‘Wow. It’s so pretty.’ Holly stares up in awe.
‘There’s something so magical about it, right?’ A million childhood memories flood back. ‘Seeing the lights turn on in Grafton Street is one of my favourite childhood memories.’
Holly nods. ‘We used to watch it on television. Mam and Dad were busy building their empire.’
‘Empire?’ I keep my voice neutral, even though I’m dying to know more about this woman. She’s so open with her body, but not with her heart. I don’t understand it.
‘They developed an interest in alternative remedies after Dad finished his cancer treatment. They opened a small health food shop selling supplements on the outskirts of Dublin, stocking products that were hard to source back then.’ She shrugs.
‘But things really took off when the Irish rugby team asked if they could supply them with natural supplements, homemade protein balls and other healthy snacks. Suddenly, the business skyrocketed with online orders. The Irish Independent wrote a huge piece on them, and Mam was asked to write a dietary column in the healthy living section. They went from having one tiny shop to sixteen across the country in a matter of months. Now, their ‘clean-living’ online business is worth a fortune. I guess you could say the importance of becoming successful was drummed into my brother Conor and me our entire lives…’
It’s the most she’s ever revealed about herself. I stand quietly, willing her to tell me more.
Her eyes remain focused on the twinkling lights.‘Christmas is always super formal in our house. Time is money, you know? The day is planned like a military operation. Smoked salmon and a thimble-sized glass of champagne for breakfast at nine am sharp. Mass at ten. Lunch is served at one o’clock sharp. Presents aren’t opened until the afternoon. We’re not even allowed to laugh unless it’s in the allocated time slot. Mind you, there’s often not much to laugh about. Conor is the only saving grace. We start on the eggnog good and early in the kitchen under the pretence of making cranberry sauce.’
‘Wow.’ Our families couldn’t be any more different. ‘When you said Christmas was cancelled earlier, I felt sorry for you. In reality, I think you had a lucky escape!’
A girlish giggle from Holly’s lips warms my heart.
‘Yeah, I never got taken to sit on Santa’s knee, toast marshmallows on an open fire, or eat gingerbread cookies, because sugar is poison, apparently. Homemade Christmas pudding is just about permitted, but I can’t enjoy it with my mother staring at me like I’m going to turn into every single calorie I consume,’ she sighs.
‘Somewhere along the line, my parents became obsessed with how everything looks to others from the outside and forgot about what it feels like on the inside. Even the tree has to ooze success, decorated in a way that made it look like it’s been directly transported from a fancy department store.’
Despite her festive name, it seems Holly’s never had the full festive experience. Hell, it’s been a while since I have. Getting dumped on the twenty-ninth of December put a downer on every Christmas that followed.
‘Let’s do it.’
‘Do what?’ Her porcelain skin shines through the moonlight as she gazes up at me.
‘Christmas, the proper way. Let’s go and see Santa. Let’s toast those marshmallows. Eat every gingerbread cookie we can get our hands on. Let’s make a dog’s dinner of decorating the tree.’
‘Do fuck buddies do that kind of thing?’ She cranes her head round further.
‘Festive fuck buddies do.’ I nudge my hips against her backside, and she squeals.
‘In that case, you’re on.’
ChapterNineteen
HOLLY
6th December
I spent half the night with my legs wrapped around Nate’s waist, and the other half staring at the ceiling.
There are many mysteries in this life.
Where do we go when we die?
What happens to the socks that disappear inside the washing machine?
What is a man like Nate doing hanging out with me?
And what the hell am I going to do when this is over? Because I don’t know how to get over a man like Nate. And it’s not because he’s rich or famous. It’s because under his tattooed bad boy exterior, he’s sweet and kind and so fucking in tune with me, it’s not even funny.
Nate brings me a coffee in the bed, pressing a kiss to my temple. It’s become another December tradition, along with tearing luxurious cosmetics from my Dior Advent calendar. I’m already dreading January. I mentally swat the thought away before it takes hold of me.
‘I’ll see you this afternoon, yeah?’ A worry line crinkles his forehead.
