Back to You this Christmas

By Roxy Wilson

Is there any hope for a second chance this Christmas?


Shane
I miss my wife… but she's with another man.
To be fair, we did divorce, but I've never been able to see the woman I love as anything other than mine. Even after nine years I still crave her curves. I still miss the taste of her skin. I still want to devour her kisses.
I screwed up. I let her walk out of my live. But I'm determined to get her back.

Olivia
I found someone new… but I miss my ex-husband.
I never thought I had room in my heart to love someone new, but every bit of me still clings to the man I loved. My ex's demons were bigger than the love we had for one another and I'm determined to move on.
But when our kids beg for one more Carrington Family Christmas, how can I tell them no?
It means spending time with my ex-husband. And the new man in my life doesn't like it. But my kids come first. It's not like I'm going to fall madly in love with my ex-husband or anything. What's the worst that can happen?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Roxy Wilson
• Release date: Nov 9, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201441395

Book preview

Prologue

Shane

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Are you awake?

I woke up in the morning to her soft voice, and her vibrant eyes staring a tingling hole through me. They held a shade of brown so deep they could pass for black, and could only identify as brown under bright light. It would take more than just a few bulbs lighting up a dark room to bring the enchanting coffee shade of her eyes into view.

She lay on her side, propped up on her elbow, with the tip of her natural hair settling on it. Her espresso brown skin overflowed with its typical warmth, effusing a luminosity I’d thought could only be associated with liquid gold. Her eyes brimmed with an emotion I couldn’t quite place. If I didn’t know better I’d conclude she had stayed up all night watching me sleep. But that would be the most inaccurate conclusion I would ever reach. She’d been the first to drift into slumber. I had fallen asleep watching her sleep.

Is something wrong? I searched her eyes as though I could see right through them. Can’t sleep?

I just need to talk to you, is all.

She brought her hand to my chest and drew patterns as she spoke. Barely even touching my skin, her fingers tickled hair on my chest. I took her hand in mine and raised it to my lips for a silent kiss. Her fingers noticeably had more flesh than mine, but that was what made them fit so perfectly when I interlaced fingers with her. Slim and beautiful was boring. I liked that she had given me a chance to fall in love with something new. Her heavily pigmented skin starkly contrasted with my olive skin, but the contrast was just as enticing as the sweet crème filling between two chocolate wafers.

I’m getting a job, she said.

That’s a no from me, I said without a second thought.

You won’t even think about it?

I shook my head. Why on earth would I want do that? We’ve already spoken about this and you know what I expect from you as my wife. Why are we even having this conversation again?

I hadn’t intended to raise my voice, but it rose anyway. She, however, was unfazed. It would take more than just a raised voice and an unimpressed look in my eyes for her to give up. Her resolve had always been one thing I adored about her. But lately it was starting to get frustrating.

She pulled her fingers away from mine. "I’m not your mother."

Her words hit home, but I couldn’t let it show. I gritted my teeth and tried to breathe calmly through my nostrils, but the memories she’d triggered brought a raspiness to my breath. I hated to be reminded about my childhood and the fact that I had been anything but my mother’s priority. This was no way to start my morning, and was definitely not the way to start Ollie’s either.

Don’t bring my mother into this. I rose from the bed and advanced toward the bathroom. Today would probably be one of those days I had to leave for work earlier than I should.

I turned around and found that she’d vacated the bed. She stood in front of the bed, her arms akimbo. Even though she was a whooping six inches shorter then my six-foot frame, she would not let my imposing build intimidate her.

Have you even paused for a moment to think of why I need a job so badly? she asked, her voice slightly rose.

Oh, you have no idea, I said. And I don’t fucking understand why you need a job even though I can give you everything you want.

You just said it, she pointed out.

Literally.

She was pointing at me with her index finger.

"You give me everything I want - all the luxury in the world. You! You! It’s all you. I don’t want to be this woman who has to depend on her husband for everything. I can’t keep living off your wealth. I need to do something for myself. This... She raised her hands sideways and then she shook her head, letting her hands fall back down. It isn’t the life I want." Her nostrils flared noticeably, defying her attempt to keep her emptions from spiraling out of control.

Well, darling, it’s the life you have. I raked my fingers through my hair in frustration. My god! Isn’t this the life that most women want?

I am not most women.

Stay at home and care for our kids. How hard can that fucking be?

Once again, she said the words she should never be saying. I. Am. Not. Your. Mother.

She knew better than to keep reminding me of childhood memories that had haunted me for decades. But this was just her trying to prove a point, even at the expense of my happiness. That just wasn’t acceptable. Yet, I could never bring myself to raise my voice at her. At least, not on purpose.

Take care of the kids, I said. It’ll be a long day at work.

I turned away from her, and just as I stepped into the bathroom, she spoke again.

I got a job. I sat for an interview....last week...

Why am I just learning about this? I stood there with my back to her, and my hand on the doorframe.

She played deaf to my question, as though I’d never said a word. They’re expecting me.

Her voice was firm with resolve. Her mind was made up.

And so was mine.

I couldn’t handle a woman doing the same thing my mother had done. Not under my roof. Well then, you’ll have to choose.

Choose?

I turned around to stare into those eyes, and I could tell she already knew her options.

Chapter One

Shane

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A scowl sought to tighten my face. As justified as the expression was though, I couldn’t afford to give it a chance.

Ms. Duvalle had no idea what she was talking about. Her investment idea sure seemed profitable for now, but not in the long run, and the last thing I wanted was to be the last financial investment manager a client saw before their business lay in ruins. This woman in front of me, however, was a handful. She was just too damned stubborn to see things from the recommended perspective. That, undeniably, was a mood killer.

I wouldn’t go for that, Ms. Duvalle. I leaned back in my swivel chair, placed my hands on my desk and interlaced my fingers together. I stared into her eyes, noting how her otherwise smooth face gave in to a sudden wrinkling as she tried to think.

She widened her eyes at me. Her artfully carved eyebrows leapt toward her hairline, and for a moment, it seemed they were conflicted between getting lost between strands of hair and staying exposed on a larger-than-average forehead. They settled for the latter and her facial muscles relaxed just enough to soften her voice when she spoke again.

Why not?

Why not?

Wasn’t that what I had spent the past fifteen minutes trying to explain?

Once again, I fought back a scowl. I had a feeling though, that it peeked through my features regardless. She probably didn’t notice though, because a stiff smile was quick to replace the expression, as though it had never been there.

You see, Ms. Duvalle... I paused in mid-sentence and stared at the space between the woman and m

My eyes caught my hand as it hovered in the air. I had absently thought of using my hand as a make-shift fan. That should not be happening, considering that my air condition was on full blast. Besides, the evening was anything but hot. Trying to get Ms. Duvalle to see things from my perspective was one hell of a task. It had gotten me so worked up that I broke a sweat despite the room’s temperature.

While I repeated the same words I had been saying since the start of my conversation with her, I rose to my feet and walked past the floor-to-ceiling window directly facing the door. The window overlooked the skyline and was made of a glass so transparent it almost slipped into nonexistence. I halted at the coat rack on the left side of my desk, rid myself of my jacket and suspended it on the rack. With the jacket out of the way, the calming evening breeze worked its way through my long-sleeved shirt in an attempt to make up for the jacket’s misdoings. My eyes caught a glint of the streetlights as I headed for my chair. Nighttime was almost upon me; the turning on of the streetlights meant it was time to call it a day. Even though I had only overstayed for a few minutes, it counted anyway. I settled in my chair and it groaned in a little protest.

Oh... Ms. Deville said at the end of my speech which was anywhere from a minute to two. Oh, really it actually makes sense this way.

It does, doesn’t it? I wiggled my brows at her. They were much fuller than hers and were apparently not as neatly plucked, but a wiggle of that bushy pair always had the ladies fidgeting.

So, when Ms. Duvalle started to fidget in her seat, I knew she was no different. Her glossy lips stretched to reveal a smile I would consider shy if timidity was a quality that related to her. This woman had walked into my office like she owned the place, so, she was anything but timid. Yet, the rather sheepish smile lingered on her face. I glanced down at the file in front of me, nailed it down with my index finger and glided it across the table and into the woman’s grasp. The two-paged file held her attention as though she were holding it for the first time. Actually though, that wasn’t the case. She had perused the file a moment ago, but in her eagerness to explain her investment idea, she had set it down and had long forgotten of its existence.

I’ll need some time to assimilate this, she said.

Of course. I gave a subtle nod, even though her eyes stayed fixated on the file. After some dinner I suppose.

Her neck straightened faster than I could take a breath. She eyeballed me, her face pensive, and then she smiled. This smile, broader than the first, brought her dimples into view. If I let myself, I would reminisce about a point in my life when I woke up to a dimpled smile each morning.

Dinner? she echoed.

Her bemused voice pulled me back into focus.

Of course, Ms. Duvalle. I smiled. I was thinking we could have dinner to clear your mind and prepare you to better understand what the plan I have drafted out for your company...

Why did I indirectly ask her to dine with me? I have no idea. As a personal rule, and one which I’ve never broken, I don’t mix business with pleasure. Though Ms. Duvalle was attractive enough, she wasn’t my type. At least not since falling in love, marrying and then divorcing my ex-wife. My taste had remained unchanged; I’ve only dated attractively full-figured, black women.

Ms. Duvalle cleared her throat, which jolted me back to the present. She glanced down at her chest, and when she looked back up, her index finger had found its way into the tip of some strands of her hair, slowly curling them. Are you asking me to go out with you, Mr. Carrington?

What if I was? I asked. I mentally knocked my own self upside the head. Now, why didn’t I make up some silly excuse, so we can get out of here and go our separate ways? I’m not going to go broke if I don’t get her business.

Her smile broadened. You’d have to ask me properly.

Too late to back out now. Very well then. I’d like us to have dinner. That is, if you don’t already have plans for the evening, Ms—

Abigail. Call me Abigail.

I’d like to think of that as a yes.

I watched her tuck the file into the handbag she had brought along. When she rose to her feet, I knew it was a definite yes.

Chapter Two

Olivia

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My chest inflated in response to my deep breath. I could smell my favorite French meal from miles away, only moments after I rode the elevator to the apartment building where I lived. Sebastian could be such a show off sometimes. But that, in fact, was one of the things that made him so irresistible.

The gold-pleated chain of my leather bucket-bag glided down my shoulder and approached my elbow. Without breaking my stride as I made my way toward the kitchen, I tossed the bag into the couch nearest to me. The sweet aroma of beef bourguignon became more intensely enticing with each step I took. A smile spread through my features and my nostrils flared to accommodate all of that sweetness drifting around the house. It was an aroma so richly detailed I could almost taste the classic beef stew on my tongue.

I slowed down my stride as I neared the kitchen. If Sebastian had his back to me—and I hoped he did—I wanted to give him a surprise hug from behind. The act was starting to get old, but that didn’t make it any less effective.

That’s cheating! Morgan, my daughter, almost screamed.

Jayden, her brother and my son, chuckled. No it isn’t

Yes it is! You can only jump one space at a time!

Well, I jumped two spaces with Sebastian and he always lets me get away with it!

Although they were out of eyeshot, I could tell they sat across from each other at the kitchen table, with a checkerboard filling up the space between them.

Is that true, Sebastian? Morgan asked. You always let him win, don’t you?

I walked into view just in time to see Morgan raising her head to look at Sebastian. He had his back to me, just as I’d hoped. He chuckled. His laughter, although low, rumbled across the room.

Oh darling, he said, an accent hanging loosely around his voice, he only wins because he knows his onions.

His accent was not too prominent to give away his nationality. You’d only know of his French descent if you had a number of French-Americans in your circle of friends. He was actually the first French-American I’d held a conversation with, so when we first met I hadn’t been able to place his accent.

While Sebastian spoke, Morgan’s gaze darted to the doorway and her eyes met mine right away, as did Jayden’s. Their eyes twinkling brighter than the French Pavè diamond engagement ring on my finger, they prepared to leap off their chairs and into my arms, but my index finger pressing down on my lips glued their bottoms to the furniture.

Every moment with Jayden was a constant reminder of the man I had once belonged to. His eyes held the same hazel shade as his fathers, and his olive skin had no resemblance to the complexion Morgan had inherited from me. Morgan’s, however, was a much lighter shade than mine, and could be considered a golden caramel, as though she’d been torn between taking after me or her father.

I pussyfooted across the kitchen, and although Sebastian kept speaking as he stood there in front of the stove, dishing out the appetizing meal he had just prepared, I couldn’t make out a word he said. I was too busy trying to surprise him to let his rich deep voice distract me.

Finally halting, I moved my hands toward his broad body. First though, I glanced at the worktop to be sure he wasn’t holding some breakable kitchenware. He was only holding a spatula. Perfect!

With a broad smile, I brought my hands to both sides of his face and draped his eyes with my palms. He shuddered, but he quickly regained composure. If I hadn’t been so close to him, his reaction would have escaped my eye.

Morgan, that’s you! he said. Of course it is!

His voice brimmed with a misplaced confidence. I kept my lips glued together, trapping the chuckle for as long as I could. It amused me how a person could be wrong with so much confidence.

Morgan? he called.

I couldn’t blame him though. If I were him, I would also conclude Morgan was the one behind me. Jayden was barely even ten, so the only way he could reach Sebastian’s face was if he mounted a stool. Two years his senior, Morgan was more than a head taller than he was, so standing on her tippy toes could bring her hands to his face. I, however, could reach his face comfortably, even though he was more than half a foot taller than my full-figured body. He just didn’t think I was the one behind him because I had arrived a little earlier