For the rest of the night, and well into the wee hours of the morning, Roxanne sat with her grandmother, two women separated by seventy years both thinking about love lost and gained and the magic of Christmas. By the time they went back in the cabin, they were nearly frozen and it was nearly dawn. Everyone else had gone off to bed without them, and the first rays of Christmas Day would soon light up the sky. They hadn’t seen Santa come on his annual errand, but their hearts were full just the same as if he had.

Roxanne helped Grandma Myrtle settle into her bed, and then tiptoed down the end of the hallway to her room. Hunter’s eyelids flickered when she inched the door open. He sat up, rubbed his hands through his hair, and shot her an accusatory look that was softened by sleep. “You left me hanging last night, babe.”

“I’m sorry. It was a lot at once. I needed to think.”

He patted the bed beside him, and she sat, although she kept as close to the edge of the bed as possible. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

Roxanne was not ready for the conversation that was coming, but it had to happen anyway. Her mind was made up, even if her heart still hurt a little. “I know.”

“It’s okay,” said Hunter. “Maybe it wasn’t the best time. There’s no hurry. We don’t have to get married anytime soon. We can have a long engagement, that’s fine by me. Think about it, and—”

“I don’t need to think about it, Hunter,” Roxanne interrupted, raising her hand so he’d stop talking. “I can’t marry you. What we have—what we had—it was good once. Now, I just think we’d be going through the motions, both of us planning our next steps and sort of pulling the other one along with us. It wouldn’t be right. I’m sorry, but my answer is no.” She set the Tiffany box on the empty space of bed between them.

Hunter blinked a few times, as if it would help him digest her words. Finally, with a deep sigh, he asked, “What can I say to change your mind?”

“Nothing.”

They were silent for a few moments, and then Hunter gave a frustrated sigh and leaned back into the pillows. “I can’t say I’m not disappointed. I love you, Roxanne.”

“I love you, too,” she smiled, “but it’s the not the kind of love I want. I want…I want bells.” He looked confused, but she didn’t explain. She knew Hunter, and he wouldn’t understand. “Hey, one more thing. What happened with Andrea Steiner in Madrid?”

Hunter looked taken aback. “Is that what this is about? Babe, if you’re asking if I cheated on you, or something, then I never did. Not once. I promise.”

“No, it’s not that. I’m just asking…was it really food poisoning?”

“Oh—” Hunter’s brow furrowed as he tried to connect the dots—“No, I don’t think so. I heard she checked into some kind of rehab when we got back. I guess the pressure was getting to her.”

Her suspicions confirmed, Roxanne nodded. “Just so you know, I’m not just turning you down. I don’t think I’m going to take Dahlia D’Arcy up on her offer, either.”

Hunter’s eyes went wide. “What? Why? Designing has been your dream for longer than I’ve even know you. If it’s me, we can end things peacefully. Professionally. It doesn’t have to be a thing. Don't turn Dahlia down just because you don’t want to marry me.”

Roxanne laughed, not surprised that Hunter would somehow find a way to make himself part of an equation that never included him as a variable. “No, it’s not that. It’s just that if I go to France, I’ll be designing, but I’ll be designing clothes that make women like Andrea feel un-beautiful, and I just couldn’t live with myself if I did that. Here, at Vogue, I have the opportunity to do something different—maybe to change things. To flip the script in fashion. To make women feel beautiful again, even if they aren’t a size zero with perfect skin. Even if they eat pie for breakfast.”

She could tell Hunter was deeply confused, but it didn’t matter. Leaving him to riddle out his own conclusions, she stood from the bed and wriggled the zipper of her dress down, then slipped on the only pair of blue jeans she’d brought with her. She pulled an old sweatshirt from her teenage wardrobe over her head, amazed that it still fit, wiped her faded makeup from her face, and pulled her hair up into a messy ponytail. She never even bothered to look in the mirror while she laced up Maggie’s borrowed snow boots and pulled the arms of the coat over her shoulders.

“You have somewhere to be?” Hunter snapped, not even bothering to hide the fact that he was miffed.

“Yes,” Roxanne said. “I do.”