Danielle Steel - Passion's Promise

“You going to make a fruit salad?” She had apples, pears, walnuts, and grapes spread out near the branch.

“No, silly. You’ll see.”

“Kezia, you’re crazy.”

“I am not … or maybe I am. But I know how to make a wreath anyway. I used to make ours every year.”

“With fruit?”

“With fruit. I told you, you’ll see.” And he did. With deft fingers, she tied the branch together with wire, and then carefully wired each piece of fruit and attached it to the wreath. The finished product looked liked something in a Renaissance painting. The thick pine branch was covered with a neat circle of fruit, the nuts scattered here and there, the whole thing held together with an invisible network of fine wire. It was a handsome ornament, and Alejandro loved the look on her face. “See! Now where’ll we put it?”

“On a plate? It still looks like a fruit salad to me.”

“You’re a barbarian.”

He laughed and pulled her into his arms. It was warm and comfortable there.

“You’d never get away with a wreath like that in a poor neighborhood. It’d be picked clean in an hour. But I will admit … I like it. It’s a beautiful wreath—for a fruit salad.”

“Asshole.”

“Yup. That’s me.” But she was still comfortably lodged in his arms as they spoke. She felt safe there; she liked it. She pulled reluctantly away after a few moments, and their eyes met with laughter.

“What about some dinner, Kezia? Or are you serving the wreath?”

“You take one bite out of that and I’ll brain you! One of my friends’ brothers did that one year and I cried for a week.”

“He must have been a sensible kid, but I can’t stand women in tears. We’d better go get a pizza.”

“On Christmas?” She was shocked.

“Well, they don’t sell tacos in this part of the world, or I would have suggested that Can you suggest anything better?”

“I certainly can!” She still had the two Rock Cornish game hens she had been saving for Luke’s Christmas dinner, just in case he came home. “How about a real Christmas dinner?”

“How about saving that for tomorrow? Will the invitation still be good?”

“Sure? Why … do you have to go now?” Maybe he was in a hurry, and thus the suggestion of pizza. Her face suddenly fell, and she tried to look as though nothing had happened. But she wanted him to stay. It had been such a nice evening.

“No, I don’t have to go. But I just had an idea. Want to go skating?”

“I’d love it.”

She put another sweater on over the one she already wore, thick red wool socks, brown suede boots, and buried herself in a lynx jacket and hat.

“Kezia, you look like someone in a movie.” She had the kind of beauty which appealed to him. Luke was a damn lucky man.

She told the answering service when they’d be back, in case Lucas called, and together they braved the biting night air. There was no wind, only a bitter frost which seared the lungs and eyes.

They stopped for hamburgers and hot tea, and she laughed as he told her of the chaos of Christmas in a Mexican home. A thousand children underfoot and all the women cooking, their husbands drunk, and parties in every home. She told him the things she had liked about her Christmases as a child.

“You know, I never got the purple-sequined gold dress.” She still looked almost surprised. She had seen it in a magazine when she was six, and had written all about it to Santa.

“What did you get instead? A mink coat?” He said it teasingly, without malice.

“No, darling, a Rolls.” She looked down her nose at him from beneath the big furry hat.

“And a chauffeur, of course.”

“No, I didn’t get him till I was seven. My own, of course, with two liveried footmen.” She giggled at him again from under the hat. “Shit Alejandro, they used to drop me three blocks from school when I was a kid, and then follow me. But I had to walk the last bit of the way because they didn’t think it was cool for me to arrive at school with a chauffeur.”

“That’s funny. My parents felt the same way. I had to walk too. It’s really rough what kids have to go through, isn’t it?” His eyes laughingly mocked her.

“Oh shut up.”

He threw back his head and laughed. Plumes of frost flew from his mouth in the cold night air.

“Kezia, I love you. You are really one crazy lady.”

“Maybe I am.” She was thinking of Lucas.

“Man, I wish I had bought some tequila. It’s gonna be colder than shit on the ice.” She giggled at him then, looking like a child with a secret. “I’m glad you think it’s so funny. Me, I’m not wearing fur, and if I fall on my ass, which I will, I’ll wind up with a good case of frostbite.” She giggled again, and with a white cashmere mittened hand pulled a fiat silver flask from her pocket. “What’s that?”

“Instant insulation. Cognac. The flask was my grandfather’s.”

“The dude was no dummy. That’s a mighty thin flask. Hell, you could wear that in your suit and no one would spot it … pretty cool.” Arm in arm, they walked into the park, and began to sing “Silent Night.” She unscrewed the cap on the flask and they each took a sip before she put it back in her pocket, feeling much better. It was one of those rare nights in New York when the city seemed to shrink. Cars had all but disappeared, buses seemed quieter and fewer, people were no longer rushing and actually took the extra second or two to smile at passersby. Everyone was either at home or away, or hiding from the fierce winter cold, but here and there groups were walking or singing. Kezia and Alejandro smiled at the other couples they passed, and now and then someone joined in their songs. By the time they got on the ice at the skating rink they had all but exhausted their collective knowledge of Christmas carols, and had had several sips from the flask.

“That’s what I like, a woman who travels equipped. A flask full of cognac. Yep, you are crazy … but good crazy, definitely good crazy.” He sailed past her on the ice with a broad grin, intending to show off, and winding up instead on his ass.

“Mister, I think you’re drunk.”

“You ought to know, you’re my barman.” He grinned at her good-humoredly as he got up.

“Want some more?”

“No. I just joined A.A.”

“Party pooper.”

“Lush.”

They laughed at each other, sang “Deck the Halls,” and skated a few turns arm in arm. The rink was almost deserted, and the other skaters shared in the Christmas spirit. The piped music was merry and light, carols intermingled with waltzes. It was a beautiful night. And it was past eleven before they decided they’d had enough. Despite the cognac, their faces were numb from the cold.

“How about midnight mass at Saint Patrick’s? Or would that be a bad trip? You’re not Catholic, are you?”

“Nope. Episcopal, but I have nothing against Saint Patrick’s. Your mass isn’t that different from ours. I’d really enjoy it.” There was a moment of worry in her face, as she thought of missing a call from Luke. But the prospect of church appealed to her, and Alejandro swept her along. He suspected what she’d been thinking. And going home to sit by the phone would negate all they’d done. It was turning into a passable Christmas, and he wasn’t going to let her spoil it. Even for Luke.

They walked down a deserted Fifth Avenue, past all the ornate window dressings, the lights and the trees. It had a carnival air. Saint Patrick’s was jammed, hot, and smelled strongly of incense. They wedged their bodies in way at the back of the church; they could not approach the front pews, short of standing on shoulders and walking on heads. People had come from miles. Midnight mass at Saint Patrick’s was a tradition for many.