Steve Arthur Christmas 소설 & 이야기

I stand alone on the icy field, turning back every few minutes to look at the road behind me. When my hands grow numb from the cold, I scroll my social media feed and see a recent post from my younger sister, Giada Soave. Holding gifts in her arms, she sits beneath a luxurious crystal Christmas tree with my parents embracing her from both sides. Ivano stands behind her with his hand resting lightly at her waist and his eyes full of tenderness. The caption reads, "Merry Christmas, I'm grateful to spend the holiday with those who love me most!" The comments section buzzes with blessings, praise, and envious messages.

I've been ignoring him, but his persistence is becoming problematic. I deleted the message without reading it. The Christmas gala is in two days. The annual event where the city's elite gather to see and be seen, to make deals and alliances over champagne and caviar. I'll need to bring Ava, show her off as my devoted wife, maintain the illusion that everything is fine. She'll smile and play her part because she has no choice. Because I've made sure she has nowhere else to go and no one else to turn to. And I'll stand beside her, touching her waist, playing the role of perfect husband, hating myself a little more with every passing moment.

Then allowed it. But his hand never left mine. Inside, lilies scented the air. Strong. Overpowering. Almost masking something underneath. “Uncle Steve!” Hailey ran towards a man in uniform. Uniform. Precise. Like everything else here. “Welcome home, sir,” Steve said with a slight bow. “Thank you.” “Sir, your mother...” “I know,” Mr Howard cut in. That was all. No elaboration. “Aria, this is Steve, the butler.”

He was tall, really tall for a Santa Claus, that I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes—oh, his eyes. They were an icy gray that seemed to bare my soul, uncovering every hidden secret before his eyes. I felt a cold shiver run down my spine, but I couldn't tell if it was from the cold or the way those eyes made me feel, something so distinct yet I couldn't put my hands on it. “Merry Christmas,” he murmured, his deep baritone causing my heart to thrum so loudly in my chest I could only stand there and gawk like a damn fool.

They reached Tara’s car, and as soon as they got in, Tara squeezed Melody’s hand. As she got into the car, she made a silent prayer, she didn't believe in Christmas no more, but she was hoping for a Christmas miracle. The twelve days of Christmas song was blasting in the car. On the fourth day of Christmas my true love sent to me… “Cheating on a platter of gold.” How thoughtful.

"That's no way to live. You're young. You should be enjoying life, not working yourself to death." "I'll try." "And take vitamins. Sleep more. Cinnamon, you make sure he does." "I'll do my best." Robert patted Dante's shoulder like he was a grandson, and something in Dante softened. Looking at him, it felt like he’d forgotten what it was like to have someone care. We finished our break and went back to work. Everyone enjoyed themselves and it made time roll by fast. Before we knew, it was evening. Someone connected their phone to the speakers. Old Christmas classics filled the hall. Slowly people started swaying their heads to the side and bobbing their shoulders on rhythm.

“I don't care who your boyfriend is, but call him to come pick you up instead of whining.” I opened the car, wanting to leave. “Olivia?” The voice. I stopped. The voice sounded too familiar, a voice rooted in my brain. It couldn’t be what I was thinking, as there was no way for me to meet him here. But as I turned, my breath shortened. Arthur stood before me, his tall, chiseled frame imposing yet elegant in a tailored suit, the top two buttons of his crisp white shirt undone. Two strands of his hair were left to fall on his left eye.

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" Jaxon said low and careful from his place at the door to the living room, his hand resting on the frame. His eyes were on me, like he was trying to gauge whether I meant it when I said everything was fine. I stood at the window, staring out as snow fell in languid flakes, casting a pale luminance over everything in sight. Christmas was looming, yet somehow, it didn't feel quite as festively joyful as it had other years.

A lady wearing a dark woolen cloak with flaming red hair asked, “What would you say to the creator?” I wipe my tears of laughter as I look her in the eyes. She is very pale, with gothic makeup and soulful eyes. I sense that I can be honest with her. “Well, first,it's brilliant. It reflects the dark side of this holiday. It shows the enslavement of reindeer, the oppression of elves and the self-serving nature of one man who takes all of the credit. Also, I'm glad there isn't a cross or a baby Jesus in sight.”

Bryce calmly said, "Grandpa, Grandma, Mom, Nina, and even Trevor love Holly. You're the only exception. I think you should reflect on yourself before questioning others, Mr. Gabelman Senior." Arthur had always been arrogant and opinionated. There was no way he would listen to Bryce. Arthur hung up the call angrily. He gave out a billion dollars to save his dignity, and his heart hurt for it. Now, his son was lecturing him. Arthur felt miserable with his hair and clothes soaked. He touched his hair and smelled something weird. He brought his finger closer to his nose to smell the water better. He noticed something was off with the water Priscilla splashed him with.