Carole Mortimer - A Dream Christmas

He saw the embarrassment in her eyes, the humiliation in her wobbling chin and knew that she had been mouthing off in temper.

‘The problem is that you have me over a barrel, James. I have no options here.’

‘I gave you an option, Riley,’ James reminded her. ‘At the beginning of this process I asked you to talk to me, to explain why you were really going, but you won’t.’

‘We don’t talk well, James.’

‘Try.’

There was that obstinate shake of her head that he was expecting and he saw her mental retreat and knew that he’d lost the moment, lost her. Her words just confirmed it. ‘Look, I’ve got to go. I’m expecting a delivery of some last-minute goodies for my Christmas windows.’

Her eyes softened as she mentioned her windows and he immediately realised that she still loved her work, the art of creating. So whatever was going on with her wasn’t work-related. And it shouldn’t be since she had all the creative licence she required … hell, she had all the creative licence of every artist in the city. Riley didn’t answer to anyone, not even him. Riley worked the way Riley worked; she was innately in tune with what was hip and happening and her windows were always stunning and ahead of the trends. She might never ask for approval for her designs, which raised his control issues, but she’d yet to let them down so he couldn’t complain.

Wait, hold on … ‘What last-minute goodies?’

‘Oh, this and that.’

When Riley was vague that meant she was ducking the question. If she was ducking, then … Oh, dammit, Taylor .

‘Have they been paid for?’ James demanded, thinking of the skyrocketing costs of her windows. Riley waved his question away, which meant that the bill hadn’t come in yet. Hell. He thought about trying to explain the concept of a budget to her—again—but he didn’t have the energy.

‘We are blocking off the windows on Monday morning, we’ll work through Monday and Tuesday and reveal them on Wednesday night.’

‘Who’s the entertainer this year? Have you got permission to block off the street for those hours? Security?’

Riley closed her eyes in frustration. ‘James, I’ve been doing this for years. Lorelei Cranston, the Broadway star, is singing—’

‘I know who she is,’ James interrupted her.

‘The street will be closed off and the small stage will be erected on Wednesday afternoon. I’ve hired a ballet company to perform as well. There will be waiters circulating to dish out hot chocolate and cookies, your mum will drop the curtain. People will love it and tons of them will go into the store instead of buying online.’

‘You’re still over budget.’

‘But the cost to decorate the store windows is a fraction of what you would spend on a TV advertisement so suck it up. And I guess this will be another year that you won’t join the family when they come down to see what I’ve done.’

James frowned at the hint of hurt he heard in her voice. Was him being there important to her? Riley was so self-sufficient, so supremely confident about her art and designs that he never thought that she needed affirmation, especially from him.

Why would she care if he was there or not?

Damn, but she confused him. And because he didn’t like it and because he was a man, he chose to ignore what he didn’t understand. So he nodded at the list that she still held in her hand. ‘Okay, get the windows sorted then you can get cracking on that.’

Riley balled up the list in her fist and pitched it at him. It bounced off his chest and fell to the floor. ‘I’ll do it … Mmm, never. Does that work for you?’

WHERE MORGAN MOREAU had her jewellery design studio on the top floor of her family’s building, Riley’s studio was in the basement, where she had ample space to build sets, paint backdrops and assemble mannequins and models. She had an office built into the back corner, as brightly decorated as her apartment in Tribeca. Colourful prints, a cherry-red wall, a lime desk.

She was an artist; colour was what she did. Who she was. She would wither up and die if she had to live in a stark-white apartment like James’s.

She loved her office, her basement, her cave, Riley thought, handing Morgan, who was curled up on her raspberry couch, a cup of coffee. How was she going to leave it?

‘I don’t want you to leave,’ Morgan said, echoing her thoughts, as she often did. Her bottom lip wobbled and Riley felt the corresponding tickle of emotion in the back of her throat. ‘I know I said that I understood but I don’t, not really.’

Riley sat down in her turquoise wingback chair and pursed her lips. ‘Sometimes I don’t either but I feel compelled to go, to shake things up a bit, to try something new.’

‘Is this about James—about what happened in July?’

‘I think it’s a culmination of the last decade of what’s happened between James and me. I hate that we are so estranged.’ She looked at Morgan and knew that she could be honest with her. ‘But there’s more … I miss you, miss the time you and I spent together. Before you met Noah again and I slept with James again, I had your time and company—’

‘Oh, Riley, I’m so sorry—’

Riley held up her hand. ‘Don’t, Morgs. I’m happy for you—nobody is more happy for you than me. But those nights we spent together, eating out, at home—when James and I were still talking—’

‘Bickering,’ Morgan interjected.

‘Whatever. Your company, his company, the time we spent together, fuelled me. Then you got engaged to Noah and now he’s your priority and James and I stopped talking altogether and … and I miss my life. I can’t go back so I need to go forward. We are all on different paths and this isn’t my place any more. I need to find my place and I think Cape Town might be it.’

‘Your place is with James,’ Morgan stated firmly. ‘It’s always been with him but he’s too much of a stubborn ass to admit it.’

Riley stared off into the distance. ‘It’s not all his fault, Morgs. I’m just as much to blame for this mess as he is; possibly more so. He asked me to give him—us a chance, but I went travelling instead.’

Morgan frowned. ‘You weren’t ready … you were so young … nineteen! ‘

‘I was scared ! Scared of what I felt for him, scared of what he made me feel! My dad’s fear that he could hurt me fuelled my own fears—he was a rich guy and I was just a farm girl; he was older, sophisticated, I was just a passing fad for him, et cetera, et cetera—and I used his arguments as a reason to run. The truth was that I was too much of a coward and the timing has never been right again. I had my chance and I blew it to hell and back.’

‘Maybe you could—’

Riley reached over and grabbed Morgan’s hand, waiting for their eyes to connect. ‘Morgs, stop. I know you want to see James and me together, but if it was going to happen it would’ve happened by now. After he rejected me—us—in July I’ve let that idea go and you need to let it go too. It’s not going to be, honey.’

Morgan let out a long breath. ‘It’s against all the rules of the universe.’

Riley squeezed her hand, harder this time. “ Let it go. Concentrate on your wedding and your own happiness; I will find mine in time.’

Morgan frowned in warning. ‘It had better be with some man I love and adore. And he’d better be hot!’

Nobody would be as hot as James but she could try. ‘In the meantime, I have to get my stunning windows up and James is insisting that I work until the last day of December.’

‘Control freak. Okay, so just clock in every morning and lie here and read or paint. Sneak out of the building and go shopping, skating, look at all the Christmas windows. New York at Christmastime is stunningly beautiful. Do what you normally do when you have some free time.’