Page 44 of Valentine Nook (The Valentine Nook Chronicles #1)

Lando

I normally don’t like wearing a masquerade mask, but hiding behind it for a few hours tonight has made it easier to pretend I’m happy.

We’ve drunk, we’ve danced, and we’ve raised a lot of money. Holiday’s contribution—the opportunity to join her on a photo shoot—went for thirty thousand pounds to a hedge fund guy I work with as a present for his daughter’s eighteenth birthday.

I’ve shaken hands, I’ve hosted the auction, and I’ve worked the room.

And all the while I’ve kept one eye on the clock, ticking down until the very last second before Holiday has to leave, hoping it might slow time. It hasn’t.

Witching hour is fast approaching, and I feel like I’ve barely seen her all evening.

Even now, when I have a moment unbothered by people wanting to come and talk to me, Clemmie’s dragged her away to the dance floor to introduce her to some friends before she says goodbye to everyone she’s met.

Watching her smile and laugh at everyone who’s not me is infuriating. It’s what has me wrapping my fingers tightly around my whiskey glass when all I want to do is hold her hand and cling on for dear life.

Yet I can’t take my eyes off her.

She’s never looked more beautiful. She’s never looked more Hollywood in a black gown that hugs the perfect curves of her body I know so well. Gone are the tousled strands constantly falling loose around her face, replaced by a slicked-back twisty thing without a hair out of place.

Red lips, thick black lashes, shimmery cheeks. It’s no wonder every single guy in here can’t take their eyes off her. I’ve seen them follow her around the room all evening, admiring, leering, and wanting to get close to her.

She’s taken more selfies tonight than I have in my entire life.

She’s the starlet they all know and love.

But she’s never looked less like the Holiday I know. My Holiday. The one who wears jeans and a T-shirt, feeds donuts and apples to my horse, cooks lunch for my family, and falls asleep crooked in the bend of my elbow.

I hate it. I hate sharing her. I hate that I have to give a piece of her back to her fans after tonight.

“Another Fall Ball done...” Miles yawns, leans back in his chair, and peers around at the remnants of our evening—a table littered with discarded champagne bottles and empty glasses.

Cups of coffee are untouched. “Which means we’re on the way to Christmas.

How are we feeling about it this year, Al? Good, bad, indifferent?”

We all look at Alex, though I don’t expect him to reply, and he doesn’t. He just picks up his whiskey glass and downs the contents.

Alex isn’t a fan of Christmas, given our father died in December. Alex had always blamed himself for it even though he’s the only one. The rest of us use December to celebrate Dad’s life.

Ironically, while I was escaping the fallout of my almost wedding, Alex came out of his shell last Christmas.

In hindsight, that was all after meeting Haven, and as she’s made it clear she wants nothing to do with him, it’s likely Alex will once more retreat, and relieve me from the title of grumpy brother starting December first.

My gaze flicks back to Holiday and Clementine, who are now talking to my mother and a group of her cronies. I need a distraction, and this conversation is as good as any.

“What’s happened with the property?” I ask, mindlessly checking my watch for the hundredth time. The countdown hasn’t slowed.

Alex traces his finger around the rim of his glass and shrugs. “Nothing. Not a peep from the real estate team. I offered the hundred million, and then it stalled. The lawyers can’t get a hold of anyone.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Nothing. What can I do?”

“You can start by coming to the after-party.” Miles leans over and refills Alex’s glass. “C’mon, Al. It’s Henners’s big night out.”

My lips twitch in amusement while Alex rolls his eyes.

Since Max came along, putting the brakes on Miles’s and Hendricks’s wild partying, the Fall Ball has become the only night of the year Hendricks really lets off steam.

Max stays back at Burlington with Birgitta, while we stay at the family base in London—our house in Eaton Square—because Hendricks has decided he needs the hundred miles or so between Valentine Nook and the city before he can totally relax.

He also takes advantage of a lie-in the next day, but any more than one night away from Max, and he begins to get twitchy.

“Al ex . . . ” Miles whines. “Please come. Pleaaase .”

Ignoring the uncanny impression of Max, Alex peers over his whiskey glass at me. “Lan, you in?”

I shake my head. “No, I’m taking Holiday to the airport.”

My watch says twenty minutes to go. It’s like time is speeding up. We’re going down a hill, and momentum has gathered until we’re hurtling to the bottom.

“Oh shit.” Hendricks winces. “I didn’t realize that was today. Sorry, Lan. How are you feeling?”

“Not great,” I reply. No point lying.

“But you’re going to see her again. She’s coming back, right?”

I nod heavily. “Yes.”

“When?”

I’m doing my best to answer the questions while ignoring the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, the one that’s a lot like a lead weight dropped into a lake.

“For New Year’s,” I say, as cheerily as I’m able. “She has all the promo for this movie before then, and then she has the premiere.”

Miles leans forward, his hands steepled together. “Are you going to be walking the red carpet with her?”

“She hasn’t asked.”

I look at the three of them. A couple of minutes ago, they were all joking, laughing, and taking the piss out of Alex. Now they look sad. They’re all wearing an expression that reinforces my suspicions—that when Holiday says goodbye to me, it won’t be in a “see you in a month” way.

It’s going to be forever.

Her mood has changed in the past week. I want to attribute it to the stress of packing her things more quickly than she expected and instructing her assistant on what needs to be collected and what she’s taking on the plane with her, but I know it’s not.

So many times, I stopped myself from saying she could get it when she returns, and that it’ll be waiting for her.

Call me chickenshit, but I haven’t wanted to hear her say she wouldn’t be returning.

“But the awards start in January, and she asked me to accompany her for those.”

Their collective sigh of relief does nothing for my anxiety.

“Something to look forward to then.” Hendricks smiles, always the optimist.

My time checking has become obsessive, but when I glance up, Holiday’s walking toward me, and this time, when people try to stop and talk, she ignores them.

“Hey, you’re not the Duke of Oxfordshire, are you?”

I turn in my chair, pull her onto my lap, and bury my nose in her neck. I don’t even care who’s watching. I need this.

“That depends,” I mumble. “Who’s asking?”

“Just a lil’ ole actress,” she replies, wrapping her arms around my shoulders and squeezing me until my soul aches and a barrel of tears pushes up my throat.

“Don’t go.”

When she stiffens, I know I didn’t keep the words in my head like I meant to, and just like that, she eases herself off my lap and moves closer to my sister, who swings an arm around her shoulders. It reminds me that I’m not the only one who doesn’t want Holiday to leave.

“Clem, you coming to the party? Holiday, what about you? Can’t you delay the plane for a couple of hours?”

Her mouth rolls together, and she smiles sadly at Miles. “Ah, I wish I could. But I have a meeting in the morning. The studio sent a plane to make sure I got back in time.”

“Boo,” he grumbles, standing to give her a hug. It’s the type of hug he gives Clementine, and that in itself is enough to break me. “You’ll always be the best neighbor I’ve ever had. Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

“Okay,” she replies quietly, easing out of his arms and into Hendricks’s.

My throat tightens further with each of my siblings she hugs.

There’s no “see you soon” or “you must visit us again” because everyone’s too wary of me and our situation.

I stand, waiting, and when she’s ready, she turns to me with her hand held out. We walk out of the ballroom in silence. No one stops us. No one asks for a selfie. People take one look at our faces and know it’s not a good time.

The car is waiting to drive us to the private airport just outside of London. Except when we step outside, it’s not the car I expect—the one with my driver.

And it’s then I know.

Holiday turns and looks at me, big blue eyes glistening with tears.

“Holiday, what’s going on?”

“Just listen.” She holds her hand up. Her expression takes on a steeliness, and I find myself bracing. “It would never have worked. Long distance sucks.”

The lead weight hits the bottom of the lake. This can’t be happening.

“Holiday—”

“Lando, we both knew this had an end date. Why don’t we just call it what it was—an incredible summer? Let’s not ruin it.”

“We’re not going to ruin it. Why would that happen?”

Her features harden along with her tone, and I briefly wonder if she’s practiced this. “Because I’m telling you that’s what always happens. The time difference alone is enough to kill it. You’re getting up as I go to bed.”

I’m still holding her hand, and I pull her into me. “Holiday, we’ll figure it out. I promise. We can get through a little time difference.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep. When I’m working, I’m completely immersed in what I do. I don’t have time to worry about when we’re going to be together next. We’ll end up resenting the hell out of each other in a matter of months.”

I shake my head. “We’re stronger than that, and you know it. I’ll be by your side for the awards.”

She doesn’t look at me when she replies. “I think it’s better if I do them alone.”

“Holiday, come on. ..” My tone is pleading, whiny almost, but I can’t help it.

With a sigh, she places her hand on my chest, palm above my heart where I know she can feel it beating wildly. I wonder if she realizes that these days it only beats for her.

Rising on her tiptoes, she presses her lips to mine. Letting go of her hand, I hold her face and kiss her like I want to strip the red off until her mouth is the one I’m familiar with.

It’s hard, needy, and fraught with everything we need to say to each other but can’t. But mostly, it’s sad. Desperately sad.

And when I taste the saltiness of her tears, my heart totally breaks.

“I love you,” I tell her for the first time, one last attempt at getting her to change her mind and come back to me. “Holiday, please, we said we’d figure it out, and we will. The time difference can’t be the reason we don’t stay together.”

She doesn’t reply but leans into the car and pulls out a box. A fucking box. That her things are in this car, and she planned it all without me realizing it, is a final twist of the knife.

“Wait until I’m gone. Okay?”

I’m numb, barely noticing her placing it in my hands. I’m too focused on her face, committing it all to memory—the color of her eyes, the perfect heart shape of her lips, the determination in the jut of her chin .

It’s what brings all my anger to the surface. Holiday has made her mind up, and I don’t get a say. Again.

“You’re not even going to give us a chance? This is bullshit. Please, Holiday, don’t do this to us.”

She slides into the car, gathering her gown around her, and when she’s done, she pulls the door closed. Her palm presses against the window, and it’s the last thing I’m left with as the car sets off.

I stand and watch until they pull into traffic.

I don’t bother going back in. I can’t face the looks of pity on my brothers’ faces—or the tears I know Clementine is crying—because they’ll set off my own.

Instead, I get in my waiting car and request my driver to take me back to Valentine Nook. As a final fuck you , we pass four buses with her advert on the way out of London, taunting me with the perfect body I know every inch of.

I’m still holding the box she handed me, and I notice an envelope tucked neatly under the ribbon for the first time.

The laugh I let out is dry and full of scorn. Of course it’s addressed to Thunder.

D ear Thunder,

I so enjoyed getting to know you and Sunday. I’m sorry that I won’t be around to visit again.

Look after your dad, tell him he’s the best thing that ever happened to me, and I love him.

Your friend,

Holiday x

P.S. Pierre has promised to always bring you donuts .

I nstead of taking me to Burlington’s front door, I instruct my driver to drop me at the stable yard where Thunder is sound asleep.

“Look what Holiday made you,” I whisper as I creep in quietly and wake him enough to receive a grunt in reply.

Kneeling, I break it in half and hand over his midnight snack. It’s only when he smells the sugar does he open his eyes fully.

Thunder’s velvety lips quiver around the jam oozing out, and with a snort, he nudges me for the rest. When he’s done eating, he lays his head down and goes back to sleep.

Only when I settle next to him in the hay and lean on his soft belly do I allow my tears to finally fall.