“Because of the… circumstances,” she says, air-quoting like it tastes bitter.
I nod. “Exactly. Apparently, the wordsfalse accusationsandscandaldon’t mix well with athletic departments. My top schools put me on ice. PR nightmare, they said.”
She hums in that disapproving way only powerful women can manage. “And your first choice?”
“Boston College.” I smile, wistful. “I fell in love with it when I visited over break with my parents. The campus, the city... it just felt like me. Strong academics. Great soccer program. Everything I wanted. But after the Homecoming mess? The whispers, the articles, the rumors... I’m too radioactive.”
I laugh dryly. “So once again, I’m the one getting punished for something I didn’t do.”
“That’s life,” she murmurs, “if you let it be.”
We lapse into easy small talk. She asks about Aunt Susan. I ask about Leo. She says Harvard’s a good bet for him—early action looks promising, and he’ll be working on his essays over break.
Then she pauses. Straightens her wine glass.
“Won’t you come for Christmas Eve?”
I blink. “What?”
“You and that aunt of yours. Aunt Susan, is it?”
I squint at her, suspicious. “You want me at your Christmas Eve party? Why?”
She lifts her napkin and dabs her mouth like it’s just another Tuesday.
“To be Leo’s Christmas present, of course.”
I choke on my hot cocoa. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” she says smoothly, gaze steady. “You don’t justgivea girl as a gift, no. But I could give my son something far more valuable—a second chance at happiness. And you know a thing or two about second chances, don’t you, Jade?”
My stomach flips. Because under all her control, her class, her terrifying elegance... there's something real in her eyes. Hope. Guilt. Maybe even love.
“Wouldn’t that be the perfect Christmas gift?”
I blink at her again, speechless.
“But I’m going to Winter Ball with Kannon,” I say slowly, as if she forgot.
“And Leo is attending with a date,” Mrs. Holt replies, already standing, draping her designer coat over her shoulders. “So?”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I close it again. She shrugs—actually shrugs—as if it’s all perfectly reasonable. No scandal. No tension. Just… logistics.
“Four p.m. appetizers,” she continues, all business now. “Six o’clock dinner. Eight o’clock Christmas Eve mass. Cordials and cocktails after. I’ll send a car for you and Aunt Susan.”
She doesn’t wait for my reaction. She just breezes out of the sushi lounge like a royal procession, perfume trailing in her wake—something expensive, icy, floral.
I sit there, stunned, her words still echoing in my ears.
A gift. A second chance. The queen’s invitation.
Christmas Eve at the Holts.
With Leo.
What in fresh prep school hell is this woman planning?
Chapter 22
