Sleigh Bells in the Snow (O'Neil Brothers 1)

It was the most perfect moment of her life and she remembered Elizabeth’s words.

It sweeps you away and robs you of breath, and you know that no matter what happens in the future, this is a moment you’re going to remember forever. It’s always going to be there, living inside you, and no one can take it away.

She knew this was one of those moments. But she also knew, better than anyone, that perfect moments didn’t last. And the more perfect the moment, the harder it was to deal with the emptiness that came after.

Remembering that, she tried to ease away from him, but he rolled onto his back and covered them both with the soft throw from the sofa, his arm locked around her in a possessive grip.

“Are you warm enough?”

“Yes—” But inside she was cold, because she wasn’t used to feeling this.

They lay in silence, watching flakes of snow float lazily past the windows, coating the trees in a luminous cloak of dazzling white.

“Have you always hated Christmas?”

She could have lied. She could have just kept their relationship physical, but she knew they were already past that, and it terrified her because if there was ever a man who was completely wrong for her it was Jackson. Jackson with his big, loving family and his unshakable strength and values. He was a man who deserved the truth. She couldn’t give him anything else, but she could give him that.

“No. Once, I loved Christmas. It was my favorite time of year.” She spoke softly, as if her voice might somehow disturb the wonderful peace of the forest. “My dad traveled a lot with his job, but he always made sure he was home for the holidays. I looked forward to it. Like most families, we had our rituals.”

His arms tightened. “Such as?”

“We went to the forest to choose a tree, then we decorated it together....” She remembered the family earlier. Remembering their delight and excitement brought back memories both sharp and sad. “My dad would hold the box of decorations and I would hang them and he would do the branches at the top that I couldn’t reach.”

She lay tense, unable to relax. “On Christmas Eve I hung out my stocking. I was always too excited to sleep. Not because of the presents, although I always loved those, too, but because we were together. No work calls. No business travel. Family time. That was our Christmas every year until I was thirteen.” Pulling away from him, she sat up and looped her arms around her knees, staring at the fire.

“What happened?”

“It seemed like a typical Christmas. There was no suggestion it would be anything different. I came downstairs that morning and found my parents at the breakfast table drinking coffee. Nothing odd about that. They told me to open my stocking. Bright voices, no clues. Open your stocking, Kayla. See what Santa has brought you. Not that I believed in Santa, of course, but it was another of our rituals. We used to leave a carrot for his reindeer. My dad even put teeth marks in it. When I was four I believed it, and as I grew older it became one of our family jokes.” Her breathing was shallow, and she heard him curse softly and then felt the warmth of the throw on her bare skin as he wrapped it around her shoulders and pulled her back down into his arms. He held her like that, tight and close, until her heart rate slowed and his warmth became hers. It was a whole new kind of intimacy.

Outside, it had started to snow heavily, the flakes falling thickly, drifting past the glass as if the sky was crying in sympathy. The memories gnawed at her insides and chafed against her skin.

“They waited until the last present was opened. Until I was surrounded by wrapping paper and Christmas happiness and then—” she paused, breathed “—then Dad told me we weren’t going to live together anymore. That we weren’t going to be a family. And he stood up and left. He had another woman and he wanted to spend Christmas Day with her.”

There was silence.

Jackson didn’t speak, didn’t ask questions, but his hold on her tightened.

“My mother knew about it. In the mess that followed she spilled the fact that they’d married because she was pregnant, and both sets of parents had insisted on it. They’d struggled through until he met someone else and couldn’t play the game anymore.” Her head was on his chest, her cheek pressed against warm flesh and hard male muscle. “I’ve heard people talk about how it was when their parents divorced. How there were rows and broken china. One girl I worked with actually said she breathed a sigh of relief when her parents separated, because it was like living in a war zone. For me it was nothing like that. My parents never argued. I thought it was because we were happy, but in reality it was because they were seeing other people. They’d made a deal to stay together because of me. One moment things seemed perfect and the next it was all gone. No rows. No broken china. The only thing broken was me.”

He stirred and moved his hand down her back, gentle and protective. “You’re not broken, sweetheart. You’re strong and whole.”

“You’re thinking that this stuff happens all the time. That it is another sad tale of a marriage that didn’t last. But he didn’t just have another woman.” She spoke softly. “He had a family. Twin daughters. His ‘travels’ weren’t travels. He was living with her for most of the week. He went to them that day, as soon as I’d opened my stocking. It was surreal. There was the tree and the stack of presents. From the outside it looked like a normal Christmas. But my dad was gone.”

“He had another family?” His tone hardened. “What sort of a coward does that?”

“I ran away that night. Pathetic, I know, but I felt as if they didn’t care so what did it matter. I suppose I was hoping they’d come after me, realize how upset I was and get back together. I was thirteen and desperate. That was when I realized happy endings didn’t happen.”

“Where did you go?”

“I sat in Trafalgar Square. I’d forgotten my coat and had no money. Luckily a policeman saw me and took me to the station. Gave me hot chocolate and a blanket and held me while I cried. Then phoned my parents. My dad had already gone, of course, so it was my mum who came to pick me up. She was furious with me.” She slid her fingers over his chest. “After that, I went off the rails a bit. She couldn’t handle me so they sent me off to boarding school. To begin with I went home for the holidays, but Dad’s new wife didn’t want a teenager around. The way she saw it, she’d shared my dad for too long already. Dad felt guilty when he looked at me and my mother was dating again and doing all the things she’d apparently missed out on when she gave up her life to have me. Christmas became a time of guilt and duty on their part and agonizing discomfort on mine. My stepmother had waited years to have Dad all to herself. She wanted a dreamy Christmas with her new family and the legacy of my father’s mistake didn’t fit into that. I was the outsider.”

Still holding her, Jackson swore softly. “Walter used that word the other evening. That’s why you were upset.”

“It was part of it. That word presses a button for me. And he was right—I am the

outsider. It’s my specialty.”

“Kayla—”