“Do you personally choose every gift?”
“Of course.”
And paid for them, too, if he had to guess. The party might be a hotel tradition, but this … this was personal. Pure Suzette.
“And you write each one a note?” he asked, nodding at the envelopes that were clearly more than a name tag.
“For the staff, yes.” She smiled faintly. “I like them to know they matter. They work hard all year. Guests can be … demanding. Some are downright dreadful.”
Her voice softened when she talked about her team, and something in him tightened in response. They weren’t just people working for her; they were her family. Herfoundfamily.
He thought about her childhood in the children’s home — no parents, no familiar arms to run to, no Christmas mornings with gifts waiting under a tree. He hadn’t lived that kind of loneliness. He’d grown up with two parents, noisy holidays, and the comfort of knowing he belonged somewhere. She’d had none of that.
Yet here she was, pouring out Christmas cheer like she had an abundance to spare. She gave so much, freely, willingly, with no fanfare.
This woman. She didn’t even realize the ways she got to him. The more he listened, the deeper he fell.
“And what happens to the guests tomorrow afternoon?” he asked, mostly to keep himself from blurting something ridiculous, like offering to take care of her for the rest of her life.
“They get a choice — a picnic basket for the pool deck or their private verandas, or a voucher for a meal at a local wine farm.”
Suzette listed the options like she’d thought of every last detail for everyone but herself. No wonder she hadn’t eaten. Someone had to look after her. “I can’t wrap a gift to save a life, but I can scrounge up a meal and a bottle of wine and keep you company.”
“Sounds wonderful,” she whispered.
They talked long into the night, slowly demolishing the charcuterie board he’d ordered from the kitchen and draining the bottle of wine between them. The wedding had wound down, the drums and guitar replaced by the hush of waves and the thrum of night insects.
The staff called their goodbyes from the foyer — forbidden from entering the boardroom — before heading out to the hotel transport which would safely take them home.
He helped her tuck the wrapped gifts around the Christmas tree, then waited while she checked in with her night manager. When she finally turned back to him, tired but warm-eyed, he walked her to her flat.
“Thank you for keeping me company,” she murmured. “You made a … lonely evening enjoyable.”
He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, his thumb brushing lightly over the soft curve of her cheek, lingering a moment on the faint shadow of exhaustion beneath her eye. “No thanks needed, sweet Suze. You saved me from straining my eyes trying to make sense of a puzzle.”
And the truth settled in him with surprising ease: the more time he spent with her, the sharper the picture of his future became — one Suzette Bosch puzzle piece at a time.
She stood in her open doorway, worrying her lower lip, a small frown creasing her brow. “I’d invite you to the party tomorrow, but I can’t guarantee your anonymity. My team knows to be discreet, but there’ll be plenty of people with cameras and phones … and social media posting.”
He swallowed his regret. “I understand.” All too well.
His fame was a red flag. And she had no desire to be pulled into its fallout.
But her next words gave him hope.
“If you want … Monday is my day off. And I’ll be taking a kayak out at sunrise.”
He didn’t have to think. “I’d like that. Very much.”
“Better bring your A-game, mister movie star. I’m an ace on the water.”
He grinned. “Challenge accepted.”
Justin flicked his eyes above her head, his grin softening into a smile. He bent and pressed a lingering kiss to her lips.
“Justin …” she protested, breath catching.
“It’s tradition,” he murmured.
