I STARE OUT over Manhattan from my uncle’s office in the sky, wondering what it will be like to look at the bright lights of Vegas instead of New York.
I’ve interned at Remington, Lincoln, Anderson, and Steele for the last two and a half years during every semester break and every summer vacation. To call it an enlightening experience would be a dramatic understatement. My on-the-job training at one of the most prestigious law firms in New York City has put me light years ahead of my classmates. Two years ago I was looking for an edge; today I have one.
“There’s one of my favorite girls,” my uncle hums happily from behind me, spurring me to turn around.
“Afternoon, Uncle John,” I giggle sweetly as he sits down and shuffles the papers on his desk. “Can I help you find something?”
“Nope.” He casually picks up a piece of paper and smiles. “What’s on your agenda today?”
“Legal research. I’m assisting some of the associates on the Ericson case.”
“The wrongful termination suit?”
“Yes.”
“Good, good.” My uncle is pleased. “Alana?” He swivels purposefully in his chair.
“Yes?” I lean on the edge of his desk facing the window.
“Have you started applying for first-year positions yet?”
“Um, yes, I sent out a few applications last week.”
Before I knew I was moving to Las Vegas.
“I see. Is there a firm you have your heart set on?” He steeples his fingers and rests them on his lips thoughtfully.
Yes, yours.
“I have a few in mind, why?” I bat my eyelashes.
“Would you consider taking a job here?” He fishes.
“Here?” I squeak.
“Yes, you’ve impressed every partner at this firm. There’s no challenge you haven’t risen to, and when I approached them with this request, they agreed unanimously.”
I stare at my uncle in disbelief. A week ago I would have jumped through the window to accept his offer. But now? Everything’s different.
Worst. Timing. Ever.
I drop my head and sigh. “Uncle John, you have no idea how badly I want to say yes—”
“But,” he interrupts.
“But . . . Ryan was offered a huge job opportunity in Las Vegas.”
“Las Vegas?” he grunts. “I take it it’s not for graphic design.”
“No,” I snicker.
“Is that what you want, Alana? To go to Vegas?”
I look down at him timidly and shrug. “I want Ryan.”
“I see.” He peers out the window contemplatively.
“Do you think that’s a bad decision? To go with him?” I’m not looking for anyone’s approval, but it would be nice to have some support. Even if it’s just a little. A minuscule amount.
“I can’t answer that, Alana. Only you can.” His chair squeaks a little as he rocks back in it.
“I don’t think it is,” I conclude. “It may not have been part of my master plan, but life throws curve balls, right? And I don’t want to look back one day and think what if. And I don’t want Ryan to, either. He’s not asking me to give up anything, I can still practice in Las Vegas,” I argue with a hint of disenchantment in my voice.
“But it’s not New York.” My uncle immediately picks up on the lack of the enthusiasm in my voice.
“Nothing’s New York, but it won’t be permanent. We’ll move back eventually.”
“Well.” One corner of my uncle’s mouth curves up. “You’ve certainly convinced me. I have a law school buddy out there. I’ll see if he’s in the market for a stellar first year who’s way too smart to be practicing in Vegas.”
I smile slyly.
“What’s that look for?” He takes out his pocket watch and glances at the time.
“Ryan thought you might have a friend who could help me out with a job.”
“Did he now?”
“He’s not just a pretty face,” I hum.
“Neither are you.” My Uncle John stands and kisses my forehead. “I have a lunch date to get to.”
“Anyone I know?” I joke as I start to organize his desk.
My uncle pauses as he slips on his jacket, a twinkle in his eye.
I regard him quizzically. “Now what’s that look for?”
He just pouts his bottom lip and shakes his head. “What look?”
“Uncle John—” I raise my eyebrows fully aware he’s playing me.
“Goodbye, Alana,” he responds lightheartedly and heads for the door.
“Bye, Uncle John.” I shake my head. That man, I love him.
“Oh, by the way.” He taps on the door frame. “The job will be waiting for you when you get back.” He winks before disappearing.
I smile. Christmas just came two days early this year.
“I feel terrible leaving you.” I pout as I slip on my jacket.
“It’s only for a few hours, and then you’ll be back in my clutches.” Ryan clutches my hips, digging his fingertips into my waist.
“If it were up to me, I’d let you hold me for ransom.”
“Hey, your father is rich enough, he could pay,” Ryan jests.
Every year my family has Christmas dinner at the Waldorf Astoria. My uncle and his partners rent out a small ballroom for the entire firm and their families. It’s been a tradition for as long as I can remember. Some of my fondest childhood memories are of Emily and me all dolled up in beautiful Christmas dresses, running around an extravagant ballroom decorated with twinkling lights, elegant trees, and lavishly wrapped presents. They’re also the nights I remember my mom most vividly. She was so striking, big, blue eyes and long, blonde hair just like mine. And when she smiled it felt like an embrace. The love just wrapped around you like a warm blanket.
“Hey?” Ryan rubs my cheek. “Where’d you go?”
I look up at him, not even realizing I was daydreaming. “I was just thinking about my mom,” I admit wistfully.
“You miss her?”
“Tonight, I do.”
“I know how you feel,” Ryan sighs.
“Then why don’t you go see your mother, Ryan? It is Christmas, after all.”
Ryan shakes his head sternly. “I’ll call her. I’d much rather be alone with your pathetic excuse for a Christmas tree.”
“Can you stop hating on the tree?”
“I can’t, it looks like the Grinch stole Christmas in here.” He curls his lip.
I roll my eyes. “What can I say? I’m no Martha Stewart.”
“Clearly not.” He delivers a swift, loving kiss on my lips, and then off I go.
I hop in the cab and stare out the window as it heads toward the Waldorf. I’m dressed in a long, dark blue, formal party dress, with a five-point crisscross back. It’s elegant with just a hint of flash. My hair is down and wavy, and my makeup is only slightly dramatic; too over-the-top and my father will be displeased. And nobody wants that, especially me. I think about Ryan as the lights on the crosswalks flash and people walk by. He’s only seen his mother a handful of times over the last few years. Her birthday, a holiday here and there, but for the most part, he avoids her. He still holds so much resentment. I know what she did was wrong, begging him to take Sean’s place, but he has the one thing I would give almost anything for . . . a mother who’s living, breathing, flesh and blood.
I live in the city, and I’m the last one of my family to arrive, go figure. My Uncle John and Aunt Caroline, Emily, Alex, and my father are all seated around a gorgeously set table in the middle of a small ballroom. Waitstaff, donned in white gloves carrying silver trays are floating around the room serving hors d’oeuvres and pouring drinks, while Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas” plays in the background.
I sit down to four warm smiles and one brooding face.
“Nice of you to join us, Alana,” my father comments coolly.
“There was traffic, I’ll leave earlier next time,” I apologize.
My uncle shoots me a clandestine look, no doubt thinking that I won’t be seeing my father next Christmas, or any other Christmas, after he finds out I’m running off to Vegas with a male stripper.
To each their own, right? My father will never see it that way. Our time as a family is limited. It breaks my heart as much as it sets me free.
The night breezes by as we dine on an extravagant dinner. As the first course is served—baked pear and roasted beet salad—the conversation at the table flows steadily. By the time the main course arrives, Beef Wellington atop whipped mashed potatoes with a side of Brussels sprouts and candied cranberries in a sweet brandy glaze, my father has gone in-depth about his latest courtroom endeavors and newest investments. Emily feigns a yawn. My father is not the most social of butterflies, and casual conversation is sometimes difficult for him. Sports Center and reality TV don’t rank high on his DVR list. He is brilliant, though, and along with being a judge, he’s a shrewd businessman who loves to dabble in the stock market.
When dessert arrives, it’s a holy experience on a plate—decadent chocolate cake topped with peppermint drizzle and a scoop of vanilla bean ice cream.
I almost can’t believe how fast the night has come and gone. And before I know it I’m saying my goodbyes. My father helps me slip on my coat before we officially depart the hotel.
We walk silently, side by side, through the extravagant lobby that’s all high ceilings and beautiful white marble.
“Alana.” My father stops me, just before we stride outside into the cold city air. “I’ve secured you a job after you graduate,” he announces in his businesslike demeanor.
“A job?” I question.
“Yes, in the prosecutor’s office.”
“The prosecutor’s office?” I repeat, watching my tone. “I barely know anything about criminal law.”
“You’ll learn, you’re smart and on-the-job training is the most informative classroom.”
“But, Daddy—”
“Alana,” he silences me with sharp breath. “You will accept this job I went out on a limb to get you. It will be a stepping stone into a judicial position.”
“A judge?” I almost choke. I’ve never even considered the possibility. My dream is to litigate big cases for huge corporations and high-profile clients. I don’t want to try criminals, carry a huge caseload or be pigeonholed. “Daddy, I don’t think—”
He interrupts me again, “Alana, I don’t think I was clear. You will take this job, otherwise you may find yourself in the bursar’s office explaining to them why a tuition check never materialized.”
I shut my mouth immediately. This is my father, truly and fundamentally. My way or the highway. I see red as I look at him, but I keep my emotions in check.
“Yes, Daddy,” I submit, dying inside, as I turn to walk out of the building.
“Alana,” he calls before I make it to the door. I turn slowly to look at him, battling to keep my breathing even. He digs around the inside pocket of his long, formal dress coat before pulling out a small box. “Merry Christmas.” He holds the present out in the palm of his hand, it’s wrapped in shiny silver paper with a glittery gold bow. There’s not one ounce of emotion on his face as I stand there staring at his offering. I finally take the gift and open it right there on the spot. Inside, is a pair of large, square, sparkling diamond studs. They’re absolutely flawless and reflect off every light in the room.
“They’re beautiful, thank you,” I force out, because they are, and I love them, even though I hate him right now.
“They were your mother’s,” he adds aloofly, and then walks right past me and out the door.
My heart aches, I miss her so much.
I stand there in the middle of one of the world’s most renowned hotels, and watch solemnly as my father slips into his town car. I’m nothing but utterly numb, emotionally segregated, and physically dismissed as dozens of people drunk on holiday spirit come and go around me. I stare down at the little piece of my mother I’m holding in my hand, and wonder how in the hell did a woman like her ever love a man like him.
I walk into my dark apartment. It’s only 11:30, I didn’t expect Ryan to be sleeping. “Ryan,” I call as I unbutton my coat without receiving a response. Suddenly, lights pop on- Christmas tree lights. Gleaming in the middle of my living room is a six-foot tall, fully decorated tree.
“Where did that come from?” I gasp.
“You needed a better tree.” He saunters toward me.
“The Grinch’s tree just wasn’t cutting it for you, huh?”
“Nope. From now on, a real tree taller than us. It’s a stipulation.”
“A stipulation for what?” I inhale lightly, catching the delicious scent of pine.
“For the future.” He grabs the lapel of my coat and kisses me silly.
“That’s becoming your favorite word lately,” I sigh despondently as he leisurely slides my coat from my shoulders.
Ryan regards me with a puzzled expression. “Alana, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Everything. The future,” I groan as I walk across my tiny living room, kick off my shoes and take a seat on the floor next to the tree, my ball gown pooling around me.
“What wrong with the future?” Ryan insists, sitting down next to me. He’s wearing slim blue jeans and a large, cream colored, collared sweater.
“Nothing, except . . . it’s going to get really ugly, really fast.”
I peer up at the exquisite tree, Ryan really outdid himself. It’s decked out in classic Christmas colors—red and green—with a glittery gold ribbon wrapped diagonally down it. With perfectly spaced lights and evenly distributed ornaments, he concocted an aesthetically pleasing visual like only a master artisan could.
Talented is too puny a word to describe his ability.
“Did something happen at dinner?” Ryan pushes.
“Dinner, no? Dinner was wonderful, it’s what happened after dinner.” I tuck some hair behind my ears and show him my mother’s earrings.
“Holy shit, did your father give you those?”
“Yes, right after he threatened me.”
“Threatened you?” Ryan sits up straight. The lights from the tree casting beautiful shadows across his concerned face.
“Not physically.” I put my hand on his chest. “Easy there, killer. He got me a job in the prosecutor’s office, and he basically told me if I didn’t take it, he was going to hold back my tuition. Which means I wouldn’t be able to finish law school.”
“Jesus Christ, Alana.”
“I know.” I drop my head into my hand.
“What are you going to do?” Ryan is clearly concerned. About me, and our future.
I’m emotionally exhausted. “I’m going to accept the job, finish law school, and then take off with you.”
“Really?” He sounds surprised, although he shouldn’t be. I want Ryan. It’s that plain and that simple. And I’ll do whatever I have to get what I want. Everything I want, even if that means throwing mud in my father’s face. It’s not the path I would choose, but I have no choice. I want to live for me, not him, or anyone else.
“Yes, that’s the plan, right? I just hope you’re prepared, because come May, my life is going to get really messy really fast. I’m not going to have any money, or a job. Or even a place to live, for that matter.”
Ryan nods his head fervently. “None of that matters.” He pulls me onto his lap and wraps his iron arms around me. “I’ll take care of you. I will always take care of you.”
I drop my head onto his shoulder. “You’ll take care of me,” I repeat forlornly.
“Is there a problem with me wanting to take care of you?” Ryan asks critically.
“No, it’s just not how I pictured my liberation going.”
“Yeah, well, the best laid plans, right?”
I roll me eyes resigned. “I guess.”
“It will be okay. I have some money saved, and we have a few months to plan. Just concentrate on finishing law school. That’s what’s important.”
“I know, but I shouldn’t have to saddle you with my fucked-up family drama.”
“Alana, you’re not saddling me with anything. And if anyone understands fucked-up family drama,” he scoffs, “it’s me. This is exactly why Vegas is so important. I don’t ever want you to feel like this.”
“And how am I feeling, Ryan?” I look up at him, knowing he knows.
“Alone.”
“Yes, that’s exactly how I felt when I walked into the room, but not anymore.”
He kisses my head gently, and I snuggle into him.
We sit in the dark for I don’t know how long, gazing at the tree. It’s so perfect it belongs in one of Macy’s storefront windows.
“Alana?” Ryan murmurs softly.
“Yeah?”
“Will you come somewhere with me tomorrow?”
“Of course. Where?”
“To see my mom.”
I pop my head up. “Really?”
Ryan nods with big, blue, insecure eyes. He’s never, ever wanted me to meet her before. He’s kept me away from her at all costs. But things are changing, I guess.
Everything is changing.
I reassuringly kiss him. “It will be okay.”
“You promise?” he sighs.
“I do.” I plant another long, lingering kiss on his lips before wiggling out of his arms.
“Where do you think you’re going??” Ryan reaches for me.
“I have to go figure out what to wear.” I inform him matter- of-factly.
“Now?”
“Yes, now. It’s the first time I’m meeting your mother, it may take me all night to pick out an outfit.”
Ryan laughs. “Women.”
“This shouldn’t surprise you. You’re an expert on women.” I toss over my shoulder.
“I’m an expert on one woman,” he corrects as he gets up to follow me, “and even she still keeps me guessing.”
“I have to keep you on your toes. I have a lot of competition.”
“Alana,” Ryan snags my arm, “you are the competition.”
“You’re a smooth talker, Ryan Pierce,” I accuse.
“Smooth enough to get a private fashion show?” he invites temptingly.
“Maybe,” I tease. “You might have to pull a few more lines out of your hat, though.”
“Baby.” Ryan slides his hands seductively around my waist. “For you, I’ll pull lines, I’ll pull game, I’ll pull rabbits right out of my hat.”