Page 39 of The Christmas Trap

"For the record, I’m sure you made the right decision." Arthur folds his arms across his chest.

“In which case, I’m off the hook.” I lean back in my seat.

Arthur scowls. “What do you mean?”

“Ms. Monroe is engaged, and we should respect that.”

He sets his jaw.

“The one time your grandson was ready to abide by your choice, you got it wrong.” I allow myself a small smirk.

I love Gramps, and respect him, but goddamn, I can’t let up on this opportunity to have a little fun at his expanse.

I turn to James. “You’re witness to seeing the mighty Arthur Davenport stumble.”

Arthur’s brow darkens. “Be that as it may, it doesn’t mean you can get out of this. You need to get married, and before the end of the year.”

12

Lark

Test all Christmas cookie recipes twice. (Only for quality control of course.)

—From Lark’s Christmas to-do list

“Drop me off at the office then take Ms. Monroe to wherever she wants to go.” He tells the chauffeur before raising the separation between the front and passenger seat.

We’re on our way home after that disastrous meeting with Arthur.

“Uh, actually, I’d prefer to get dropped off at the nearest tube station.” I place my bag in my lap.

He shoots me a disbelieving look. “Just have the chauffeur drop you off, will you?”

“I—” I want to protest again, mainly so I don’t have to spend the trip to the office with him. But I take in his granite hard features and realize, it’s best not to debate this.

So, I subside and pretend to look out the window.

I am shaken, to be honest. So, it will be nice to get dropped off, rather than try to navigate the trains.

It was so embarrassing to have to tell them I was engaged and then lie about my lack of a ring. And of course, my fiancé is absent. And when he sends me flowers, I’m sure it’s to cover up something he’s done, something which he knows is going to upset me.

I’ve been so focused on creating my perfect life, I didn’t realize I don’t give off the vibes of an engaged woman.

I glance at my boss and, finding him engrossed in his phone, I pull mine out. I pull up Keith’s social media handles.

There are pics of him at a hotel gym, by a hotel pool, at an airline lounge, in a meeting room, of him in different cities around the world. They show off his traveling lifestyle. There are no pics of me. Or of us. Or of him showing off his fiancée.

I tighten my lips; pull up my social media. In contrast, mine have no pictures at all. I’ve been too busy working to share anything about myself online.

There is nothing tying the two of us together in the virtual space.

As for in real life? I glance at the bare ring finger on my left hand. It seems to mock me back.

I don’t have an engagement ring. Or spend evenings with my fiancé. We don’t live together. In fact, I haven’t even been in the same city as him for months.

I don’t remember the last time he took me out on a date.Ormade love to me.I cringe. Worse, he’s never made me orgasm. There. I’ve acknowledged it to myself for the first time.

I had convinced myself it didn’t matter, but in light of Arthur’s, no-doubt, thorough investigation concluding that I was single. Unwanted. Unclaimed. Definitely not engaged. I’m beginning to wonder if I really am?