The Hero + Vegas = No Regrets

Christmas Eve

I’ve been descended on. The brownstone has been taken over.

It’s Efa’s doing, but she’s surrounded by enablers. “Worth, is that the door?” she bellows from the far side of the kitchen.

“Nope.” I shake my head. It’s the first time today I’ve been able to say there aren’t people on my doorstep, trying to get in.

When I woke up this morning, there was not a single pinecone or ornament in my house. Now it feels like the brownstone is a pinecone and ornament superstore. Christmas music starts to play all around us. Did Efa have a sound system installed? At least it’s Frank Sinatra and not Mariah Carey.

“Efa thinks you won’t go for artificial snow,” Eira, Efa’s sister, says expectantly as she holds up a can of spray. “It’s just that I know a guy who owes me a favor. And he can do amazing artwork on the windows over there.” She nods toward the pocket doors that stretch all along the back wall of the first floor. “Let me show you his Instagram.”

I don’t know why she’s asking me, to be honest. I’ve learned with Efa and Eira, it’s just easier to let them do whatever they want.

“Just say yes, mate,” Dax, Eira’s husband, calls from the other side of the kitchen island. “I know she’s not your wife, but believe me when I say you shouldn’t argue.”

Eira blows him a kiss.

I shrug. “As long as it comes off.”

Eira holds up her phone. “You see that?” She shows me a guy working with a spray can of snow and what looks like a credit card to produce a Christmas scene that looks like it’s from a Dickens novel. “He’s a snow graffiti artist.”

“How long will it take?” I ask.

“Just an hour or two. I’ll clean it off myself if necessary.”

“Let’s do it.” I check my watch. It’s not even 1 p.m., and everyone’s working like we’re hosting a Christmas Eve ball at the Met rather than having our close circle of friends, plus Eira and Dax, over for dinner and drinks. Efa said she wanted to make it special. I don’t hate the idea. Not that my heart isn’t broken in two because Sophia isn’t here—it is—but my friends are keeping my head above water, and I appreciate it. Embracing it, even. It’s why I’ve allowed them to turn my perfectly respectable home into a winter wonderland. If nothing else, the chaos is distracting.

“How are you?” Jules comes over with two red mugs of hot chocolate and hands one to me. A candy cane pokes out from the top of a whipped swirl, and gingerbread sprinkles finish it off.

“Thanks.” I raise my cup to her. “It feels like I’m… in the eye of a storm.”

Jules laughs. “I thought I was fierce and well organized, but I look like an amateur compared to these two.”

Jules and I haven’t exactly been ignoring each other, but we haven’t been seeking each other out either. She needs to support her friend, and I absolutely get that. I haven’t asked her questions about Sophia, and she hasn’t offered any information. What would be the point?

“I just wanted to let you know I haven’t heard from her other than a text saying she was back in Cincinnati for the holidays.”

I nod my head. It’s good to know Sophia is with her family. “Thanks for telling me.”

“I think it was just a lot for her. But I’m hopeful she’ll— Things will change and⁠—”

I wince at her words and interrupt before she can say anything more. “Do you mind if we don’t do that?” I ask. “I don’t want false hope. I just want to keep moving forward.” I pat Jules on the shoulder. “I appreciate you’re trying to make me feel better and you’re in a difficult position. You don’t need to say anything.”

She pulls her mouth into a sad smile. “I wish I could help.”

“Did I tell you my sisters and I are refurbishing a hotel?” I ask. “On Forty-Sixth and Ninth Street.”

“Really?” she asks, her eyes brightening at the change of subject.

“We’re going to need some advice. In fact, I was wondering if Avril could come and get some work experience at The Mayfair. She could go to the Boston hotel, but she’s going to supervise the build at the same time.”

“That’s going to be amazing.” Her smile turns to a frown. “But it means you’re upping the ante for the annual competition.”

I laugh. “It’s not going to be ready for a while yet.” Then I narrow my eyes. “But then get ready.”

It’s her turn to laugh.

The door buzzer sounds and I take my hot chocolate and go answer it. I can see the wreath I made through the frosted glass on the other side of the door. I’m weirdly proud of it. Who knows? I might take a flower-arranging course. I’m getting better at recognizing what I like and what I’m only drawn to because it helps others. I can say with confidence that flower arrangement would be for my own happiness.

Just like marrying Sophia.

I pull open the door and it’s like my thoughts have come alive. Sophia is standing in front of me in a huge quilted coat, with a cream hat and gloves that seem to make her blue eyes sparkle.

It’s like my body has stopped functioning. I can’t breathe. I can’t speak. I’m not sure my heart’s still beating.

She looks beautiful. Beyond beautiful. Her long blonde hair is splayed over the dark navy of her coat like shards of ice, and her cheeks are reddened by the cold. She’s breathtaking.

She offers an awkward smile. “Hi,” she says.

Someone shouting my name from inside the brownstone distracts me for a moment. I’m not sure if I’ve hit my head and am passed out, imagining all of this, or whether Sophia is really standing on my stoop.

“Hi,” I say. I want to ask her why she’s not in Cincinnati, but before I can say anything, Eira pushes past me.

“Are you the snow graffiti artist? I was expecting a man.”

“No, Eira,” I interrupt, and she rolls her eyes and disappears.

“You’re busy,” Sophia says, glancing past me to where Eira is running down the hall.

“We’re just having dinner and drinks…” I see she has a gift bag in her hand. When she follows my gaze, she holds it up.noveldrama

“I brought you a gift,” she says.

“Do you want to come in?” I’m confused. Why is she here? Does she want to talk? My heart pulls in my chest. Has she changed her mind?

Laughter echoes from inside the house, pulling her attention. At the same time, a truck pulls up on the street, and in seconds, people are ascending the stairs carrying covered platters of god-knows-what, as if the brownstone is a public building.

“You’ve got a lot of people in there already. Another time, maybe,” she says, offering an uncertain smile.

I want to scream for everyone to get out of the house so I can talk to Sophia and understand what brought her to my door.

She loops the gift bag she’s brought onto the door handle and turns to leave. “Merry Christmas Eve, Worth.”

My body is frozen as I watch her descend the steps. She looks back at me as she takes a right and heads west.

I don’t seem to be able to react.

I don’t know what to do or say. Do I ask her to stay? I don’t want her to do anything she doesn’t want to do.

But what do I want?