The Billionaire’s Christmas Bride by L. Steele

36

Weston

"You seem nervous, ol’ chap," Damian drawls at me from the screen of my phone.

"And you seem full of shit, as usual," I mutter, as I pace in front of the fire in the living room of my mother's home. I’d gone for a run, and when I’d returned, Amelie's clothes and bags had gone from the bedroom. Guess she’d left, after all.

I’d sat on the bed in a daze and wondered if I’d done the right thing.

Yeah, I had. Of course, I had. I didn’t need her staying and complicating the situation, aka the state of my feelings for her, further. I’d worked out at the gym after that, pushed myself as much as I could, considering I couldn’t do weights yet with my broken finger. Then I had showered and changed into formal clothes for the traditional family dinner at home.

I run my finger around the collar of my shirt. Not that I dislike suits… But hell, if I don’t feel more comfortable in scrubs. There is a certain freedom that comes from not having to pretend, when all the power and control is at your fingertips as you perform a surgery, knowing the life of a human depends on you. It is the best adrenaline rush—a responsibility I never take lightly, walking on the edge of a thrill that I crave. One slip up and things would never be the same. Did I slip up with her? I scowl. Fuck that. I am not second guessing my actions, no way.

"Fake girlfriend, slash fiancée, slash wife-to-be not helping with your problem then?" Damian smirks.

"What problem?" I growl.

"That you can’t get it up, of course."

I frown, "Where do you get your asinine ideas from?"

"The same place you come up with your brainwaves of sharing a cabin with a woman you’ve met only once before." He chuckles.

"About that," I crack my neck, "it’s over."

"Oh, yeah?" Damian tilts his head, "Hold on, I'm adding Arpad to the call."

"Don't..." I begin to protest, when Arpad's face appears in a window. "Man, and I thought I was bad at relationships, this has to be a record, even for you," he snickers.

"Fuck off," I growl.

"So, you think it’s over, but it’s not really over?" Damian pipes in.

"I am not going to explain myself."

"What are friends for, if you can’t use our shoulders to cry on… Or not." Arpad’s screen shakes and droplets of water splash the surface.

"Where the fuck are you?"

"On my yacht, enjoying everything life has to offer, unlike you."

"Why the fuck do I take your calls?" I grumble.

"Because you have something on your mind, and need to vent, like a girl?" Damian laughs.

"Because you are heart-broken?" Arpad snickers.

"Okay, bye," I hold my finger over the screen.

"Ooh, someone’s antsy. Did we hurt your feelings? Are you upset you’re not getting married like Saint and Sinner before you?"

"You look grumpy. Not jerking off either, are you?"

I shake my head, "Fuck that, and fuck you two," and fuck the woman who put me in this situation, where I am not able to string together two words. Fucking fuck!

I hear the pattering of paws on the floor, then Max jumps up on the sofa and shoves his face in mine. "Hey," I protest, but he licks my mouth, then turns and peers into the screen.

"Hello, ol’ boy," Damian chuckles. "You keeping Uncle Weston company while he fucks up his life?"

"A woman and a dog?" Arpad chuckles, "Should I fetch your slippers and dressing gown next ol' chap?"

"Jesus, fuck." I am not sure what I’d intended to accomplish through this conversation, but it wasn’t being at the mercy of a mutt and two of my 'friends.'

"At least, I saved the Father from the burden of a virtual wedding." I grouse.

"Speaking of," Arpad drawls, "I'm adding Edward to the call."

No, fuck, no. Why do I insist on calling my 'friends,' knowing I'll be put through the wringer each time?

"Someone mention my name?" Edward’s face flickers onto the screen.

"I was just leaving," I grumble.

"You want to hear this." Edward gazes at me with those clear eyes of his which have seen so much and which have yet managed to retain a modicum of innocence. Enough for him to sleep with his thoughts at night, at least.

"How do you manage it?" I snap out.

"You mean, hold down a conversion without losing my wits?"

"That too," I grunt. "How do you always seem so upbeat and energetic?"

"Umm…Maybe because he has no worldly attachments?" Damian offers.

I stare at the Father, who jerks his chin, "I realized the only way out of the aftermath of the incident, was to be true to myself at all times," he says.

"What if the only thing that can soothe my mind is the one thing I must never have?" I mutter.

"Are we talking about someone in particular or a metaphor?"

"What do you think?" I mutter.

Silence stretches across the space. Neither of the other two assholes respond with an off-the-cuff remark. Thank fuck for that. Perhaps it had been the Father I had been waiting for. Guess that’s why I’d agreed to this call, which was supposed to be about 7A investments and FOK Media—which stood for Full of Kindness by the way—the companies that the seven of us own.

"I think you’re fighting your future," Edward’s tone is serious.

"I make my own future," I insist.

He quirks his lips, "You believe that, after everything you’ve been through?"

"It’s because of everything I’ve been through that I believe it."

Edward tilts his head, "You can’t control everything around you."

"Is that why you took the easy way out and gave up the real world for the spiritual one?"

Edward pales. Damian stiffens. Arpad’s silent disapproval communicates through the screen.

"Fucking hell." I drag my fingers through my hair. "I didn’t mean that Father," I mumble.

"You did," Edward’s voice is calm. "I’m glad you are able to speak your mind. In such matters, clear, concise communication is the only way forward."

"What do you mean?" I peer into the screen, trying to discern his features. "Tell me, Father."

"Some of that honesty you displayed earlier... That’s what you need to bring to your relationship with her."

"Eh?" I shake my head, "You’re making absolutely no sense."

"You know I am." Edward’s lips quirk, "Hand on heart, ask yourself what it is that you must do in this situation."

"Haven’t I been asking myself that all along? Would I be asking you this question if the answer was at all clear to me?"

"You’re the business man here, Weston. Your gut knows what it wants; your heart simply has to fall in line."

"You’re not shoddy in the business space yourself." I crack my neck. "You’ve held your own in all of the business decisions we’ve made thus far."

"Don’t change the topic," Edward admonishes. "What is it that your gut says you should do now?"

"What if it’s not clear to me for the first time, huh?"

"Wrong answer," Edward snaps. "You’re beginning to piss me off."

I blink. Edward angry? It never happens. That he swore at me? I can count on my fingers the number of times he’s done that. "I am not sure what to say," I rasp.

"You don’t have to say anything, and you do know what you have to do. Your stubborn-ass head is getting in the way. You’re trying to think about this along rational lines, when you know what you have to do."

I laugh, "Have you been spending much time with Saint?" I ask. "You’re speaking in riddles."

Edward shakes this head, "Stop deflecting; it won’t work." He frowns, "You going to follow your gut and your heart on this? Or are you going to spend the rest of your years regretting the one decision you should have made, which would have changed the course of your life, but you didn’t because you were too much of a pussy?"

I stare at him. "I can’t believe you said that." I shake my head. "You, of all people, should know I don’t shy away from hard decisions."

"But this is much more than that." He tilts his head, "It’s, perhaps, not your decision to make. Perhaps this time, you have to allow the circumstances to wash over you, and go with the flow?"

I laugh. As if I would ever do that? I haven’t come this far in life to bow before events, not if I have my way. "I’m not sure what you’re implying but—"

The screen pixelates and my voice echoes back at me. Huh? Bloody technology, always fails you when you need it the most. The connection restores.

"Hey man." Damian peers back at me from the screen.

Arpad jerks his chin. "Still here for my sins," he grumbles.

"Where’s Edward?" I frown.

"Seems he dropped off?" Damian mutters, "Perhaps he’s had enough of you acting like a fool, and decided to cut out?"

"Yeah, well, fuck that." And fuck him. My heart begins to race. "Not my decision to make, huh? We’ll see." I toss my head.

"You coming out to London for the New Year’s party?" Damian asks.

"I’ll be there."

"Are you bringing her?"

"That’s up to her." I frown. The hair on the back of my neck rises and a tingle runs down my spine. "I need to go, guys."

I hang up and turn. My gaze widens. "What are you doing here?"