CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
KATY
December 19
The following morning, Katy woke up and stared in wonder at the jungle canopy overhead, trying to make sense of where she was. She was lying in a hammock, and they were in the middle of nowhere.
She raised her head. Marcus was sleeping like a baby in the next hammock. Other passengers had already taken down their hammocks and were drinking steaming cups of coffees in an impromptu kitchen to the side.
It was freezing. She could see her breath.
Katy stretched and got out of the hammock as gracefully as she could. Then she walked over to Marcus. In sleep, he looked sweet. Approachable. His bulk—his biceps and that muscular chest—filled the hammock. She tried to not stare at his sexy scruff and lips, but she couldn’t help it.
What would it be like to be kissed by Marcus James?
With difficulty, she returned her gaze to his eyes, which were brown with greenish flecks. Amused.
Busted.
“Well, good morning,” he murmured.
His voice was deep, gruff, and made her tingle to the core.
“Good morning,” she managed to answer, sure her face was flaming red. “You slept well?”
“Surprisingly.” He shifted and unceremoniously fell out of the hammock onto the damp ground.
Katy laughed and then smothered her chuckles.
“Ha ha,” he said, brushing himself off. “Glad I can make your morning.”
Yet he didn’t look cross. His eyes glimmered with happiness.
“It looks like they have some coffee and tamales over there,” she said, pointing at the people huddled around a table.
There weren’t any chairs to sit on, so after they got their food, Katy headed over to the base of a towering tree and sat on the root.
“You seem pretty unfazed by all this.” Marcus gestured to the food on the table, the trees, and the bus.
“You just learn to roll with the punches around here.”
He crouched down to her level. “I gotta know something,” he said. “You were born to wealth, correct?”
She glanced away, uneasy. “Yes.”
“So how come you’re so humble?”
She unwrapped her tamale and shook her head. “That’s awfully nice of you to say, but I’’m just a normal person.”
He gave her a disbelieving look. “We just rode in a rickety bus and had to sleep the night in a makeshift camp. You string up your hammock like you’re a pro and wake up looking like this.” He pointed toward her.
“Like how?” she said.
“Beautiful. Well-rested.”
Her heart pounded. He was looking at her as though he really meant what he said.
Beautiful.
“Beds are overrated,” she joked.
“You look like you’re in your element. So how does the daughter of a mall magnate fit in Guatemala?”
She winced. “Please. I…I’m more than that.”
“I know.” His voice was soft. Persuasive. “Tell me about it.”
Katy didn’t like talking about herself, but he remained quiet, his eyes taking her in. The silence made her feel uncomfortable, and she had to fill it. Besides, she knew about the dark part of his life.
“When I was twelve, my father brought me to Guatemala for the first time. He had some business in Mexico. With the way it worked out, we stopped here too. On the plane ride, I had been acting like a brat—”
Marcus’s eyes widened. “No. You?”
She nodded. “They had run out of something in first class. I don’t even know what it was. But I threw a fit. I’m sure my father was ready to throw me in Lake Izabal.”
Marcus laughed.
“We traveled through Guatemala. My father made some business connections in the areas while I took in their simple life.” Her voice shook. “Some people had nothing. Just the clothes on their back and a hovel for a home.”
She took a bite of her tamale, which was delicious. She motioned for him to eat, and he started to unwrap his. She took a sip from her water bottle, her hand shaking as she set it back down.
“The experience affected me deeply. I went back to Manhattan, changed. I organized another trip there the following summer to deliver clothes. There were other projects: child immunization clinics, shoe drives. It expanded from there. Soon, I worked on getting our city council to adopt Conchilla as a sister city.”
“Not your typical destination,” he said, polishing off his tamale.
She took the last bite of her tamale too. “Guatemala grew on me. I was fascinated that a country could stay so old-fashioned.”
“Did you ever find out why?” He leaned back against a tree trunk.
“They live close to the land. It’s a fertile valley, as you can imagine, with the volcanic ash in the soil.” She shrugged. “I really am not sure. They have their own Mayan culture here. Maybe that helps them preserve it?”
“I’m still amazed that you could be traveling around Europe on a ski holiday, and yet, here you are, in Guatemala.” His eyes roamed over her face, an admiring glint in their depths.
“I haven’t told you the full story,” she said.
“Oh?” his eyes gleamed. “So there’s a story behind this.”
She nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
Biting her lip, she studied him. “Can I trust you?” she asked.
“This sounds serious.”
“Never mind. You already know—“
“Yes, you can trust me.”
Her chest clenched. When she spoke again, her voice softened and he leaned closer. “I’ve never told anyone about this, so…”
He waited.
She took a deep breath. “Over the years, I’ve thrown myself into charity work to make up for…for my father.”
“Your father?”
She nodded. “He’s always provided us with everything we need. Food, clothes, the best schools, cars. Everything except love.”
Katy’s gaze dropped. “He has another family,” she said in a dull voice.
She didn’t dare look in his eyes. Didn’t dare see the pity.
“I see,” Marcus said.
“Do you?” She raised her eyes to his, laying herself open. Raw and vulnerable.
He gazed at her steadily and nodded.
“My mother has tolerated this situation forever. Father gives her money. We go on overseas jaunts. Shopping junkets. Well, Mother does. I…I’d rather serve others and use my father’’s money for good.” Her father’s payoff money disgusted her. She had to find some way to feel better about it.
“Is that why you can’t get yourself to enjoy the money?”
“I guess. I don’t know. I haven’t had time to think about it.”
His eyes gentled. “Maybe you should.”
“Maybe. Sometimes…” She closed her eyes and then opened them again. “…I’d rather not think about it.”
“What will happen if your father’s finances don’t recover?”
“I honestly don’t know.” She clenched her jaw. “Frankly, I don’’t care. That’s how we lost him.” She sighed. “So now you know why I dislike money. It corrupts people.”
“Not all billionaires are like that,” he said softly.
“I hope so.”
He winced. “I know so.”
“I could be being unfair to the rest of you. He might still have stepped out on my mother even if he were, say, a plumber.”
“Who knows?”
“And you,” she said, picking her words carefully. She certainly didn’t want to antagonize him like what happened the other day when she mentioned his wife and baby’’s fatal tragedy. “Why would a billionaire host a Christmas contest?”
“You said so yourself, self-promotion.” He looked totally serious. She felt a flash of disappointment.
“Well, okay,” he continued. “I’ll tell you, if you promise not to laugh.”
“Go ahead.”
“It was, initially, a P.R. ploy. But I had a secret reason too.” His voice broke, laced with yearning. “I was hoping to find the spirit of Christmas again.”
“And have you?” she asked, hopeful.
His eyes lingered over her face, her hair, her lips. Her throat tightened with a longing that surprised and embarrassed her. She cast her eyes down.
“I think I’m beginning to find it again.”
She looked back at him, her lips curving into a smile. “Wonderful.”
He stood and held out a hand to her. In the depths of his eyes, there was an invitation, a question lurking.
They’d come a long way. She recalled how hardened he had been. But now, in the middle of nowhere in Guatemala, she and he had opened up more of themselves.
It was exhilarating and terrifying.
When she accepted his hand and stood, she felt as though they’d just surmounted another mountain together.