“Add Poe's book on the tab, too.”

The sales associate holds his hand to his heart, seeming to hardly believe his luck. He’ll certainly be getting a good commission.

They carefully fold everything in paper, the watch placed in an equally vintage case, while they wrap Poe’s book in a long piece of white silk for safe keeping. I feel a little bizarre tucking such precious items into the bottom of the stroller, so we tip the sales associate a little extra to have the items delivered back to the villa.

After leaving Daniel’s Antiques, we have a single stop left on my agenda: A small children’s shop on the corner, the display filled with brightly colored toys and clothing. The twins are rousing, and they quietly take in the rainbows and glitter of the place as we stroll through.

I can’t wait until they’re older, and I can hold their little hands and bring them to a special place like this to pick out anything they want, but for now I need some gifts that are appropriate for them at their current age.

I find exactly what I'm looking for in the back of the shop. There’s a display of handmade children's stuffed toys with no problematic buttons or small pieces that the babies could get in their mouths. They’re small enough for them to hold, without being so small they would be easily lost. When I pick one up, they’re soft and irresistibly squishy. A lovely souvenir from our first family vacation together. I pick out an arctic fox for Jasmine, and an owl for Jasper in honor of his famous wide-eyed stare. Paired with faux fur blankets in complementary colors, I’m more than satisfied.

“Are we finally finished?” my husband says playfully, looking up from wiggling a toy in front of Jasper’s fascinated face.

“I think so,” I say, equally relieved and bummed out. It seems like a waste to only have made it to three stores, but maybe I’ll get some spare time later to check some more out.

Alex is relieved and I’m even a little surprised he doesn't jump and click his heels when we leave the store.

“I’m pooped,” I tell him. “Let’s go back to the villa and chill out in front of the fire.”

“Absolutely, just let me check on one thing,” he replies, pulling out his phone before scowling and muttering, “seriously?” under his breath.

“What is it?”

He closes his eyes and scrapes a hand through his hair. “What if we eat here?” he asks, out of the blue. “There’s a really good French place called The Wild Fig that has a huge vegan menu.”

My lips twitch into a smile at his suggestion. After all, eating out would mean avoiding Margaret for two out of three meals today. I nod.

“Okay, sounds great.”

CHAPTER 5

Aspen, December 23, 2021

Petra Van Gatt

The Wild Fig is smaller than I expected, but the atmosphere is close and intimate. I still think I would rather be back at the villa, especially how over it the twins seem to be with their long day out, but I’ll try to trust Alex and his judgment.

It’s only early evening, but at this time of the year, the sun sets early, and it’s already creeping low on the horizon, casting long shadows. We’d taken the car, none of us up for walking all the way to the restaurant, and luckily the place was empty enough that we were seated immediately.

After strapping Jasmine into the provided highchair, one of her blankets rolled and tucked behind her for stability, I sink exhaustedly into my own chair, resting my elbows on the pristine white tablecloth.

“The sun setting so early is really messing with me,” I comment. “I’m so tired and I have no reason to be!”

“It has been a busy day,” Alex says absentmindedly, flipping through his menu. I notice he continues to check his phone every few minutes, and it makes me a bit suspicious, but I push the feeling to the side.

“Sure, but a day like this wouldn’t normally tire me out so quickly,” I reply, perusing the options for myself and checking out the specials scrawled on a mirror hanging over the bar.

Alex looks up from his menu, giving me a serious look. “Are you getting enough protein? Iron?” he queries, eyebrows drawn together.

I blow out a breath. Ever since my close brush with malnutrition during my pregnancy, Alex has been overly observant about my health and eating habits. Part of me wonders if it’s because he feels guilt from how thin and distressed I had become when he was living elsewhere.

“You have nothing to worry about,” I assure him, reaching across the table to lay a hand over his. “I’m taking all my vitamins. Promise.”

Mollified, Alex nods. I look over at Jasmine, who is blowing bubbles and concentrating extraordinarily hard on crumpling the kid’s menu that was hilariously set in front of her as if she could read it and pick out her meal. She’s occupied, though, so I leave her to it.

Jasper is taking his surroundings in, kicking his chubby legs as he does so. Both kids are well behaved for the moment, but I’m afraid hunger and fatigue are going to overwhelm them soon enough.

We’ve got a jar of the food that Lily packed in the diaper bag, but when the twins are overly tired, all they seem to want is formula. I hope they’ll be in a good enough mood to accept the baby food, but there’s no telling with this mercurial pair.

Our server is a curvier woman in her late twenties with a short, jet black bob and red lipstick. She welcomes us warmly, but really lights up when she greets the twins, bending over so she’s at eye level with each of them. Her face is kind, but I think I can see the shadow of tiredness lurking behind her public facade. After introducing herself as Sharon, she helps me look over the menu and points out all the vegan options, plus what they can easily change to be made vegan.

“We don’t get many little ones in here,” she tells us conversationally as she takes our order. “It’s mostly older couples without kids or the younger couples that are always on adult-only getaways.”

We order, and I’m happy for the chance to talk to Alex without an audience of parents or parents’ girlfriends.

“Speaking of getaways, what other places do you want to take the twins to when they get older?” I ask Alex.

“Hmm,” he says, considering the question. “Venice, absolutely, but not until they’re older. I have a feeling we’re going to be spending a lot of time at Disney World.”

He seems less excited about the latter option, and I laugh. “Hey, don’t be so grouchy about it. I’ve heard it’s way more fun once you have kids.”

“It better be,” he grumbles. “Anywhere special you had in mind?”

“Once they’re kids instead of babies, I’d love to take them to the Louvre,” I breathe, already thinking about how exciting it will be to share the artwork there with them for the first time. I wonder if either of them will take up painting as I did as a child, or what other hobbies they might find. I promise myself that we’ll give them all the opportunities possible to stretch their creative wings.

“Okay, new question,” I say, leaning forward. “Based on their personalities right now, what will be their hobby when they grow up? Like how mine was oil painting.”

My husband looks at our children. Jasper, his head lowered and double chin on display, is picking at the fibers on his blanket, while his sister is still overjoyed at the loud crackling noise her crumpled menu makes. Alex’s mouth skews up in a smirk.

“Jasper will train show dogs, and Jasmine will be a fencing master,” he answers finally.

I laugh loudly, taken off guard by his response. “Fencing! Dogs!”

Alex nods solemnly. “Mark my words, they will be masters in their fields.”

I snort. “And what kind of dogs is Jasper going to be showing?”

Alex raps his finger on the table a few times as he thinks, before saying confidently, “Pembroke Welsh Corgi.”

I have tears in my eyes from holding back my laughter at this point, highly amused at this silly side of Alex. “I was going to say golf and soccer!”

“Well,” he hedges, “I guess we’ll see in about ten years what they’re passionate of.”

Our food is hot and welcome; risotto for me and lobster ravioli for Alex. The twins both sit up straight in their chairs, and I wince at my lack of foresight. I should have fed them first. I crack open the jar of baby food, what looks to be a green bean and carrot puree, and attempt to feed them, but they’re having none of it.

I’m not sure if it’s the strange environment or how tired they are, but no amount of cajoling can make them eat, and within a few minutes I’m feeling frazzled by their fussing and fully aware that my pricy dinner is getting cold.

I clench my jaw, pinching the bridge of my nose in frustration. We should have at least swung by the villa for bottles or to feed the twins before trying to go out. I wave off Alex’s attempts to assist me, both annoyed and angry at myself for the mistake.

Sharon swings by to inquire about the meal and, feeling defeated, I ask for mine to be packaged up. The server furrows her brow, looking over my fussy children. “I can do that, but can I try something else first?” she asks.

Confused, but willing to try anything at this point, I give her the go-ahead. She disappears into the back of the restaurant and comes back in a few minutes with two black ceramic bowls filled with something creamy looking with purple-brown swirls throughout it.

She sits the bowls down in front of me instead of in front of the twins, thankfully, because they’re worked up enough that I’m sure they would bury their hands in the food immediately.

“It’s fresh vanilla yogurt with a swirl of our fig jam. When I have to bring my son in before the daycare opens, it’s his favorite snack. Always has been,” Sharon tells us, her tone self-conscious. “I thought they might like it, too.”

I don’t eat yogurt, so I slide one bowl over to Alex, who takes a small spoonful. His eyebrows shoot nearly up to his hairline. “It’s great, seriously.”

Sharon gives us a nervous smile, twisting the string of her apron around one finger. “I hope I didn’t overstep…”

“Not at all!” I assure her. “Thank you so much.”

“Enjoy your meal,” she says quickly, hustling off to the back of the restaurant.

Once the twins realize I’m not trying to feed them the veggie baby food anymore, they both tentatively accept the bite from my spoon, eating it happily and opening their mouths for the next serving immediately.

Thank goodness for Sharon’s motherly instincts, because Alex and I are able to feed each baby in between bites of our food, and the meal goes much smoother than I had expected it to ten minutes ago.

I watch the server out of the corner of my eye as we eat. She seems to be the only one in the place besides the manager we spotted on the way in, and I wonder how much time she has to spend here, away from her young son. I chew my lip thoughtfully.

“Alex,” I say, catching my husband's eye. “Let’s leave her a little extra for a tip. It’s Christmas time, after all.”

The look he gives me is warm and sweet. “Sure thing, my soft-hearted wife.”

“I’d be your empty-stomached wife if she hadn’t found something they would tolerate eating.”

The rest of dinner goes by without incident, and by the time we are finished, the sun is fully set, and I am full to bursting. I lean back in my chair with a groan. Thank goodness we took a car here, because there is no way I could walk back to the villa in this state.

Sharon, the server, brings the bill by, and when she walks away, letting us know she’d return for payment shortly, Alex sets his credit card on the slip of paper and slides it over to me to fill out the tip line.

I think about the gifts I’d bought my friends today, and how much I am looking forward to spoiling Jasmine and Jasper every single year of their childhoods for Christmas. Giving things to the ones I love makes me so happy…but writing a $100 tip for our server makes me happier still. Giving someone who is basically a stranger some extra money to spend on her child seems like the most Christmassy thing I could possibly do.

I push the card and paper back over to Alex to sign, and he doesn’t even bat an eye at my choice in amount. I can see our server over near an order terminal, and once Alex is done signing, I motion for him to put his coat on.

“Don’t you want to see her reaction?” he asks.

“It’s not about that. Plus, it’s almost a little embarrassing for me. I just want it to be a kind gesture. I don’t need anything out of it.”

Alex shrugs but puts on his coat and zips Jasper back into his. I follow suit with our daughter, a giddy feeling in my stomach. I don’t necessarily want to be caught, so I rush us through our departure.

Alex has made it outside, but before I can get out behind him, I feel a tentative touch on my shoulder. I turn around to see Sharon, misty eyed, staring back at me.

“Thank you,” she says simply. “It’s been a rough year for us in these restaurants. Just… Thank you. Merry Christmas, ma’am.”

I feel myself getting a little choked up as well, and I fan my face with my hand. “Merry Christmas to you too. Thank your son for his great yogurt recommendation.”

She gives me a watery laugh and a nod. “I will. Have a good night.”

I follow Alex to our ride, feeling light as air and absolutely awash in the Christmas spirit. Despite Margaret and Catherine, Aspen really has brightened my holiday so much. It’s such a fresh setting compared to Manhattan, and the slower pace gives my soul a chance to rest and play catch up.

Alex doesn’t ask me how it went. He just assists me in strapping Jasmine into the car seat in the back row alongside her brother, and when we take off, the lights in the car dimming, he pulls me close and kisses the top of my head. My eyes flutter closed as I snuggle up to him.

Back at the villa, Alex almost seems nervous as we unload the kids, who are full of yogurt and in need of a diaper change. He takes Jasmine’s carrier from my hands when we reach the door and blocks my way in.

“Cover your eyes,” he says, his voice tense with a hint of excitement.

“What are you up to?”

“Don’t ask questions,” he insists. “Just close your eyes.”

With a heavy sigh, I follow his directions, covering my eyes with my hands and waiting patiently. Alex rings the doorbell, and after a few seconds I hear the door crack open. The elderly Earl greets Alex with a, “Welcome home, master Alex! Everything has been finished as requested, and the decorators have just departed.”

“Shh,” I hear him tell Earl, laughter in his voice. “Don’t ruin my surprise, Earl.”

“Apologies, sir.”

I’m still covering my eyes, feeling the warmth from the seemingly always-lit fireplace at my front and the chill from the outdoors at my back. I hear Alex set down the car seats, returning to lead me gently inside and closing the door behind me.

“Open your eyes.” he whispers.

My eyes pop open, and I gasp. Like I had anticipated, the enormous fireplace is blazing, my unamused mother-in-law sitting primly on the couch in front of it. The ridiculously immense pine tree is still there in the corner, reaching to the second floor to where I could touch it from the balcony at the top of the stairs. But that’s all that remains the same.

The white lights and classy, matching ornaments and decor are gone. In its place are all the things Emma and I had bought back in Manhattan. It’s a wash of uproarious color, the rainbow of lights twinkling and illuminating the otherwise conservative-looking villa. It must have been a colossal pain in the ass to have had it all shipped here and put up, but Alex had done it for me. He had listened when I lamented leaving my new decor behind and worked to give me this surprise.

I squeal in excitement, covering my mouth.

“It’s absolutely garish,” Margaret comments from the couch, not even bothering to look up from her book.

“I know,” I breathe joyously, throwing my arms around my husband's neck. “Thank you so much!”

“Does this make up for bringing Mother?” he whispers in my ear, low enough so she can’t hear it.

“No,” I whisper back with a giggle, before pressing my lips to his.

He pulls away long enough to tell me, “It was worth a try,” before we resume kissing beneath the brilliant tree.

CHAPTER 6

Aspen, December 24, 2021

Petra Van Gatt

A snowball, barely packed together, hits me in the temple and explodes into a million little pieces. My children, the little traitors, laugh uproariously as I scrape the snow off my face.

“Hilarious,” I say dryly, looking at my dad, who has just decided to join us for our morning playing-in-the-snow session. He looks more like he should be enjoying a hot toddy in a lodge somewhere with his brown leather coat and scarf, and I’m sure he’s not going to get on his hands and knees with the kids like I currently am, but I appreciate him joining us, nonetheless.

Well, I would if he wasn't tossing snowballs at me. If you had told me a few months ago that the one and only Roy Van Gatt would throw a snowball, I’d have guffawed, but having grandchildren can change a person, I guess. And if I’ve learned anything about babies, it’s that the funniest thing on the planet to them is if anything inconveniences me at any given moment, snowballs included.

Aside from when it’s hitting me in the face, I don’t think the twins are huge fans of the snow. It was a novelty at first, and they had both greatly enjoyed using their mitten-clad hands to push and swish the snow this way and that, but after a few minutes, they seemed almost bored. Still, I wasn’t going to miss out on letting them have every new experience possible here in Aspen.

Dad groans as he sits on the bench closest to the twins and me, his hands shoved in his coat pockets. “Merry Christmas Eve, you three. Any big plans on the agenda today?”

I shake my head. Alex had mentioned skiing the day before yesterday, but tomorrow was Christmas and the day after Margaret goes home, so if I can avoid her watching the kids, I will. Alex is inside, shut in our bedroom with his laptop out as he checks in on a few work ordeals, so I haven’t gotten to pick his brain today about what we should get into.

Dad frowns. “You guys should do something while we are here! Even Catherine and Margaret went to the spa together yesterday. I guess it mended the fences.” He jerks his head towards the patio.

Lounging at the outdoor table beneath one of the radiant heaters, Margaret and Catherine are drinking coffee and chatting under their breath to each other, looking for all the world like old friends. Thinking back to the argument at the coffee shop the other day, my suspicions are raised even further. Who becomes friends with someone they initially despised so quickly?

“Dad…” I start quietly. “I know you don’t know Margaret all that well, but when have you known her to make such fast friends?” I ask, keeping a neutral tone.

My father watches the two older women for a moment too, his frown deepening when Margaret says something that makes them both laugh, eyes and noses crinkled.

Still, he seems to shake off the odd sight. “It is a little odd, but I’m not going to argue if the two of them want to get along instead of being at each other's throats. Makes my life easier, I’ll tell you that much.”

I exhale, pulling my attention away from the women and back to the twins. I can’t bring my dad up to date on my theories yet, considering I have nothing to go on. “You’re right,” I admit, knowing it to be a total lie in my heart.

We chat a little more while I play with the kids, writing their names in the snow with my fingers and letting them slap them away, flakes flying into the air. It keeps them entertained for a while, but it isn’t long until the cold outweighs the fun, and their laughs turn to grunts and babbles of annoyance.

“Fine, you little party poopers,” I tell them, scooping them up into my arms. It’s a chore to stand holding them both, but I manage.

Dad at least follows me to the door, opening it for me, but he doesn’t join me inside. Instead, he takes a seat at the patio table under the heater with Margaret and Catherine. Well, that’s weird… but maybe he’s catching on that the situation is a little strange and wants to get to the bottom of it himself.

Inside, the twins squirm in my arms, all but begging to be put down and their huge coats removed. I lay them down on the ottoman gently, trying to control them both while unzipping their coats. It’s a colossal hassle, and when I manage to get one limb free from a coat, the other baby is trying to roll away.

I’m sweating and out of breath by the time I finish depositing them both in their playpen and wiping my forehead with the back of my hand. It’s right then that Alex comes into the view, an apologetic look on his face when he sees how flushed I am and the scattering of baby winter gear all over the surrounding floor.

“Guess I’m too late to help you out. I’m sorry,” Alex says with a wince.

“It’s okay,” I lie, wishing desperately for another set of hands for situations like these. “I managed.”

Alex reaches the living area where we are and comes over to take my coat as I shrug it off, taking it to the closet while I busy myself by falling with a huff onto the couch. It’s still morning, and I’m already beat!

When my husband returns, he holds my chin in one hand and examines my face, searching for something, but I have no idea what.

Finally, he says, “Let’s get out of here and go to the slopes.”

I thin my lips in a grimace. “You know we can’t.” I motion over to the playpen, where the twins are sitting on their bottoms and trying to fit shaped blocks into the correct holes in a hollowed out plastic circle.

“Mom will watch them,” Alex insists, taking my hands and trying to pull me off the couch. “We just need to let her know that we’re leaving.”

I protest again. “She’s probably got another spa day. She went yesterday with Catherine and apparently it was a blast.”

“I don’t care,” Alex tells me, a stubborn look in his eye. “She offered, and now we’re going to make her keep true to her word. Let’s. Go. Skiing.”

I nibble my lip nervously. It would be lovely to get out for a while, just the two of us, but if we let Margaret watch the kids today, then how much time is she going to demand with them in the future? If I give an inch, will she take a mile?

“Alex, I don’t know…”

“Need I remind you that you also agreed to let her watch the twins. Don’t make a liar out of us both, Petra.”

I groan, scrubbing my hands over my face. Alex takes that as an affirmative, opening the patio door and yelling out. “Mom,” he calls. “Come in here for a minute!”

Margaret wastes no time coming to Alex, desperate to see how best she can force herself into our business, I imagine. “Yes?” she asks, raising her eyebrows.

Casually, Alex tells her, “We’re going out for the day, to the ski slopes. We’ll be back tonight, okay?”

Margaret looks surprised, glancing down at the two kids in the playpen for a second before recovering herself. She had offered. No backing out now. It’s not that I want her to watch them, but the idea of ruining any plans she had made brings me a smidgen of joy.

“Yeah,” I add smugly. “We’ll be gone all day, Margaret.”

Her expression is pinched, but she eventually nods. “Of course! And don’t worry,” she adds. “Your father and Catherine will be at their villa all day today, so if anything goes amiss, I have backup right next door.”

That actually does make me feel a little bit better. At least my dad had interacted with the twins over three times in their entire lives. “Okay, perfect.”

Alex and I head to our bedroom to change into our ski clothes. White coat and scarlet pants for me. Alex’s ski suit is a gunmetal gray top and bottom, a white stripe running the length of the set. My suit is brand new, and I rotate my neck in a circle a few times, feeling a little stifled. I shove matching red gloves in my coat pocket and braid my hair in two braids to keep it out of my face.

Looking at myself in the mirror, my stomach turns with mild anxiety. I look the part, but I haven’t skied in so long that I’m a little worried about embarrassing myself in front of Alex, who seems to be good at every single thing he does. Well, whatever. I guess I’m out of luck if I can’t remember what to do. It should be fun either way. If I’m dreadful, I’ll just hang out in the lodge and drink hot cocoa.

I kiss the twins goodbye, feeling a little lump in my throat at leaving them with my mother-in-law. I know they’ll be fine, and the time away will help me relax some, but I still don’t love the idea of leaving them.

“Be good,” I tell them, snuggling them close and breathing in their smell deep into my lungs. Jasper pats each of my cheeks, murmuring “ba ba ba” to me as he does, and Jasmine squeals to be released from the hug.

“Come on, Petra,” Alex says, equal parts amused and annoyed at how long I’m taking. “They’ll be here when we get back, I promise.”

Swallowing hard, I square my shoulders and follow him out. He watches my face as we head to the SUV, silent until we are both buckled in. He’d started the vehicle remotely, and I warm my hands in front of the vent as he speaks.

“You’re never this emotional about leaving them with Lily,” Alex comments.

“Yeah, well, Lily is a nurse,” I point out.

“You’re still scared for them, aren’t you? From how fragile they were after the birth?”

I sigh, closing my eyes. “You know I am. I probably always will be… You’re nervous too. Remember the swim class?”

“Yes, but that was because it was an unfamiliar experience. You’re afraid just leaving them alone with someone new, even someone that has raised children before, like my mother.” Alex reaches over and squeezes my knee reassuringly. “This is all part of letting them be independent as they grow. If you can’t leave them with their grandmother now, how will you ever leave them in kindergarten five years from now?”

I take a deep breath in through my nose and out through my mouth, letting Alex’s words take away some of the uncertainty. Eventually I lay my hand over his and squeeze back. “You’re right. I’m good. Let’s go.”

He grips my hand, raising it to his mouth and kissing my fingers. “How about a coffee first, tired girl? They have a maple and oat milk latte at the shop near the lift.”

Oh man, he’s really speaking my language now. “If you keep talking like that, you’re going to have to get a hotel room instead of a set of skis.”

With a chuckle, Alex pulls our vehicle out onto the road, driving carefully through the crowded downtown area. We’re headed to the lift near the gondola from yesterday, but first we go and get our equipment. Even though it’s still morning, this is a late start for skiing, and I have some serious catching up to do with figuring everything out.

Still, it’s good to be going anywhere with Alex. I watch his handsome face as he drives us, the sparse sunlight making his stubble seem almost bronze on his cheeks. He’s come a long way, my cold, aloof husband. He’s becoming gentler and patient with me, and he’s a more fabulous father than I could have ever imagined.

“I love you,” I tell him out of the blue.

He glances at me quickly, a soft expression on his face before he looks back to the road. “I love you too, little Petra.”

My wonderful Alex. I can only hope that he’s as good a ski instructor as he is a husband, because if not, we might be in for a long day.

I’m really going to need that latte.

After Alex takes me to the coffee shop, and with my extra-large latte clutched between my hands, we go to the ski shop to get fitted. He actually had a set of skis at home, but with the babies, he had assumed he wouldn’t get a chance to use them. Still, he doesn’t seem to object to looking over the latest models, laser focusing on some black and silver Pro limited edition models, of course.

Just like at the antique store, I can almost see the dollar signs in the sales associates' eyes as he leads Alex throughout the store. I don’t complain, taking the time to enjoy my coffee and looking over some of the more fashionable items.

I don’t escape for too long, though. Eventually Alex has me sit in a chair while the associate fits me with the boots and skis. He has me walk in the boots first, and when he and Alex find them acceptable, he clasps the skis onto the boots. The salesman then explains us how these are great for both backcountry and resort skiing. “These skis are decently lightweight for climbing at 6 pounds 13 ounces, and have a great shape for smooth operation on the downhills. Plus they boast a premium construction that’s built to last,” he adds.

“Do you like them?” Alex asks.

“Uh, sure,” I say, really having no idea what I’m looking for in a pair of skis.

After strapping a helmet to my head, shoving a pair of poles into my hands, and giving me a pair of reflective goggles, I guess that I’m ready to go. I drain my coffee, already mourning its loss, and follow Alex out to the lift.

Once outside, I push my boots into the skis until they click, sliding behind my husband as he leads me to where I need to go. I remember more than I thought I would, and don’t have too much trouble locomoting. I’m even able to stop after going down a small decline, bringing the tips of my skis together so I can skid to a halt.

This makes Alex laugh. “The snow plough, huh?”

I scowl at him, lifting my goggles. “Yeah, so what?”

“Nothing,” he cajoles, “I just didn’t realize you were ten years old.”

Alex demonstrates the parallel stop, spraying snow as he does. It’s impressive and quick, but a little advanced looking for me.

“I’m good with the snow plough,” I tell him.

“Suit yourself, newbie,” he jokes, dodging the playful slap I aim at him, swooping towards the lift gracefully. I go with him, keeping a good pace, albeit not looking nearly as skilled.

Watching the ski lift, I hesitate. It’s a long way up, holy moly. Looking longingly over at the gondola, I reluctantly follow my husband to the open lift and its lengthy climb.

We step up, falling back into our seats as soon as the bench touches the back of our calves. I squeak a bit, but Alex’s firm thigh pressing against mine reassures me, even as the lift pulls us higher and higher up the mountain.

“This is a lot of work for just skiing,” I mention, kicking my feet to show all the gear we’re now wearing.

“It will be a good time,” he says with certainty. “I promise.”

The lift is honestly terrifying, and I grip Alex’s arm as we rise and rise, wringing a promise out of him that we’ll take the gondola next time. The flattened ground of the top of the mountain is a welcome sight, and we dismount from the bench, skis landing in the snow with a “thump.”

Alex bumps me with his elbow. “Well, now that we’re here, let’s get you up to speed, my love. Then we’ll have some real fun.”

I’m not sure how much I like the sound of real fun, but I force myself to be brave and go with my husband, putting my faith in him.

It turns out that relearning how to ski isn’t nearly as chaotic as I thought it would be. Alex is patient and thorough, waiting until I gain some confidence in my balance and ability before taking me down the first bunny slope. At the first burst of speed, I grip my poles as tight as my gloves will allow, but I’m surprised at how much I’m enjoying myself!

By the time I meet Alex at the bottom of the hill, snow ploughing to a stop, my smile is wide enough that it hurts my cheeks. “Let’s do it again.”

Alex humors me, and we do the bunny slope again, and then a third time before he pulls me away to the larger hills. The first goes well, and I’m riding high on adrenaline when he takes me to the second slope. It’s the first one I’m going to attempt that has any real steepness to it, but I’m confident. I’ve succeeded so far!

But I didn't succeed this time.

My fall isn’t too dramatic, just a slow tumble when the front of one of my skis digs into the slope, but I still get a mouthful of snow before I can pick myself back up, face burning with humiliation.

Alex skids to a stop beside me, and after he checks me over, genuine worry laced in his eyes, he hauls me to my feet. Once he realizes I’m unharmed, aside from my pride, I can see the laughter pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t you dare,” I warn, and he turns away with a snort, quickly collecting himself.

Alex helps me brush the snow off myself, even ducking his head for a quick kiss. “Maybe backcountry skiing is more your style.”

Well, I’m already wearing the skis, so why not?

Alex and I travel to the back trails, and I’m winded by the time we reach the more heavily wooded areas, but to my greatest surprise, here the slopes are slow and gentle, and I swiftly catch my breath. While the front slopes were crowded and boisterous, here, on the other side of the mountain Alex and I are nearly alone, just the sounds of the birds and the wind in the trees keeping us company.

The world is only three colors out here in the forest: the white of the snow, the brown of the tree bark, and the evergreen of the luscious pines. The beauty of this place soothes my soul.

“I like this,” I tell Alex, almost in a whisper. “Like, a lot.”

“I should have known you wouldn’t be an adrenaline junkie,” Alex replies, winking at me.

We talk little, just Alex giving me periodic directions. The shushing of our skis over the snow is almost hypnotic. It’s been almost an hour, and to my dismay, I can see the trail curl off a way below us, leading back to the main area of the ski resort.

I’m about to ask Alex if there are any other off-piste terrain we can visit before heading back to the villa, but before I can open my mouth, he holds his pole up horizontally to the ground, stopping me in my tracks. I quickly bring the tips of my skis together and skid to a stop.

“Wha—” I start, but Alex shushes me.

“Shh…” he tells me, gesturing to our left with the pole. “Look behind the two trees there, down just a bit.”

I follow his gaze and gasp softly. Standing in the snow, his head lowered to the ground as he paws for fresh foliage, is a bull elk, his antlers arching high above his enormous head. His coat is somewhere between buckskin brown and red, unblemished and stunning.

I can’t find any words, both in awe of the immense creature and wondering how afraid I should be. Alex is stock-still, his spine rigid.

The elk looks up at us slowly, the steam of his breath curling around his nostrils as he snorts a few times. My heart is galloping in my chest, and I almost feel light-headed. The regal animal observes the two of us for minutes on end, as motionless as we are, but finally, he turns and makes his way through the woods, and eventually out of our sight.

I see Alex take a huge breath and exhale, and it sounds shaky to me. I feel the same, my insides like Jell-O, but I’m still floored by the experience. Wide eyed, I turn to face my husband, and we laugh quietly, both us of jittery and coming down from the high of the experience.

When Alex starts to move down the slope again, it’s with a little more urgency. I follow, talking just to burn off some of the energy inside of me. “I can’t believe what we just saw.”

“It was dangerous as fuck,” Alex responds. “A bull elk roaming freely…”

“He seemed nice enough.”

I can’t see Alex’s face, but I’m willing to bet money that he is rolling his eyes at me. “You’re ridiculous. Scared of skiing but totally comfortable with gigantic wild animals.”

I smirk. “I have to say, skiing is the only one of the two that caused me to fall.”

The trail leads us back to the major portion of the mountain, and back to the reality of all the other tourists and skiers. It’s a whiplash change of pace from the quiet forest, and suddenly I decide I am over skiing for the day. Enough people, enough elks, and enough falling.

I say as much to Alex, who agrees. He’s had enough of the slopes to satisfy him, and he’s content to take us back to the lodge. Having purchased a premium membership to the lodge with our lift tickets today, Alex guides me past the bustling main part of the lodge to the elevators, which take us to the second floor reserved for members.

One would think I’d have had my fill of fireplaces by now, but the hulking round one in the center of the upper lodge calls me to it like a siren's song. I’ve long since removed my skis, but the plush leather sofa in front of the fire tempts me to remove my boots too, and within minutes I’m warming my nearly frozen toes in front of the flames.

We aren’t the only ones here; about a dozen other members mill around, drinking their choice of hot beverage and chatting to one another. Alex had disappeared when he had gotten off the elevator, and he returns to me now, trading a kiss from me for a almond milk hot chocolate in a cardboard cup.

“Thank you,” I groan, stripping my gloves off to absorb the heat coming through the cardboard.

He sits down next to me, and we warm ourselves together in companionable silence. I let my head fall to his shoulder with a sigh. “I’m going to need a foot massage when we get back to the villa.”

He chuckles. “That’s what the spa is for.”

“That’s what husbands are for,” I correct him.

Alex takes a long sip of his own drink, tapping his fingers on the cup. “So, have I made a skier out of you?”

“No,” I say instantly and then amend my statement with a “Maybe.”

We leave the lodge as the sun sinks lower and lower in the sky, the early darkness coming on faster than we can anticipate. Alex stays true to his promise, and we ride the gondola down Aspen mountain, warm and cozy instead of freezing and exposed. It’s almost fully dark when we emerge, stripping of most of our ski gear that a lodge employee loads into the SUV for us.

I can’t believe we’ve actually been gone a whole day, especially on Christmas Eve, but I’m relieved to find no guilt in my heart. There are no frantic messages from Margaret on my phone, and I’m sure my babies are waiting for me back at the villa, warm and well fed.

We drive even slower than when we came in this morning, and I even roll down my window, listening to the roving packs of carolers as they make their way through downtown Aspen. It’s almost something out of a dream, the a cappella Christmas songs weaving through the night air, paired with the festive lighting coming together to form something truly magical.

Margaret and the twins are indeed waiting on us when we come home, and I’m honestly surprised to see Jasmine contently held in her arms while Jasper snoozes in the playpen. I don’t plan on waking them, but when I go to take my daughter from Margaret, there’s a soft knock at the door. Carolers.

Oh well, it’s Christmas Eve after all. The twins can stay up a little longer.

They’re bleary-eyed as I wrap them in blankets, carrying them out onto the front balcony attached to the master suite. The air is frosty, and the babies wince when it touches their face, but their discomfort doesn’t last long.

I’m not sure if they understand what all the singing is about, but at least eight carolers stand in the yard below, singing their hearts out.

“On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me…”

Jasmine and Jasper are quiet, soaking in everything around them, listening almost studiously as the carolers sing. Alex, holding Jasper, comes close enough that we lean on each other, our children clutched in our arms and fat, lazy snowflakes falling around us.

It’s late, it’s cold, but it’s wonderful.

CHAPTER 7

Aspen, December 25, 2021

Petra Van Gatt

Everyone has told me, over and over, that Christmas will feel different with children, and that Christmas with children will be just as exciting as when I was a kid myself, if not more so. I’ve learned not to put too much belief in everyone else's parenting experiences, because with kids, no one’s experience is ever the same. But I can honestly say my first Christmas morning with Jasmine and Jasper is one of the greatest days of my life.

Our first Christmas together dawns bright and clear, a fresh dusting of snow having fallen the night before but all the clouds dissipating before dawn. I’m awoken by a beam of sunlight peeking through the curtains and landing directly on my face. Annoying at first, but once I realize what day it is, I’m up in a snap, shaking Alex’s sleeping form until he groans from under the covers.

“It’s Christmas,” I plead, and with an unhappy noise, he sits up, his hair mussed from sleep.

“I’m up, I’m up.”

It’s only five a.m., and not even the kids are awake yet, so I slip into the shower and scrub myself clean with peppermint soap, winding my hair in a towel and tugging on my jeans. I pull a holly-green sweater from out of the armoire and don it before unwrapping my hair and turning the hair dryer on low, so as to not wake anyone else up.

Alex eventually joins me in the bathroom, showering himself without speaking, clearly still too tired to socialize. I have to wipe the mirror a few times, but eventually my hair is dried, and Alex gets out from under the steaming spray.

I’m momentarily distracted by the white fluffy towel slung low on his hips, and when I look back up at his face, there’s a suggestive grin on his lips.

“Not right now,” I insist, blushing. “After gifts!”

“Have it your way,” he says with a shrug, voice gravelly with sleep.

I’ve just swept some mascara over my lashes when the movement monitor beeps, and the video feed from the baby monitors shows the twins rousing slowly, stretching their little bodies with enormous yawns.

They’re soft and warm as Alex and I lift them from their cribs, both of us taking time to cuddle the drowsy infants, letting them press their cheeks and hands to our faces. We don’t bother with a change of clothes, leaving them in their festive Christmas pajamas after a quick diaper change. I’m vibrating with giddy impatience as they drink their morning bottles, and when they finish, it’s finally time to go downstairs.

Margaret, by far my least favorite part of this special morning, is wide awake and perfectly dressed, sipping her cup of tea as she eyes me disdainfully. I ignore her, texting my dad to come over as soon as he can.

I’ve barely taken my cup of matcha from Earl when the doorbell rings, and Alex lets my father and Catherine in from the cold. Dad’s eyes are sparkling, his arms laden with gifts, but Catherine has the same snobby expression on her face that she always does. The only person she bothers to greet is Margaret, sitting right next to her enemy-turned-friend despite all the other seating in the room.

But, whatever. Even the two of them can’t dampen my spirits. Everyone is here, and it’s time for gifts.

I hold Jasper in my lap, sitting in front of the tree, the twinkling rainbow lights shining multicolored spots on his fair skin. Alex sits next to us with our daughter, and the grandparents (plus Catherine) rest on the couch, seemingly content to watch the chaos of children opening gifts from a little farther away.

Jasmine and Jasper are almost overwhelmed with the amount of things in front of them. Their eyes are as wide as saucers and glimmering with the different colored wrapping paper that they gleefully tear from the packages, with our help, of course. They hold each gift for a millisecond before discarding it on the ground and reaching for the next shiny thing they can get their hands on. It gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling inside when they spend a few extra seconds on the plushes I had found for them, rubbing their cheeks against the soft fur, babbling quietly to their new stuffed friends.

The living area looks like a war zone of wrapping paper and bows once they are done, and it’s almost as good as having a babysitter to let the twins dig through the torn paper while the adults exchange gifts.

It surprises me to receive a gift from both Catherine and Margaret, but much less shocked when I open them to reveal a candle and a pair of wool socks, respectfully. I thank them with my teeth clenched but laugh to myself when they open their identical goat's milk soap presents from me.

Catherine’s eyes bug out of her head when Dad unwraps his gift from Alex and me, holding the Rolex reverently in his hands before sliding it onto his wrist.

“This is incredible,” he tells us, his voice suspiciously gruff. “Thank you both.”

Dad gifted me a set of ethically sourced natural bristle paintbrushes, and a vintage fountain pen for Alex to display in the office. Alex bought his mother a black Tahitian pearl necklace, which she cooed over with more affection than I’ve seen her show her grandchildren. Now, everything else has been gifted, besides the large box marked for Alex from me, and the much smaller one from him to me.

We both hold our gifts in our laps, awkwardly telling each other to open theirs first.

“At the same time?” I suggest, and Alex nods.

“Three, two, one…”

We both tear into the paper, and with mine being so much smaller, I’m through the paper hastily. Inside is a red velvet jewelry box, which I open with careful reverence. These are our first gifts exchanged as parents!

Inside the box, resting on a pillow, is the most brilliantly clear diamond tennis bracelet I’ve ever seen, except the two stones directly in the center of the bracelets are a deep, dark blue, with hints of turquoise glimmering in the depths.

“Is this…?” I ask, my heart in my throat.

“Alexandrite,” Alex answers, knowing my question without me even finishing it. “The twins' birthstone.”

It’s such a thoughtful, personal gift, and when fastening it onto my wrist I have to wipe a few tears from the corners of my eyes. “Thank you, Alex.” I sniffle.

It’s then that I realize he’s opened my gift, too, and is holding the black peacoat in his lap, his thumb rubbing over one of the mother-of-pearl buttons.

“I have an idea what this is,” he says warmly. “But why don’t you tell me, just to be sure.”

“It’s... the buttons…” I clear my throat, still fighting back tears. “The buttons are made from mother-of-pearl from our honeymoon island. I had the coat tailor-made for you.”

Alex leans forward, cupping my face in his hands and kissing me soundly. I close my eyes, hearing and feeling all the gratitude I would ever need from him through his lips on mine. It’s a chaste kiss, but brimming with sentiment, and when we separate, the torrent of love between us doesn’t abate.

“Merry Christmas,” I tell him, my voice watery. I don’t notice anyone else, just Alex and our children playing beside us.

“Merry Christmas to you too, wife.”

All the high emotions and gift-giving behind us, we gather around the huge dining table for breakfast. Chef George, his permanent scowl fixed in place, serves us stacks and stacks of tender pancakes, fresh whipped cream, with multiple bowls of fruit on the side. Even the weirdness between Margaret, Catherine, and I seems to dissipate for the moment as we enjoy our family breakfast.

I continue to watch Margaret closely, though, her interactions with Alex especially. I’m not totally sure, but I feel like if I was an unbiased third party, they wouldn’t look any different from any other mother and son duo. Margaret is usually aloof and distant, but it seems like Christmas has even gotten to her a bit, because she listens to Alex when he speaks without interrupting, even going so far as to look interested in what he has to say.

She also absentmindedly takes care of Jasper, who is in his high chair between her and Alex. Between words, she feeds him minuscule bites of pancakes, patting his mouth between each one. If I didn’t know any better, I might think she had the potential to be a wonderful grandmother, except I’m almost positive that Margaret can never give up her scheming ways or be able to shirk her unending desire to be in control. Maybe there’s something wrong with me, but I actually feel a small pang of sadness thinking of Jasmine and Jasper growing up without their only remaining grandmother, Alex’s mom, but there is nothing I can do to change her heart or mind.

“This is almost enjoyable,” my dad jokes, looking around the table at all of us. “It almost makes me sad that we’re going home after tomorrow.”

“It is sad,” Catherine agrees. “But I’m sure we’ll come back soon.”

“Are you ready to get back to university?” Dad asks me before taking another bite of breakfast, waiting for my response.

I roll my eyes to the ceiling, taking a deep breath. “On one hand, yes, but on the other hand, I’m sort of panicking about school, the gallery, and the twins at the same time.”

“It will be fine,” he responds, no doubt in his voice. “You always persevere. Look at Matt, he has a very successful YouTube Channel and is a great student.”

“I guess,” I agree reluctantly.

My mind is swimming with thoughts of the upcoming months when Alex bumps me with his shoulder, knocking me from my reverie. I look up at him, a questioning look on my face.

“I have one more present,” he tells me, keeping his voice quiet so only I can hear. “I wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to get the reservation on Christmas day, but I got the confirmation this morning that we are booked.”

“Not more skiing, right?” I ask, holding a hand to my chest. My legs and thighs are so utterly sore from yesterday that I think another ski trip might be the end of me.

“No, I swear,” he says with a chuckle. “Something much more up your alley.”

I fold my hands and wait, knowing he’s wanting me to ask what it is, but I hold out, the corners of my mouth twitching until he sighs heavily, relenting and spilling his secret.

“It’s a private hot spring. I’ve got us three hours, totally alone,” his hand slides up my leg under the table as he speaks, “in one of the hottest, purest springs in Aspen.”

I could moan out loud. It sounds so wonderful, but I keep my ecstatic noises to myself at the family breakfast table. Alex knows me all too well, and he’s totally right. A hot spring IS right up my alley. Today, with my sore muscles, I can’t think of anything that sounds better than a long soak.

And… whatever other mischief Alex and I may get up to in the spring. Or outside the spring. Or beneath the water. All I’m saying is that we can definitely find something to occupy our time in such a sultry setting.

Alex’s hand is still creeping up my leg as he speaks, his fingers getting dangerously close to my inner thighs. “I’ve already told Mother that she’s watching the kids again for a little while today, but since she’s leaving tomorrow morning, I told her we’d be back within about six hours. How long will it take you to get ready?”

I look at him from under my lashes, loading all the sexiness I possibly can into my gaze. “I’ll race you.”

We packed a few things for the hot springs, but I think Alex and I both knew that we wouldn’t need much, so with just a duffle bag full of towels and a change of clothes, we set out for our quick getaway.

The twins are exhausted from the excitement of opening all the gifts, and they’re napping, arms stretched above their heads, in their playpens. I had expected that Dad and Catherine would have left by now, so I’m surprised to see Margaret and Catherine still sitting together in the living area, talking like old friends, with Dad nowhere to be found.

I shoulder my bag and look them over. “Where’s my dad?”

Catherine waves a hand delicately, “He had to make a few calls, and frankly I’m bored to death sitting around and listening to him work, so I’m going to stay here and help with the children.”

Great, I think with a scowl, as if Margaret watching them wasn’t bad enough.

I shake off the uncomfortable feelings, determined to not let these two ruin my day. I’m going to have a delicious three hours at the hot springs, a wonderful Christmas dinner, and then tomorrow I will be back home. It will be lovely.

The sun is still shining brightly outside, and it takes my eyes a minute to adjust. I’m not surprised to see our SUV idling on the curb waiting for us, but what does surprise me is to see one of Alex’s security agents in the front seat. I had thought he didn’t bring any security detail to Aspen, and I can’t say I’m happy to see this reminder of how strangely public and dangerous our lives can be.

“Why is this my first time seeing him?” I ask Alex as he opens the back seat door for me.

Alex rubs the back of his neck, and I know I will not like the answer he’s about to give me. “Honestly, I had a few of them flown in before us. They’re staying in the main portion of the hotel. I wasn’t sure if we’d be spotted or not here and if any trouble popped up, I wanted to be prepared.”

“So much for a quiet family Christmas,” I mutter, buckling myself in. “No offense,” I add, speaking to the driver.

“None taken, ma’am.”

Alex climbs in from the other side and continues to explain his reasoning. “Iron Mountain Hot Springs are an hour or so away, and with us being that far from town, I didn’t want us to be totally alone. Jamie here will wait in the SUV the whole time, though, so don’t worry. It’s still completely private, just you and me.”

I jerk my head towards the back window, where a second black on black vehicle has pulled up and is idling behind ours. “And them?”

Alex groans, pinching the bridge of his nose as the driver pulls out onto the road, the second security vehicle following behind. “Okay, okay. I didn’t lie about them having stayed on site, but the truth is, I’ve been having them watch the villa from the parking lot overnight, and last night there was someone skulking around the gardens. They took off before security could see who it was, and we’re confident it was just a tourist that had drank a little too much, but I wanted security to accompany us today, so we are safe. So you are safe, Petra. I was hoping you’d never have to know they were here, but I can’t say I’m not glad we have the option now.”

My heartbeat kicks into high gear, thinking about someone outside of our villa while we were all sleeping, especially with my babies down the hall! “So we’re taking security with us, but we’re leaving Jasmine and Jasper without any!? We need to turn back, Alex.”

He takes my hands between his, kissing my fingers. “Calm down, love. That’s why Roy was gone when we came down. He was calling his security guys to post up outside.”

That calms me down, but I roll my eyes when Alex’s words sink in. “So you’re saying Dad had secret security too?”

Alex laughs, a little self-conscious. “Well, you know. We are business partners for a reason. Great minds think alike, and all that.”

“Paranoid minds, you mean.” I relax, flipping on the heated seats. “But you both were right this time. I’m thankful.”

“Thank you for trusting my judgement,” Alex says, seemingly relieved that I’m not going to argue. “It’d be an awkward three hours at this spring if you were pissed at me.”

I nudge him a little with my arm. “I don’t know about all that. We’ve had some pretty great anger sex before.”

Iron Mountain Hot Springs is a sprawling resort, with dozens of pools scattered around the grounds, and the steam can be seen rising from the water all the way from the road. Alex makes a call, and we don’t even have to get out of the car to check in. One employee comes out and checks the confirmation email Alex presents to them on his phone, and we’re given an access card for one of the private springs behind the resort, made secluded by a stone fence and a wrought-iron gate that swings open for us with a swipe of the card.

Alex pulls up the map and frowns. “Security won’t be able to see us from the parking lot, but they’ll have a decent view of the area overall. Are you okay with that?”

I consider it for a moment. “Well, we can’t exactly have them in the pool with us, so yes. That will be okay.”

Decided, we grab our things and set out on foot for the private spring, located around the back side of a large boulder and over a small wooden footbridge. It isn't far at all, but it gives us just enough distance between the security cars and the spring for us to have full privacy.

The spring is the size of a small commercial pool, naturally fed from the underground hot spring, but made more accessible by the man-made cobblestone patio surrounding the pool and the gray stone tiles lining the inside of the basin. A few lounge chairs are present as well, but I have a feeling there won’t be much lounging going on today.

I can feel the heat radiating off the water, and it’s heavenly. It warms the area enough that I can already unzip my puffy coat, depositing it gently on the back of one of the lounge chairs. Even my cable-knit sweater feels a little bulky, but I don’t want to seem too eager by getting naked immediately.

The spring is glorious, of course, but nothing can compare with the spectacular view. The Rockies jut into the sky like giants, snow-capped and blocking out the sky. About five feet from the spring, the warmth from the water dissipates, and the ground is once again blanketed in snow, making the hot spring feel like a small oasis in a frozen tundra.

I’m taking everything in, having set my bag down at my feet, when I feel Alex come close behind me and slip his hands under my sweater and up my bare back. I realize his arms are bare, and he’s down to a white t-shirt and jeans already. When I glance down, his feet are bare, too.

“In a rush?” I ask him, shivering as his hands push under my bra, unclasping it and skating his hands over my back.

“To get inside with you, yes,” he murmurs, his lips whispering over my jaw and the shell of my ear.

“Fine,” I tell him, stepping away from his grasp and tugging my sweater over my head.

“Or after,” he adds, watching me undress like a lion watching a gazelle. He unbuttons his jeans, pushing them to his feet and stepping out, all the while never taking his gaze off me.

It’s distracting me, watching his taut, muscled body revealed, and my fingers fumble at the buttons of my own pants before they hit the ground, I shrug out of my already-unclasped bra and kick my boots far from me, and we’re suddenly both in just our underwear, waiting for each other to make a move.

Even this close to the hot spring, the air chills me, and I wrap my arms around myself. “Brrr. Come on, I don’t want to stand out here all day.”

Alex raises a single eyebrow, seeming to be completely unaffected by the cold as he stalks, almost predatory, to the edge of the spring. I get a quick glance at the toned globes of his ass as she shucks his underwear, and then he's beneath the water, having dove gracefully in.

I follow, my skin covered in goosebumps, throwing my panties aside and sitting on the edge of the pool before sliding in, letting myself sink completely beneath the water and popping back out, slicking my long hair away from my face.

“Alex?” I call, looking around without seeing him, but then a pair of arms wraps around my middle. My husband nips my shoulder gently, growling in his throat.

I jump, squeaking out of surprise, before melting into his embrace. The water is just one step below too hot, and for the first time since landing in Aspen, I think I may be completely and totally warm all over.

Alex’s body is firm behind me, but his skin is like velvet, and we both float, carefree, for a few long, blissful minutes.

The trance is broken when something hard and insistent presses into my lower back, and I giggle, rotating in his arms until we’re facing each other, my arms looped around his neck and our faces inches apart.

“What did I say about relaxing first?” I admonish, but Alex’s hands are supporting me by gripping my ass, and my voice comes out airier than intended.

“I’m relaxed,” he insists. “And you are, too.”

“I am?”

His lips move from my neck to my shoulders, and then to my chest as he leans me back in the water. I’m nearly floating on my back as he laps at the slopes of my breasts before taking my nipples, one by one, between his teeth in little love bites. I gasp, snaking my legs around him and pulling him closer.

“You are,” he says again, tone thick with lust.

“Okay, I guess I am,” I admit as he returns his mouth to my tits, causing bolts of pleasure to shoot from my chest to my core, liquid and molten.

His member is jutting against me, and I rotate my hips as much as I can, making the head slide through my folds and over my aching clit. I’m alive with arousal, urgent and bright. I’ve been waiting for this ever since Alex mentioned the spring, and now that we have arrived, I feel like I can’t wait any longer.

Alex’s hands slide from my ass to my back, sitting me back up and slanting his mouth over mine before his tongue darts in and my eyes flutter closed, kissing him back with a fervor that shocks me. Screw foreplay. I want him now.

I show him with my body, grinding against him as we kiss, until we are both panting from the lust building between us, but when I reach down to position him at my entrance, he stops me, a hand wrapped around my wrist.

“Not so fast,” he growls. “You’re going to come first.”

I want to argue, I really do, but my mouth can’t find the words to protest as he grips my hips in his hands and swims up to the edge of the spring, lifting me out until I’m perched on the edge, only my calves still submerged.

“Alex, I’m freezing,” I object, finding it easier to speak now that I’m back in the frigid air.

“You won’t be for long,” he promises, pushing my knees apart until I’m on full display for him.

With a curse, he forgoes any build up, and before I can say anything else, his dark head is between my thighs, his mouth and fingers finding my most secret areas like a heat-seeking missile.

“Ohmygod,” I choke out as his clever tongue circles my clit, his fingers delving deep within me. This isn’t a slow, patient seduction. Alex wants me to come, and my God, I am going to, and fast.

He crooks his fingers in that magic come-hither gesture, changing the sparks of pleasure into an overwhelming wave that has me gasping for breath. When he ceases licking and wraps his lips around the pearl of my ecstasy, I feel the orgasm winding around my spine, set to explode.

Arms shaking, I collapse flat on my back on the stone right before the climax rips through me, and I cry my husband’s name to the cloudless sky. But he doesn’t give me time to rest. Instead, wrapping his hands around my hips and lifting me back into the water, even as I’m still spasming deep inside.

“What—?” I try to ask, light-headed, but my words evaporate into the air as he braces me against the back of the spring, pulling my legs around his waist and impaling me on his cock with one smooth stroke.

“Fuck,” he grits out, giving us both time to adjust. I’m teetering on the edge of another climax from his sudden but welcome intrusion into my body, and I know I’m a goner when he starts moving.

But Alex surprises me, and instead of pushing in deep and fast, he makes love to me, slow and gentle, whispering words of affection into my ear as he feeds himself into me with agonizing slowness, over and over again. The water is shallow enough here that he can stand, and he makes it clear that he’s in no rush now that he’s inside of me.

Time stretches out, and I lose track of the minutes as they pass, surrendering myself body and soul to my husband. We alternate between kissing and sharing honeyed words, wrapped up in each other as the world seems to fall away.

But eventually, I can feel the stutter in his thrusts, and I know he’s reaching the end of his patience and control. His cock is thickening even more inside of me, which means his orgasm is on the horizon.

The knowledge brings that insatiable lust back to me tenfold, and I’m shocked when I hear myself begging, “Fuck me, Alex. Please fuck me.” My body has taken control, and Alex growls fiercely at my commands.

“Hands on the edge, back to me,” he snaps, and I scramble to comply. One of his hands is placed between my breasts, and the other grips my hip as he fits himself into me beneath the water, his manhood feeling even hotter inside of me than the surrounding spring.

Waves splash over the edge of the pool as he fucks me punishingly, taking what he needs from me, and all I can do is hold on. I can tell from the sounds of his breathing that he’s close, but he’s insistent on taking me over that edge with him, his hand sliding from my chest to where we are joined, working my clit expertly. The sensation makes everything else amplified to almost unbearable levels, and I don’t even know myself what I’m asking of him as he bottoms out in me again and again.

I don’t have any warning this time. One second he’s pushing into me, and the next I’m coming, gripping his cock with my inner walls as my entire body is electrified, every one of my nerves coming alive. Once he feels my orgasm pulling him in deeper, Alex grunts once, and spills himself deep into my channel, fucking me through both of our climaxes.

My eyes are screwed shut as the flashes of pleasure begin to abate, and when I can finally open them again, I expect to see only the mountains and sky watching the end of our lovemaking silently.

What I don’t expect is the figure, dressed all in black and hidden between two pines on the edge of the private spring area. And I really don’t expect the flash of a camera coming from him either.

“Alex!” I shriek, all but kicking him off of me as I fling myself back into the water, my arms crossed hard around my chest to cover myself. I point a shaking finger at the paparazzi, who, seeing that we’ve taken notice, flees. “He was recording us!”

Alex says nothing, but his rage is instantaneous. He rockets from the water, but hesitates, nude, before chasing the other man down. He curses loudly, realizing he’ll never catch up, instead digging his cell phone out of his bag and punching a number in before giving an order into the speaker. “There’s someone here! A paparazzi or something! Catch him right the fuck now!”

I don’t remember getting out of the pool or pulling my clothes onto my soaking body without even drying off. I can barely think as both Alex’s security detail and Iron Mountain’s own security send people to get our information while the rest of them search the grounds.

“I can’t express how sorry I am,” the manager of the resort says, with genuine sorrow in her voice. “We’ve never had anything like this happen here before.”

“I don’t want to fucking hear it,” Alex snaps, wrapping a blanket around my shivering shoulders as I sit, hunched over, in one of the lounge chairs. “Just find that motherfucker, or you’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”

But they don’t find him, even after putting the whole resort under severe scrutiny. Alex, vibrating with barely controlled anger, leads me back to the waiting SUV, our silent driver stiff in the front seat. I’m not sure who Alex blames the most: the Iron Mountain team, his own security, or himself.

We don’t speak on the hour long drive back to the villa, but Alex is gentle and comforting, letting me lay my head on him as he makes call after call to try and get to the bottom of the horrible situation we have found ourselves in.

I sniffle, wiping tears from the corners of my eyes. The last thing I need is a video of Alex and I naked and fucking all over the web. I can already picture my dad deadly embarrassed and Margaret snickering at the whole thing. Oh gosh, what a humiliation that would be.

“Hey,” Alex murmurs, holding his phone away from his face. “Don’t cry, we’ll get this taken care of.”

I nod, but only to placate him. It’s Christmas, for God’s sake. Of course this would happen to me!

Alex calls everyone we know in the media, as well as our lawyer. That’s the longest conversation of them all, going on for almost twenty minutes as Alex tries to build a legal fence around us before anything scandalous gets leaked.

I feel violated, like my whole body has been on display for the entire world to see. It makes me feel dirty and used. Worst of all, no one that Alex calls has any information about who the paparazzi could have been or who they may have been working for. Videos of public figures like us could sell, but not for as much as regular photos, since they can’t be posted on mainstream sources. So why would someone want a video of us having sex?

It isn’t until we arrive back at the villa, exhausted and heartsick, that the idea of the video being for revenge takes hold in my mind. Margaret is there to greet us and obviously knows that something fishy is going on. Our security and my dad’s are on high alert, making themselves obvious instead of hidden, and I’m sure one of our mutual contacts has messaged or called her while we were gone.

She shoots up from where she’s sitting, her hands clasped in front of her. “What is going on?”

I clamp my mouth shut. I will not humiliate myself by telling this witch that some random man recorded me while having sex with her son. She’ll likely throw it in my face at the most opportune time. She always wants to have something to hold over my head.

As I come to think of it, the nebulous idea that Margaret could possibly be involved is swimming in my mind. Alex sighs heavily, sitting down in one chair and holding his head in his hands. To my utter shock, he opens his mouth and starts telling his mother everything I was trying to avoid her finding out.

“There was this guy,” he starts. “At the spring, who started recording us while we were…well, I’m sure you can gather what we were doing.”

I can only stare blankly in horror as he shares everything. Margaret simply nods, pulling out her phone mid-conversation and tapping on it periodically as she continues to listen, until Alex is finished laying our shame bare.

I get up, turning my back to them both, planning on taking a hot shower where I can bawl my eyes out in peace. Margaret ignores me, but I can feel Alex’s eyes on my back as I retreat. Right before I’m out of earshot, I hear Margaret tell Alex, “Let me handle this, my son. I’ll make it go away.”

Dinner is a blur, too. Everything is muted and subdued, including the energy of everyone at the table. My dad looks almost as furious as Alex, his jaw clenched hard enough that it’s visible from across the table. Margaret is absent, but I pay it no mind. I simply feed my children, take them upstairs to bathe, and lay them down for sleep.

Christmas ends on a much darker note than I could have ever imagined, and when Alex lays next to me that night, a million things run through my mind. I want to rage at him for telling Margaret, cry about how the spring was supposed to be a safe place for us and mourn how our perfect Christmas trip had turned out in the end.

Instead, I scoot over to him, folding myself into his arms and letting him wordlessly stroke my back and whisper reassurances into my hair.

I don’t think that I will be able to sleep, but the emotional toll of the day has worn me to the bone, and after some time in my husband's comforting embrace, I drift off, sleeping fitfully.

CHAPTER 8

Aspen, December 26, 2021

Petra Van Gatt

“Petra, Alex,” Margaret says brightly as Alex and I descend the stairs the next morning, a baby in each of our arms. Her white hair is pulled tightly back from her face and her makeup impeccably done.

We’re dressed like we’re getting ready for breakfast, but Margaret looks ready to lord over a business brunch, even though I know she’s flying home today. Her positivity unsettles me, and my chest still feels hollowed out from the day before.

“Yes, Mom?” Alex asks distractedly, accepting the bottle that Earl the butler hands him. “What is it?”

“Your little situation,” Margaret emphasizes her words, wiggling her fingers as if brushing something off. “It’s taken care of. Finished. Don’t give it a second thought.”

Both Alex and I pause, freezing in place. “What?” I ask lamely.

“What exactly do you mean?” Alex elaborates.

“I told you I would handle it, and I did,” Margaret says vaguely. “If any video emerges on the web, the people I have contacted will take it down immediately.”

I say nothing else, lost in thought, as I feed Jasmine her breakfast. I’m obviously relieved, but I hate thinking that Margaret is the cause of my relief. Owing Margaret something means that she will lord the debt to her over your head for years, using it to manipulate anything and everything to get the outcome she wants.

I think of Emma and Yara, and how their affair is the only bargaining chip I’ve ever held over Margaret all this time. First, I had thought Margaret hired Catherine to slowly wring secrets from my father and use them to control me, but now it seems to make just as much sense that she hired the paparazzi herself to either shame me, or so she could be the hero and once again leave me in her debt.

Or, even worse, she could have done both. It seems like something Margaret would do, leaving no stone unturned for revenge. It eats at me all morning, even as I watch the tension flow away from Alex and gratitude to his mother replace it. I find it odd that my meticulous shark of a husband wouldn’t demand more information, but… I guess he has a blind spot with his mother.

I work all morning on a text message to Emma, explaining everything that had happened, wanting to both warn her and get her opinion, but so much has happened that I haven’t finished it by the time Earl is getting the car ready for Margaret to leave. When suddenly I hear a few knocks on the door of our bedroom, and as I shout to come in, I’m shocked to see it’s Margaret herself coming over.

“Petra,” she says, her tone unusually sweet. “My driver is here. Would you… mind accompanying me to the airport? I’d love to talk to you; just the two of us.”

I swallow hard at her question. What does she want to talk about? Holy shit…

“Of course,” I mumble, before standing up and heading outside with her.

As I reach the foyer, my eyes stumble on Alex and then on my dad and Catherine who have come over to our villa to tell her goodbye.

I watch her hug Alex, and then kiss my children on their chubby cheeks, all the while seeing flashes in my mind of the paparazzi in the pines and Catherine whispering in her ear. My heart is in my throat as I tell Alex discretely that I’m going with Margaret to the airport. He nods, most likely knowing it already.

“Be careful,” he whispers, before giving me a quick hug.

Margaret and I leave the villa, heading towards the car which is parked in front. We sit in the back, and a cold silence emerges when we shut our respective doors.

No one dares to talk despite the quiet music playing in the background. I remain tense, watching out of the window at the passing landscape as the driver takes us away.

“It was a lovely Christmas,” Margaret comments, breaking the silence between us. “Thank you for having me.”

I give her a smile in return, not knowing what to reply back. I’m not a confrontational person, but I can’t hold it in anymore. After these four long days biting my tongue, I’m more than ready to make myself known. “Did you know about Catherine before my dad’s introduction?”

Margaret doesn’t seem much surprised by my question. “I know her,” she says vaguely. “But she changed quite a lot since her divorce from Paul.”

“You mean physically?” I ask.

“Yes,” Margaret answers, putting on a plastered smile. “She didn’t used to be blonde before, or so thin.”

“How did you know her?” I keep asking.

“Oh, she used to be a close friend of Julia,” she answers, confirming exactly what I already knew. I’m surprised that she isn’t even hiding the truth. “Then there was a messy divorce, and she disappeared from the public eye for a while.”

“Do you know who introduced her to my dad?”

Margaret looks in my direction, amused at my constant curiosity. “I do not.” For some reason, it feels like she’s lying shamelessly to my face.

The rest of the drive goes by silently. And as the driver reaches the airport, I wonder why on earth she wanted me to come with her since I was the one doing all the talking.

When we get to the tarmac, the driver stops in front of the jet, and a staff member opens our respective doors. Her plane seems to be ready, so I go around the car and get ready to tell her goodbye. Still, I’m tactful, leaning close to her so I can be heard over the plane's engines.

“Thank you for taking care of the paparazzi situation, Margaret. I know planning that entire ordeal couldn’t have been easy.”

She smiles at me, a predatory showing of teeth that reminds me of her son. “It was nothing.” She reaches out to grip my upper arm, her sharp nails pressing through my coat and into my arm. “But, there is something I’ll ask of you in repayment.”

Margaret doesn’t ask for the favor, she simply lets me know I’ll be doing it for her. “What?” I snap.

“It’s nothing, really. You may even enjoy it.” The older woman takes a deep breath, and I realize whatever she’s about to tell me is distasteful to her. “My lovely Yara has a polo tournament in St. Moritz next month, and I’ve caught wind that she will, unfortunately, be bringing your little friend Emma with her.” Margaret basically spits my best friend's name, and hearing it on her lips causes my stomach to tighten. “This nasty affair has got to end, Petra.”

“It’s up to them to decide,” I riposte.

“Oh, no, it’s not,” she answers just as fast. “The last thing I need is this whole thing to blow up in the news. So you’ll accompany your little friend to St. Moritz, and you’ll make sure that she puts an end to it once and for all.”

“I can’t do that!” I exclaim. Emma is going to be furious, and I’m still reeling trying to figure out how Margaret has found out about Yara inviting Emma when I haven’t even heard of my friend going to St. Moritz yet. Did she hire the paparazzi just to manipulate me to do this favor for her?

“Oh, of course you can, dear,” she pulls me in closer still, telling me quietly with an acid tone. “And you will, or you’ll regret it, Petra. I promise you that.”

Bizarrely, she kisses my cheeks, holding on to my shoulders. I’m too shocked to shove her away, and by the time she’s finished, she’s pulling her enormous sunglasses over her eyes and giving me a jaunty little finger wave.

“Goodbye, dear. Thanks again for going to St. Moritz for me,” Margaret says as she makes her way to the plane. She climbs the stairs of her own jet and is beyond my sight, leaving me alone to deal with the bomb she has just dropped.

I’m left standing on the tarmac behind the car, a hand pressed to my cheek where Margaret had kissed me goodbye. I’m not sure if it’s an overreaction, but it almost seems to burn.

CHAPTER 9

Aspen, December 26, 2021

Petra Van Gatt

On my way back home, I remain both shocked and confused at Margaret’s request. How can she have the guts to threaten me like that? What a psycho she is… Well, now it’s clear that she is linked to the guy who recorded us. Maybe she is even the one who asked him to go and do that. Who knows? But one thing is sure; she must have access to that video to threaten me so shamelessly. She has nothing else against me if not for the video. No matter what she does with it, I can’t go to St. Moritz and ask my best friend to break up with her lover. That’s totally inappropriate! I mean, Emma will never agree to it. Heck, even me, I will never have the audacity to ask my friend to do something like that. Despite not liking their relationship one tiny bit, it’s none of my business. I lean my head back on the headrest and heave a long sigh, still processing what just happened a few minutes ago.

So this is why Margaret came here? To find a way to get me to comply with her request? I wish I could think otherwise, but it’s just too obvious that the whole sweet and caring grandmother thing was all bullshit. And what would happen if I don’t comply? What if I just stay in Manhattan instead? Is she gonna release that video for the whole world to see?

“Miss?” the driver says, pulling me back to planet Earth. “You can get out, if you’re ready. We’ve arrived.”

I look out of the window, and notice the car has already stopped and is parked in the underground garage of the villa. I thank him and step outside, my mind still ruminating on Margaret’s request. I take the stairs, heading to the first floor, and as I open the door that leads to the foyer, I’m smashed by the strong heat coming from the fireplace. I take off my coat immediately, followed by my boots, and hearing footsteps approaching, my eyes drift up to meet with Alex’s intriguing face.

“Everything alright?” he asks.

I cock my head to the side, unable to answer him positively. Should I tell him the truth? Like the whole truth? I heave a long sigh, undecided.

“Uh-oh,” Alex utters, most likely reading me like an open book. “Something happened, huh?”

“Yeah,” I say pensively. Then giving a glance around the open floor, I ask, “Are we alone?”

“Yep!” There’s a trace of a smile lingering on his lips. “The twins are sleeping and your dad is spending the day with Catherine.”

“Good,” I answer mechanically, my thoughts drifting to Margaret again. Not knowing how to start, I make my way towards the living area of the villa, more specifically to where the fireplace is burning brightly, heating up the entire floor, and Alex follows me closely behind in silence.

As I stand in front of the burning logs, warming up my hands, he says, “What happened? You look worried.”

He knows me well. While I try to remain unbothered, what happened has left a bitter taste in my mouth and I don’t think I can pretend any longer. “Well,” I begin, carefully choosing my words since, no matter what, Margaret is still Alex’s mom. “Your mom wants me to do something for her that I simply cannot bring myself to do.”

I turn to check his reaction, but he’s just stoically looking at me. “Like what?”

I release a long breath, my heart tightening as I recall what she asked me to do. “She wants me to go to St. Moritz and ask Emma to break up with Yara.”

His eyes widen immediately in surprise, and his mouth literally drops. “How come she knows about them?”

“Because I told her at the baptism,” I disclose, my eyes drifting away for a moment. “And I also said I’d go and tell Elliot if she doesn’t leave us alone.”

Alex runs a hand through his hair, processing everything I just told him. “Holy shit,” he blurts out. “And what if you don’t do what she asked you?”

“Well, she said I will regret it,” I fess up.

“What!” All of a sudden, Alex shoves his hand in the back pocket of his jeans, pulling his iPhone out. “I’m gonna call her the fuck now.” He then storms to the dining room and roams around as if he’s trying to cool himself down.

I follow him and stand still as I observed his distress. “Alex—”

“No!” he snaps, nearly barking. “She really crossed the line this time.” I’m glad to know his anger is directed to his mom but I wonder how she will react knowing I told him everything. He finishes typing on the screen and brings the phone up to his ear.

I look at him from the living room while he stands by the dining table, a hand on his hips. He exhales loudly, his frustration truly palpable, as we both wait for his mom to pick up the call.

Maybe she’s already asleep in the plane, I think to myself.

“Hi, Mom, how are you doing?” I hear him finally saying, his tone stern and steady, but not aggressive. He nods as she speaks, but then the more he listens, the more confused he seems to be. “What are you talking about?” he asks, before starting to stroll around the dining area, a hand shoved in one of the back pockets of his jeans. My heartbeat keeps thundering anxiously fast as I observe him pacing around. Oh gosh, what are they talking about? Alex remains silent while listening to her speaking. Unfortunately, he isn’t on speaker so I can only imagine what she is telling him. Is she talking about me? Who knows what Margaret is capable of! “This is none of our business!” Alex spits out. “She doesn’t have to do shit!” I heave a long sigh, walking towards him—he seems way tenser than before. “Why are you doing this?” He stops and stands still, his back on me. He then runs a hand through his hair, and it feels like Alex is completely lost. “I’m gonna speak to her.” He finally turns around, the phone still against his ear, but his eyes are on me—and they are quite serious. “Alright, I get it,” he nearly grits between teeth. “Goodbye.” And he hangs up, anger laced all over his face.

“What happened?”

A gush of air rolls off his lips, his chest rising and falling as he does so. “She said you either persuade Emma to end the affair or she’ll tell Elliot herself and he’ll ask Yara to take care of it.”

“What?” I blink twice, totally speechless for a moment as I process what he just said. “Take care of it? I can’t believe it!” I shut my eyes as if I was trying to wake up from the nightmare I put myself in. If only I’d have kept my mouth shut at the cathedral! Damn it! “That doesn’t make sense! Why would she tell him though?” I ask in confusion. “Your mom is bluffing!”

“As you might understand, Mom doesn’t like covering up affairs.” He pauses, taking a deep breath in and out. “I think she is telling the truth.”

No, she is definitely lying. If I don’t comply, what she will do is release that video on the web, but of course she is not gonna tell her precious son that she owns a copy. While she didn’t admit it to my face either, I’m pretty sure she has one! But if what she’s saying is true though, Emma will never forgive me. Of course Yara will drop Emma like yesterday’s news if Elliot makes her an ultimatum. And Emma will blame me for the whole thing since she knows I shared her secret with Margaret. Holy shit…

“Emma needs to find intimacy and romance somewhere else,” Alex announces, a mix of sadness and gravity in his tone.

“Well, yeah, that I know,” I answer back.

“No, I mean, what if we set her up with someone? Someone who is single, of course.”

“Oh,” I utter in shock. I wasn’t ready for such a question, and I must say it sounds totally crazy to me.

Alex, on the other hand, seems to be ruminating further about this possibility. “Someone like my sister, but single…”

“And what if it doesn’t work?” I interpose immediately. “Like, I think she is really in love with Yara.”

“Yeah, after so many months, I figured she’d be quite attached to her.” His eyes drift down to the floor and Alex seems totally engrossed in his own thoughts. “Maybe some edgy artist or sportswoman that lives in Manhattan.”

I shake my head at him. “You don’t understand. Emma and Yara are quite similar; they are both rich and spoiled, they enjoy the same type of sports, and seem to have a very, um, peculiar dynamic.” At least I hadn’t told anyone about the naked portrait I made for them. “Anyone else compared to her, will feel bland and uninteresting.”

“If Emma doesn’t break up with her, Yara will do it as soon as Elliot knows,” Alex tells me, and it doesn’t seem like he’s joking. “And then Emma will be seriously mad at you.”

“Emma will be mad at me just the same if I ask her to break up,” I tell him straight away.

“Unless she meets someone else and loses interest in Yara,” he circles back.

While I hate forcing fate on anyone, at the end of the day, Alex might be onto something. If only Emma could find someone else and drop Yara willingly. Is there really someone out there for her? Someone as interesting as Yara? Well, I guess there is only one way to find out…

CHAPTER 10

Aspen, December 27, 2021

Petra Van Gatt

Despite being overly tired, my thoughts have kept me awake the whole night. The last thing I want is to be responsible for Emma and Yara’s break up but I’m not seeing how I can escape Margaret’s request. If I don’t comply, she will do it herself and Emma will inevitably know it was my fault. I heave a long sigh, my eyes feeling heavy as I try once more to fall asleep. A few minutes pass by, and since I’m still wide awake, I decide to observe my husband who lies beside me, peacefully snoozing on his pillow. I wish I could just switch off and do the same, but alas, I have to come up with a plan. In my opinion, Alex’s idea of finding Emma another lover is nothing more than idealistic and near to impossible to achieve. Maybe I should just call her and tell her the whole truth. She would get pissed off, maybe stop talking to me for a few days, but ultimately, she would forgive me. I mean, her affair can’t be more important than our friendship, right?

I take some deep breaths in and out, and check the clock on the nightstand once more: 5 a.m. Damn. I guess I should really get some sleep if I want to be a functioning adult and not a zombie during the day.

Sunlight seems to be casting through the window as I feel something beaming on my face. It’s warm in here, way too warm. I pull down the sheets, my eyes slowly opening so they can get used to the strong sunlight that fills the room. I look beside me and find nothing but emptiness. Alex must have gotten up early. Then I check the clock and—

Jeez! Midday?!

I jump out of bed, baffled at how late it is! No wonder it’s so bright in here. I rush to the bathroom, and take a quick shower to get ready for the day. Since Margaret already left, I decide to wear something more casual, a sweater and a pair of jeans would do. Once I’m done, I leave the room, cross the hallway, but stop in my tracks as I find Alex sitting at the dining table with his open laptop in front of him and a few sheets of paper spread on the table. Is he already back to working mode?

I get closer to him, and after giving a quick look at the papers, I notice all of them are resumés of female candidates with their photos printed out. Except all women seem quite young, attractive, and… they look super similar to Yara!

I take the first sheet I find, and read it through. “What is this?” I ask immediately, since it doesn’t look like a proper CV for a job position.

“Good morning to you too,” Alex answers instead, his tone cheeky. His eyes travel up to meet mine and, damn it, his smile is so beautiful that I can’t help but feel all giddy at the sight of it. But I refocus on the present moment, and cock my head to the side in response, shooting him an impatient glare. “I have reached a few agencies that normally help with finding the perfect match,” he explains, before handing me another stack of papers. “These are some of the profiles they sent me that are in theory a good fit for Emma.”

“Alex,” I say as I go around the table and stand beside him. He turns his body towards me, and I put my hands on his shoulders so that I can have his full attention. “There’s no need for any of that. I’m going to talk to Emma and tell her the truth,” I disclose. “She might get pissed off initially but I’m sure she will understand and talk to Yara.”

While I thought Alex would be happy with my decision, his facial expression says otherwise. “Wait—you seriously think Emma will break up with my sister because you tell her to?” He sounds genuinely skeptical about it, but I’m quite positive of it.

“I have to try….”

He huffs, shaking his head in denial. “Petra, you are just wasting your time.”

“I’ll call her now,” I tell him decidedly. “The sooner we know, the better.” Before I start walking away though, I ask, “How are the twins?”

“They are good. I fed them this morning, then played a bit with them, and they are having a nap now.”

A quick smile settles on my lips as I picture Alex doing all of that. I should take more pictures of him with the twins. I don’t think I’ve taken enough of them since we arrived.

“Alright, I’ll call her now before they wake up.”

“Good luck,” he mutters, before his attention returns to his laptop.

I take my iPhone and head back to our bedroom to make the phone call. There, I close the door behind me, and press the call button. The ringtone goes on, and on, and on…

“Hey!” Emma shouts from the other side of the line. “How was Christmas? Did you have a good time?”

“Hi Emma,” I answer, and for some reason, I can’t match her joyful tone. “It was great, Alex took me to a romantic getaway after lunch and it was wonderful. How was yours?” I ask as I try to relax for what is yet to come.

“It was good too,” she says, not wanting to dwell in further details. “What about Margaret? Is she still there?”

“No, she left yesterday actually,” I tell her.

“Oh, that’s great,” she comments. “So she was just there for Christmas and that’s it? No drama?” Oh boy, the question she just made. I wonder whether or not I should tell her about the paparazzi. But after some reflection, I decide not to. “Is everything okay?” she asks after a moment, since I’m not answering.

“Um, well, it’s a bit complicated,” I finally fess up.

“What do you mean?”

I keep quiet for a moment, my heartbeat rising anxiously fast at what I’m about to say. I have no idea how to start the subject matter, so I start with a simple question. “Are you and Yara still together?”

“That question again?”

“It’s just…” I pause, trying to find the best words to put on. “Margaret wants it to end.”

“That’s not my problem,” she shoots back. And, truthfully, I wasn’t expecting any other reaction.

“Well, she is ready to go and talk to Elliot if you don’t break up first.” And she might also publish a very graphic video of me and her son on the web, but I refrain myself from telling her that.

“I’m not gonna break up with her,” Emma answers straight away. “If she wants to talk to him, then good luck.”

My brows raise up, surprised at how relaxed she seems to be. “You really want to test her?”

“I’m not afraid of her,” she snaps. “Like zero percent.”

“What if she does talk to Elliot, and he asks his wife to break up with you?”

“He’ll never do that.”

“Why not?” I ask, still confused at her confidence.

“Because it makes his wife happy so I’m sure whatever makes her happy, Elliot will be okay with.” I don’t know much about Elliot, but I’m pretty sure Emma is very misguided. Does she really believe Elliot is gonna be okay with his wife’s affair being all over the news while he knew nothing about it?

“How can you be so sure?” I ask her, genuinely concerned at her naivety. “Do you know if Yara said anything to him about you?”

Emma doesn’t answer immediately. She blows out a loud breath instead, pondering my question a bit further. “I don’t know if she did,” she says a bit coyly. “But I know they mean a lot to each other.”

“Emma,” I begin, my tone more poised than before. “Elliot will most likely give her an ultimatum if he knows about you. And I don’t think Yara will hesitate to make a choice.”

Silence settles in now that Emma finally understands that this affair was meant to end. “Why did you have to tell Margaret about us, huh?” Her aggressiveness catches me off guard and I wonder what I’m supposed to reply to that. “My relationship with Yara was none of your damn business!” Her tone keeps rising, but I know she’s just hurt at the eventuality she might lost Yara once and for all. “I think we had agreed not to talk about it, no?”

“Yes, but—”

“Look,” she says assertively, cutting me off. “I’ve always been super supportive with you. But now I need you to do the same and to stop interfering.” Poor Emma. Doesn’t she understand that it’s only a matter of time until Elliot knows the truth? “Now I have to go. Goodbye.”

“Emma, wait!”

Despite my request, Emma just hangs up on me.

I guess Alex was right—talking to her was pointless. And now she might even go and tell Yara about our little phone call.

Great.

I heave a long sigh, disappointed at myself for being the reason they will ultimately break up. I can only hope Emma will forgive me.

I unlock the door and stroll slowly in the direction of the dining table where Alex is still reviewing the candidates.

“How was it?” I hear him asking.

I look up at him, his eyes filled with curiosity as he waits for me to tell him all the gritty details. “You were right. She basically told me to fuck off but in a more polite way.”

Alex throws me a candid smile in return. “She is not gonna do it, huh?”

“Nope,” I confirm, pacing towards him. “And I bet she is gonna tell Yara about our conversation.”

“My plan doesn’t sound so stupid now, does it?”

I exhale louder than usual, unable to deny it or admit it. “The thing is your mom wants me to go to St. Moritz to persuade Emma to break up with Yara,” I tell him. “I don’t even know why she wants me there.”

“Most likely because reporters are gonna be on the hunt for some juicy content,” Alex discloses, looking at me from behind his laptop. “And my sister is quite known for giving them exactly what they want.”

I frown at his observation. “What do you mean?” As I keep observing him, his eyes drop to his screen and it seems like he’s trying to ignore my question by typing something on his keyboard.

“Alex?” I stand tall in front of him, crossing my arms over my chest as I wait patiently for him to answer me.

He heaves a long sigh, leaning back on his chair. “Well, let’s say there’s always some sort of controversy surrounding her. That’s it.” And his attention returns to his screen where he resumes typing.

“What kind of controversy?” I press.

“Nothing,” he utters briefly, keeping his eyes on the screen as he keeps typing on the keyboard.

“Tell me,” I insist.

Since Alex knows I’m not gonna go anywhere, he blows out a breath in displeasure and says, “Look, my sister’s life is none of my business, okay? I was just trying to help you out.”

“What kind of controversy were you talking about?” My gaze follows his, and despite knowing he’d rather avoid this conversation, there’s no escaping it.

“Fine,” he hisses. “Emma is not her first girlfriend attending her tournament in St. Moritz,” he discloses. And I’m not sure why, but I’m not surprised by his revelation. “A few years ago there were some articles claiming Yara was with another young girl. Mom did her best to silence those claims, but the media knows that every year in St. Moritz, Yara attends parties and flirts with much younger women. They just love to catch her on camera doing all kind of stuff. There was nothing that would lead to Elliot taking those gossips seriously, but this time might be different.”

“Even if I tell Emma about those previous young girls, I bet she won’t give a damn,” I point out, my tone laced with disappointment. “She’s simply too obsessed with her.” As I come to think of it, maybe Alex’s plan isn’t that bad. Maybe we should focus our energy on finding someone that could make Emma forget Yara once and for all. I walk around the table, gathering the rest of the sheets from the table, and give a more attentive look at our potential candidates. Some women look exactly like Yara—fit, tall, dark brown eyes, pale skin, stern face—but what about their personalities? Are they the same too?

“We can schedule a face-to-face meet up with them, you know,” Alex suggests as if he were listening to my own thoughts.

I don’t reply immediately; I’m still assessing his plan: on one hand, if Emma falls in love with someone else, she’d drop Yara willingly without Elliot or Margaret getting involved or our little video going public. On the other hand though, finding someone that Emma could fall in love with to the point of forgetting Yara is almost impossible.

“Fine,” I tell him, accepting the challenge. “Let’s first check all candidates, and do a pre-selection screening before booking a Zoom call with them.” I drag a chair to sit beside him and start studying the social media profile of each candidate.

“So, you are in?” Alex asks, visibly surprised.

“Well, if I can find the perfect woman for my best friend, someone who can genuinely love her and not use her like your sister does, then I guess I am.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

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Table of Contents

Title Page

Contents

Happily Ever After

Happily Ever After Book 1

Copyright

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Happily Ever After Book 2

Happily Ever After Book 2

Copyright

11. Chapter 1

12. Chapter 2

13. Chapter 3

14. Chapter 4

15. Chapter 5

16. Chapter 6

17. Chapter 7

18. Chapter 8

19. Chapter 9

20. Chapter 10

Get the rest of the HEA series