Ghosts of Christmas (Steamy Bwwm Holiday Romance)

“We are not the same, and neither is the lesson.”

“I want to know what would happen if I fall in love or—”

“I think the question should be what would happen if you don’t.” And then the ghost disappeared.

And I woke in the tub. Early morning light poured over me. The water around my body was ice cold.

“Shit!” I hurried out of it. My body trembled from the freezing liquid. My teeth clattered. “You could have taken me out of the tub or something!”Chapter 15

White ChristmasI took a hot shower to warm me up. Thoughts spun in my head.

Okay. If those aren’t dreams, then. . .there is a spirit world and. . .

I stood in the shower. Steam rose around me.

Everything I thought I knew is all. . .different.

I turned off the shower, grabbed a towel, and wrapped it around me.

All of this was real. . .

Nervous, I went into my bedroom as if one of the ghosts would be standing in my room. I walked to the center where the second one sat surrounded by candles.

If it’s all real then. . .I could check it. He showed me moments from this year.

I thought back to the three main moments. Holly and Nikolas discussed how they really didn’t want their wedding to be in Finland. Holly had brought us here for me.

God, I hope that is not true. Holly, this is your wedding. Not mine. We should have been in Jamaica.

I was pissed with her for doing it, but also grateful that she’d cared so much. For so many years, she’d tried to make Christmas a magical time and flood my life with good memories to fade out the sad ones.

I hurried to get dressed.

What about the other memories?

There was my father with the child that had destroyed his first marriage. My mother had killed herself over the kid. All these years, I figured that his life with his new family had been perfect. I assumed that the child lived the most joyous moments ever, having the love of both parents there. Instead, I realized that my half-brother had his own sadness to deal with.

That was so sad. And. . .Dad told Timothy about me. He even had. . .my pictures up in his house. They also looked at my fashion show.

I didn’t know how I felt about that. All this time, I’d blamed Dad for my mother’s suicide. It had been a necklace of hate that I never took off. I’d vowed to never forgive him.

Now what? If these ghosts—these spirits—are real, then Mom was telling me to forgive him and let all the pain go.

That didn’t make sense to my cold heart. Because of Dad, she’d taken her life. She’d left me. Because of that twisted, dysfunctional relationship, she no longer walked this earth. She never got to see me grow up.

Well. . .she did see me grow up. . .if this is all real. She was watching me the whole time.

I paused from dressing and stared off in the distance, doing my best to wrap my head around it all.

If this is real then. . .everything that I believe is wrong.

It took me less than an hour to get dressed. I had to twist and hop up and down into my green velvet gown. While everything fit, my ass wanted to test out the elasticity of the velvet. When I put the gown on, I stepped into the mirror and assessed the view.

Not bad.

The mermaid style gown was long and emerald green. It hugged my body and fell out around my knees. The thick material would keep me warm in the SnowChapel.

I’m ready for the wedding. All I have to do is get that dream out of my mind.

But I couldn’t. The final moment hit my head—Saint and his flirtatious stylist. I didn’t like that moment at all. Jealousy rose in me. While I knew he must’ve slept with people and spent time with them, I never thought about it. To consider that would admit that Saint had my heart.

What am I going to do about him?

Obviously, the easiest answer would be to give my heart to Saint. All I had to do was step out on faith and open myself to him. Easier said than done, especially when the very idea gave me spasms and brought back memories of a dead mother hanging from a doorway.

Damn it. But. . .what about that stylist or any other woman in the future. I told him to move on. I knew that he would have to move on eventually. But. . .seeing a hint of that possibility?

Rage triggered inside of me.

Saint is mine.

Perhaps, I sat in that fact for too many years. I got comfortable with the idea that Saint would always be there for me, patient, and waiting. Deep inside of my core, I figured I could drag this situation out for a long time. As long as possible. It was selfish and wrong.