“I’ve heard “Holiday” no less than sixty-two times. No more.”

Six days of Madonna, and Daniel had reached his limit. The radio signals had been spotty at best since we’d begun our travels across the South Island of New Zealand. Lucky for us, I usually carried the Immaculate Collection CD in my purse in case I had to work late and needed some psych music.

“Stop being so dramatic,” I groaned. “It’s only been forty-seven.” I pressed ‘play’…again.

He continued to sulk until he spotted a used music store as we drove through a little town. He parked the SUV faster than I could say material girl and jumped out. He was already scouring the bins when the bell above the door jingled, announcing my arrival. I let him do his thing while I pawed through a crate marked for clearance. I found something I thought we could both agree on and meandered over to where he was flicking through a row of jewel cases.

“This should do,” he said, selecting one. The clear plastic case was cracked, but he didn’t care, just happy to have found something else to listen to. It was Stone Temple Pilots, the Purple album.

“Oh, not that,” I complained, and he looked downright elated at my disdain.

“Oh, yes.” He started toward the register with me on his heels.

“Daniel, please. I can’t take that music. It’ll make me crazy.” I tugged on his arm as he placed the CD on the counter. The clerk rang it up.

“Then you’ll know how I feel,” Daniel said with a saccharine smile.

I slapped my own find of Super Hits from the ’50s and ’60s on the counter, and he eyed it suspiciously. “You can’t argue with this,” I said matter-of-factly.

“I wasn’t going to.”

The guy behind the register looked from me to Daniel, unsure if he was supposed to ring up my CD or not. Daniel nodded, and we were out the door, his steps light as we returned to the car. Daniel opened the case where Purple was housed, popped it out and ringed his pinky with the disc. He happily ejected Madonna from the player and deposited his CD into the dash.

He skipped to the second song, and I sang along at the top of my lungs, down to the last syllable. Daniel’s eyes widened. “What in God’s name have I gotten myself into?”

Stone Temple Pilots played as we washed dishes after supper. To celebrate our arrival to Queenstown, we’d grilled shrimp and scallops and vegetable skewers on the back deck of the lakeside condo Daniel had booked. While we cooked, we’d polished off a bottle of sauvignon blanc from a vineyard we’d toured earlier in the week. I dried off a plate, and he went to the fridge to retrieve a second bottle. I was already feeling good, but figured one more glass wouldn’t hurt.

“You do realize we’ve made it six days and haven’t killed each other.”

Daniel held up his hand and we high-fived. “We’re record setters.”

I snorted, warm from the wine, but mostly from him. “Only took two to end up in the same bed.”

He snagged me by the waist and pulled me flush against him. “Maybe that’s why we’re getting along so famously.”

His lips hovered just above mine. I locked my fingers behind his neck and pressed on my toes. From his first touch, I’d become addicted.

I tugged on his neck and braced for the current that was sure to follow. His mouth was sweet from the wine when I brushed mine against his. Sparks crackled between us, igniting the urgency simmering just below my surface.

“Don’t tease me. If you’re going to kiss me, then kiss me.” His low growl shot straight to my stomach.

I smashed my lips to his, heat threatening to consume me. He gripped my hips and held me against his solid length. A hand slipped under my shirt and splayed against my back. Hot. Possessive. Just like his kiss.

I curled my fingers into the collar of his shirt and slipped my tongue into his mouth. Need surged, drawing us together. Each touch tethered me to him to the point I wasn’t sure I’d ever break free, or that I’d want to.

When I finally peeled my lips from his, I swayed. Daniel steadied me, his fingers pressing into my skin.

“Me too, Princess. Me too,” he whispered against my forehead.

I cleared my throat. “Back outside?” I pointed toward the open sliding-glass door even as I clutched him more tightly with my other hand.

“Meet you in a minute.”

We untangled, and he handed me his glass. I ventured out to the deck that overlooked the lake, resuming my position in an oversized outdoor chair. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, drawing in a breath of fresh air. I loved how comfortable Daniel and I had become on our trip, loved sleeping next to him every night. If he was irritated I’d put the brakes on anything more intimate than making out, he never let it show. When the time was right for more, we’d know it. For now, I was content to take it slow.

I blinked my lids open when I sensed Daniel.

“What’s that?” I propped my feet up on his thighs when he sat opposite me. He massaged my foot with one hand and held up a tattered book.

“The Art of War .”

“Planning on going to battle?”

“Every day is a war.”

I wondered what had given him such a grim outlook on life. “I thought every day was a gift,” I countered.

“I read this once a year around this time.” He glossed over my optimistic assessment. I didn’t care because he’d given me another glimpse of himself.

“For how long?”

“Since I was almost sixteen.”

I tried to keep an impassive look on my face, but my mind raced with how a fifteen-year-old boy could connect with a book like that. I’d never read it, but it sounded too intense for someone that age. “What made you pick it?”

“It was a gift from someone who thought I would appreciate it.” Not knowing what else to do, I reached for his hand and laced our fingers together.

“Will you read it to me? From the beginning, please.” I was desperate to understand him, and this felt as good a place to start as any.

He flipped open the cover, and I settled deeper in my seat as he began to read. His voice had a soothing cadence. My eyes drifted shut, and I felt like I gained a piece of him as he spoke the words.

I was lost in the sound of his voice and the beauty of the setting until my cell phone chirped from inside, breaking the peaceful aura.

I trotted into the living area and frowned when I saw the caller ID. “Hi, Mother.”

I went back outside, sinking in the seat and propping my feet up again.

“You weren’t planning to come for Christmas, were you, dear?” she sing-songed.

“Um, no. Why?”

“We’re going to Barbados for two weeks. Daddy’s going to play golf, and I’m going to work on my tan.” You mean your liquid diet. Ice rattled on her end as she drank. The wine in my hand became repulsive, so I set it down and pushed it away.

“Have a good time.” That was all I could think of to say.

“If you decide to come, could you check on my roses? The gardener is supposed to come by, but he’s new, and with this weather, well, I was hoping you’d see about them.”

I snorted. Daniel continued rubbing the tension out of my feet. He tried to catch my attention, but I averted my eyes. It was mortifying that my mother only wanted me home for the holidays to check on her beloved roses.

“I’m not coming,” I said harshly. I should be used to this by now.

“I suppose they’ll survive,” she said, a tinge of disappointment in her voice.

She wasn’t going to guilt trip me about the goddamned roses. I hoped they died. “How’s Dad?” I asked without thinking. He still hadn’t spoken to me since I’d left Texas, and I knew he was sometimes sitting right there. “Is he around?”

She hesitated. “He is. Let me see if I can get him on the phone.”

The silence on the other end of the line made my heart drum in my chest. For fuck’s sake, I didn’t need either of them, so why the hell did I even want to speak to my parents? It was a part of me that wouldn’t die. I heard a rustling as the phone was picked up again, and I held my breath.

“He’s packing, dear.” She always talked on the phone in the parlor, and there was no way in hell she had made it to their bedroom and back that quickly. “Have you spoken to Johnny? His mother was by yesterday. Apparently he’s devastated over your broken engagement.”

I snorted. Johnny Caldwell simply wasn’t capable of loving anyone but himself. No wonder my father wanted me to marry him so desperately. They were just alike.

“We were never engaged.”

Daniel stiffened beside me, his stare glacial.

“Of course you were. Call him. Come to Dallas and fix what you messed up for all of us. The holidays are the perfect time. And while you’re here you can check on my flowers.”

Without saying goodbye, I hung up. Day by day, I came to terms with not really having parents anymore. “Vivian.” The way he said my name brought tears to my eyes. “Look at me.”

I refused. “I don’t want to talk about it. Although, if it could be arranged for me to make it to Dallas to see to my mother’s roses, that would be just super.” The sarcasm didn’t hide the overwhelming hurt that stabbed me in the chest. I turned to Daniel with the sheen in my eyes, lifting my chin and attempting to blink it away. I’d told him I’d give him everything, so here I was.

“Would you like me to take care of it?” Daniel asked cautiously.

“She has a gardener. I don’t give a flying fuck about those stupid flowers.” The pity in his eyes was infuriating. “Don’t look at me like you feel sorry for me,” I snapped, trying to yank the foot he was still massaging away. He held it firmly in his grip. “I’ll get over them. I already should be.” The words were like acid on my tongue, burning as I swallowed them.

“You have to come to terms with the fact that the way your parents treat you has everything to with them, not you. The sooner you accept that, the better off you’ll be.”

He was right, and Daniel’s face was nothing but kind as he spoke, but I didn’t want to hear it. “What do you know about shitty parents?” The question was callous as I lashed out at the wrong person. The vault slammed shut and the dial spun, locking him up tight in a nanosecond. I’d struck a nerve without meaning to, and I regretted it. When I reached for his hand, he pulled away, although he kept my feet in his grasp. “I’m sorry, Daniel. It’s wrong of me to take this out on you. You deserve better than that.”

He nodded but was stiff in his chair. “I know more than I’ll ever want to about shitty parents…well, fathers anyway,” he said. “Maybe the fact that your father doesn’t want to talk to you is a blessing. Fuck him.”

I had the strongest urge to hold him the way I had after he’d told me his parents were dead, but I knew that wasn’t what he wanted. My phone call had rocketed both of us to a bad place, his hell far worse than mine could ever be. He didn’t have to utter a word for me to know that. His scars ran deep.

Daniel curled his hands around my feet as he worked them, trying to master his emotions. Every muscle in his body was drawn tight, and his eyes…they were equal parts pain and anger, frightening in a way that would make most anyone shake in their boots.

“Tell me about your mother.” If we were tackling difficult topics, might as well dive in. “When did she pass away?” I braced myself for an unpredictable reaction. This was a road that had been closed so long, the sign barricading it had decayed, but I hoped that getting some of this out might help him.

He tapped his foot on the deck at a rapid speed, and for a moment I thought he might get up and walk away.

“I was twelve. She was only thirty-six. I remember her tiring easily, getting short of breath.” His gaze drifted out toward the lake, lost in the past. “She loved tennis, always wanted to go to the US Open. The first time I made enough for tickets, I bought one for her, even though she’d been gone for years.”

“You loved her very much.”

“Of course I did. She was my mother,” he snapped, annoyed I’d stated the obvious.

“That doesn’t automatically give her the rights to your feelings.”

Daniel’s eyes softened. “She baked all the time. Every time I smell vanilla, I think of her.” A corner of his mouth lifted. “I know she wasn’t perfect. Nobody is. But I feel like I was robbed. My mother would have done anything for me, and my father did anything he could to us.”

“She sounds really lovely.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, going back into the catalog of his memories. When he opened his lids, they weren’t angry anymore but filled with fondness. “I was five when she surprised me with a swing set. It was huge. One with a slide on the end of it. She’d push me on that swing for as long as I wanted, even sometimes in the snow. She had this laugh—” He paused to clear his throat, his eyes shining, but he blinked and composed himself just like that. “Even when there wasn’t a reason to, she smiled. Until she died, I had no idea we didn’t have the perfect life. She protected me from everything. From him. At least she didn’t have to see him lose the home that had been in her family for four generations.”

“Was there a time when you were close to your father?”

The hardness was back with a vengeance. “No. He never wanted anything to do with me. I was my mother’s dream, not his.”

“Were they ever in love?”

“My father was a professional con man,” he started, the words clearly leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. “He was charming, one of those easy-to-like guys you wanted to invite to your dinner party because he was entertaining. I can’t blame my mother for falling for him. She was a romantic, and I know he promised her a lifetime of wine and roses, but he didn’t mean any of it.”

I was heartbroken on behalf of a woman I’d never meet, and furious with his father. “So why marry her?”

“My mother came from money. Her parents died in car crash when she was nineteen, and she had a trust fund. That’s what my father fell in love with. The house we had, the food on the table, the clothes on our backs all came from her. Once he got access to the money, he changed, and once he blew through all of it, he was an absolute monster. I was only old enough to remember that version of him.”

Daniel stopped talking for a minute and stared straight ahead, though I doubted he saw anything. It was like watching him being physically sucked back into the past. His features hardened, his body was rigid, and his grip on me tightened. I leaned forward and touched his arm. His eyes closed as if he drew strength from that. When he opened them, they were hard, emotionless.

“Did he pass away when you were sixteen?”

“I was seventeen when he died. The last time I saw him he rubbed it in my face that I was just like him. That I couldn’t change my genes any more than I could change my destiny. The last thing I ever said to him was that he could go fuck himself, and he laughed. There was no funeral because there was no one to arrange it, no one to attend. The kicker was that the state made me pay to have him disposed of because I was the next of kin. After I wrote the check and they gave me the ashes, I took him to the garbage dump, where he belonged.” I swallowed hard, my eyes rounding with sympathy as my chest ached for him. “Don’t look at me like that.” He released my feet and stood, stalking inside without another word.

I sat there for a long while, processing what he’d told me, trying to fill in the gaps. His hate for his father was apparent, but I only knew part of the reason for it.

I picked up our wine glasses and my phone and went back inside, occupying myself with tidying up and doing a bit of laundry. The temptation to go to him was strong, but I respected his need to be alone. I let him be.