Ghosts of Christmas (Steamy Bwwm Holiday Romance)

I tried to get a better look at her.

She walked by us and headed up the stairs.

“Come.” The dark ghost floated forward and followed her.

I inhaled courage and walked next to him. “Okay, but where are we? What’s going on?”

At the top of the staircase, passageways branched off into three shadowed halls. There must’ve been over fifty bedrooms in the whole mansion. However, I doubted many people lived there. The idea of a massive empty place brought chills to my spine.

Why would someone want to be here. . .all. . .alone?

The old woman went down the dimly lit hallway in the center. I gazed at the black marble. It appeared the owner wasn’t a fan of bright lights. I wondered if we were in a vampire’s lair. The other two ghosts had taken me to moments from my past Christmases or people’s Christmas moments that I knew. I had no idea whose moment this would be, but I instantly felt sad for them.

Making it to the end of the hallway, the old woman hummed Jingle Bells and walked through the only opened door. “Here we go, boss.”

I recognized the old woman’s voice instantly. “Park? Wait. What?”

I hurried forward.

Old Park hummed some more.

A woman’s voice came from the bed. “Oh, Park. Please. Every time you come in here with that humming I can’t get the damn song out of my head.”

Oh, no. That sounds like me.

Shaking my head, I didn’t want to turn to the bed, but I did. I looked at the older version of me. The king-size bed appeared to be close to swallowing up my old, frail frame.

“No.” I shook my head. “Get me out of here. That’s not me.”

Slowly, Old Me put on glasses and frowned. “What is this, Park? I asked for next year’s Fall designs. Not food.”

“Boss, it’s Christmas.” Park eased over to the side of the bed and placed the tray on the nightstand next to it. “I’ve brought you dinner.”

“I don’t want dinner.” Old Me waved it away, grabbed a pack of cigarettes, and pulled one out. “Where are the designs?”

“Ewww.” I shook my head. “When did I start smoking?”

Park placed her hands on her hips. “Boss, the doctor said you should stop smoking.”

“I’m close to dead anyway. What does it matter anymore?” Old Me placed the cigarette in her mouth and lit it. “The designs?”

Old Park held a sad expression. “On the tray and under your plate.”

“Thank you.” Old Me blew out smoke. “You can go now. It’s Christmas. Shouldn’t you be with your grandson—Ricky?”

“His name is Seymore.”

“That’s right.”

“You’re welcome to come over to the West Wing and spend time with us.”

Old Me inhaled more smoke, leaned over to the tray, and lifted the plate enough to grab the folder. “I’m fine. Have fun. Make sure Ricky doesn’t break anything. Tell Elias I said Merry Christmas.”

“I will.” Park remained there.

Old Me placed the folder on her lap and looked up. “What?”

“This could be a good time to heal old wounds.”

“Old wounds?” Old Me coughed. It made a violent, liquid sound.

I shook my head. “Stop smoking! I mean really, Ivy. Really.”

Park continued. “Perhaps, call Holly or even—”

“Don’t say his name.” Old Me glared. “And why? They’ve all moved on. Last I heard Saint has two kids. Holly has five. They surely have more to do and think about this Christmas than an old childhood friend.”

“Holly sent her yearly Christmas card to you. It’s still on your desk, unopened.”

Ignoring her, Old Me opened the file.

“This time of year is a great opportunity to forgive. And it’s been so many years.” She waited for a few seconds then spoke again.

“Never. What they did was unforgivable.”

“I believe they brought your father to Finland years ago to—”

“Park!” Old Me looked up, coughed again, and grabbed a red-spotted cloth napkin from the nightstand. She spat blood on the cloth and folded it.

Ewww. What’s going on? Am I dying or something?

Old Me set the disgusting napkin down. “We go over this every year. And like last year, I will give you the same response. I don’t need them.”

“But—”

“I’ve never needed them. When I got rid of them, everything improved. Look.” Old Me spread her arms out and gestured around the huge, dark room. “I am a success because I cut bad seeds out of my life. Look at this house. My jet. All of my lovers. Many would be happy to have my life.”

Old Park didn’t appear convinced.

“Have fun with Ricky.” Old Me returned her attention to the file. “And thank you for the food.”

“You’re welcome, Boss.” She headed away.

“And close the door!”

Park left and shut the door.

Old Me lifted her view from the folder and stared at the door. Her eyes watered. She scribbled several things onto the folder, finished the cigarette, and then put it out.

I headed over to the bed to study the older version of me more. “But. . .why wouldn’t you forgive them after all these years? I mean. . .we’re mad, but are we that mad?”