Thank God something was open in London on Christmas.
Jules had worried, but a quick Google search showed her that the Ritz wasn’t the only fancy place serving meals today—not by a long shot. She’d skimmed over the options and now found herself waiting for her takeaway order at the Ham Yard Hotel near Piccadilly Circus.
“That’s right,” she told the clerk. “One order of roast duck and one of turkey.”
The clerk looked at his notes. “Plus carrot terrine?”
“Plus that,” she confirmed.
“And one order of our Christmas pudding.”
“Yup. I’ve never had Christmas pudding.” Jules handed over the company credit card. Let Vivian explain this one to the expense department.
“You’re in for a treat, then. Be right back.” The clerk headed behind the stone-patterned bar to the cash register.
Jules took a moment to look around at the decorations and the festively dressed patrons, who seemed to be having a much more normal Christmas than she was. Well, if nothing else, she was going to have a traditional Christmas dinner, even if it was the British variation. No cardamom cream or whatever: she was talking turkey.
If anyone had asked her a month ago whether she’d dream of stuffing her face in front of Vivian Carlisle, much less asking Vivian to join her, she’d have laughed in that person’s face. But if Jules couldn’t be with her family today, she was at least going to have this.
So would Vivian. She might not like Christmas, but she’d have a taste of it. Something to make Christmas be…okay, as Jules had promised in her dream.
“You dumbass,” she growled to herself, but her spirits still rose when the clerk handed her two paper bags full of Christmas fare. The food smelled wonderful, and Jules’s stomach growled. Time to get home and eat.
Her Uber arrived after seven minutes, and they drove back toward Mayfair. Feeling happier than she had all day, Jules looked at the snow that had just started falling. It was starting to gather on the ledges and eaves of the great stone buildings. On the northern side of Piccadilly Circus, a large video display on a building corner advertised performances of The Nutcracker at the London Coliseum. The bags of food felt warm in her lap, and her stomach growled as she smelled the turkey and duck. The sweet, spicy scent must be the pudding.
No, it wasn’t the Christmas Day she’d imagined—not by a long shot—but this wasn’t half bad.
She bounced up the townhouse stairs, mindful not to slip. The snow was lovely, but she was glad not to have anywhere else to go tonight.
Vivian was nowhere to be seen as she hustled into the kitchen with the food. Still asleep? She hadn’t emerged from her room since Jules had woken up, and that was hours ago now. It was nearly seven and fully dark outside.
“Time to get up,” Jules muttered as she dumped the bags onto the kitchen island. She reached for her phone and texted Vivian:
I’m back with dinner.
There. Vivian would either come down or she wouldn’t, but Jules’s stomach had started to growl again. She’d hardly touched her lunch and was ravenous. Time to throw some food onto a plate and scarf it down as soon as possible.
Then she paused with a frown. No. That wasn’t right.
She looked at her phone again, then at the Echo unit on a countertop. A few minutes later, she’d linked the two devices, and “Deck the Halls” played in the kitchen while she looked for the flatware.
By the time Vivian arrived, Jules had finished an impressive table setting for two. The linen napkins were even in rings. She hummed “Silver Bells” along with Dean Martin as she lit two white tapered candles she’d found in the buffet.
Vivian stopped dead at the entrance to the kitchen. She looked genuinely taken aback.
In spite of Jules’s determination to enjoy her Christmas evening, she felt a pang of anxiety. “Well?”
“Well, what?” Vivian shook her head. She’d changed out of her green dress into a cream-colored blouse and pair of loose black pants with a pair of black flats to match. She was hardly dressed to the nines, but at least she hadn’t wandered down to Christmas dinner in a T-shirt and yoga pants. (Did Vivian even own T-shirts?)
Meanwhile, Jules wore a red sweater and her own pair of black slacks that hugged her hips and ass beautifully—the closest she could come to Christmas garb. She hadn’t bothered with hair or makeup, but this was festive enough for a quiet night in. And for once, she looked better than Vivian Carlisle.
Not that it was a competition.
Vivian rubbed her hand over her eyes as if trying to push the sleep out. She seemed dazed, what Jules’s sister called “nap-slapped.”
“I went to the Ham Yard Hotel,” Jules said, hoping the place wasn’t on Vivian’s shit list.
If it was, Vivian seemed too tired to put up a fuss. “Fine. Just turn off that god-awful music.”
Jules looked at her, stricken. She should have expected it, but still.
“Oh, come on,” Vivian said. “Stop looking like a kicked puppy.”
“You don’t even have any Christmas decorations,” Jules protested.
“What is this, a shopping mall in October? I had to look at enough holly back home.”
“Hold on,” Jules said, suddenly inspired. She peered at her phone and began sorting through Spotify playlists. Soon she found one that focused on classical guitar covers of Christmas songs. “Away In a Manger” was the first track, and when she selected it, the tender chords and familiar melody filled her with a warm glow.
She looked hopefully at Vivian, who listened to the music for a moment, and then said, “Not bad.”
Whew. Jules busied herself with opening the cardboard boxes and setting them before the plates.
Then she felt a light touch on her arm. She glanced over to see Vivian plucking a white piece of fluff from her sweater sleeve. For a moment, her fingers lingered on the wool, and she looked at them as if they were confusing her.
Jules’s heart began jumping on a trampoline. What—how—
Then Vivian pulled her hand away quickly. “Don’t gather lint like a dryer,” she muttered, not looking at her. “How did you pay for the food?”
Oh shit. Jules winced as the question brought her back down to earth. “Um…”
Vivian sighed. “I guess I can argue that feeding my assistant should be a company expense.”
Jules managed to contain her own sigh of relief. “Yeah, that was, uh, my thinking too. Turkey or duck?”
“Some of both.” Her brow furrowed as she caught sight of the Christmas pudding. “Dessert?”
“We didn’t have ours at lunch.”
Vivian looked her up and down, no doubt noting she wasn’t a rail-thin model, and shrugged again. “They’re your hips.”
Jules couldn’t restrain a humph as she carefully placed food on Vivian’s plate: a slice of duck, another of turkey, and two slices of the terrine. But when Vivian’s stomach rumbled, it was a full commitment to dinner.
Vivian waited for Jules to seat herself with her own plate. Then they tucked in without speaking.
Jules just managed not to moan when the first bite of savory duck seemed to melt on her tongue.
After a few minutes, though, the silence began to feel awkward. Even “Jingle Bells” couldn’t fill it. Jules had so many things she wanted to say, but none of them could be said…or asked. Why do you hate Christmas? Why did you come to London for it?
Why did you want me here too?
“You called your parents?”
Jules hunched her shoulders. She’d wanted to talk but not about this. “Er, yes. Just to say—”
“What do they do?” Vivian asked.
Really? Vivian caring about Jules’s family seemed as likely as her shopping in Old Navy. And yet here they were.
“My dad’s a lawyer. Property law. My mom works for an insurance agency.” She decided not to add, And they think you’re sexually harassing me.
“What do they think of your career ambitions?”
What do you think about my ambitions? Jules wanted to ask. Do you know anything about them?
“They’ve always been supportive,” she said instead. “Fashion journalism wasn’t their first choice for me, but they understand this is a great opportunity. And…they want me to be happy.”
Vivian smiled bitterly. “How nice.” She speared another piece of turkey with a little more force than strictly necessary.
With anyone else, this would have been the time to return like for like, to ask Vivian about her own family. Jules, however, was not suicidal, so she searched for a neutral response. She opened her mouth to say Did you see it’s snowing?
Instead she heard herself ask, “Why’d you come to London for Christmas?”
Vivian gave her a sharp look. “How is that any of your business?”
Jules couldn’t help the incredulous look she gave in return. How was it Jules’s business? Vivian had yanked her from her family’s lap to join her all the way out here, that was how.
Vivian seemed to come to the same revelation, judging by the way she pursed her lips. With no follow-up, she returned to her food with less enthusiasm than before.
Okay. Fine. Jules should have expected as much. Grouchily, she reached for the brown dome of the Christmas pudding and cut herself a nice big slice.
“Mark invited me to his house in the Hamptons for Christmas,” Vivian said.
The slice of pudding fell off Jules’s fork on the way back to her plate. She caught it in her palm just in time. Mark Tavio had wanted to spend the holidays with Vivian? That sounded strangely ominous. “He did?”
“Yes. To join his family. Since I’m now all alone, you see. He called it an ‘olive branch’ after some of our less-than-pleasant discussions over the last year.”
She and Jules looked silently at each other for a moment.
“What’s he up to?” Jules asked, dropping the pudding onto her plate.
Vivian’s mouth twitched. “Maybe it was just a nice gesture.”
Yeah, right. If Vivian believed that, Jules would sell every pair of shoes she owned. “Okay.”
“What do you think he’s up to? He wants to keep an eye on me. I lied and said I’d been planning to come here for months. If there’s anything worse than spending the holidays by yourself, it’s spending them with people who hate you.”
Her tone had been indifferent, but she’d just answered one of Jules’s burning questions nevertheless. Vivian thought that being alone during the holidays blew. And here Jules was, not running herself into the ground with work but joining Vivian at meals and sleeping in her spare room.
It should have seemed pathetic. Who didn’t have enough friends that they had to make a PA hang out with them on Christmas night? This was even worse than Simon had led Jules to believe.
She couldn’t point fingers. Yes, she had a loving family, but Vivian clearly didn’t, and Jules didn’t have many friends of her own. Not anymore. She didn’t have time to get close to many people at work, and during the last couple of years, chats with college friends had become rarer and rarer. As for high school buddies, forget it. Everyone was a different person now.
In Vivian’s place, Jules would have been, well, in Vivian’s place. That was a sucky place to be.
“I’m glad you didn’t go with him,” she said. “Sounds like it would have been awful.”
“Oh, thank you for approving, Julia.” She looked at the Christmas pudding on Jules’s plate. “You know, you’re supposed to warm that up first and then set it on fire.”
Jules’s fork hovered over the pudding. “What?”
“With brandy,” Vivian clarified. “It’s traditional.”
Jules looked at one of the burning candles.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Vivian said.
“I like traditional. And they stocked the liquor cabinet.”
Vivian sat back and crossed her arms. “Now, this I have to see.”
Jules looked back defiantly. “I bet it’ll be delicious.”
* * *
At least the smoke alarm hadn’t gone off.
Jules looked dolefully at the charred husk of her dessert. Her heart still raced from how fast the pudding had gone up in flames. Maybe she’d been too heavy-handed with the brandy.
Luckily, Vivian had quick reflexes and her water glass had been nearly full. Now Jules was left with pudding that was both soggy and scorched.
“It’s not too bad this way,” Vivian said, and popped in another mouthful of her own unburned, unsoaked pudding.
“At least I tried,” Jules muttered.
“Mm-hmm.” Vivian swallowed and pushed her plate toward Jules. Over half of her own serving remained. “Here.”
Jules looked at her in shock.
Vivian returned the look tranquilly, amusement unmistakable in her eyes. Maybe it was her way of thanking Jules for the entertainment.
Well…as far as Christmas dinners went, this one could have been worse. Jules ate Vivian’s leftover pudding while “Silent Night” played in the background.
Vivian didn’t look at her. Instead, she kept her gaze trained on the nearest window. She rested her chin on her folded hands, the glow of the candlelight touching her face gently as she watched the snow falling outside.