A Very Daddy Christmas (Lucky Lady Reverse Harems)

Chapter 26

26

Cora

M y beautiful dream keeps falling apart.

When I sleep, I’m laughing and dancing with joy, baking fine pastries and gleefully serving customers in a newly refurbished Levine Bakery. The walls are painted a soft, grassy shade of green. New tables and chairs. Frosted glass windows. Tiffany-style wall sconces and pendants. Everything I ever imagined for our bakery is translated into my dream, and I revel in the details, remembering we’re finally free. We own this place.

My men come in, every time, smiling and laughing.

I welcome them with open arms.

Then they glance down and see my ginormous baby bump. I can never hear their voices, but I can see their lips moving, and I am horrified by their reactions. They’re disgusted, and they push me away.

Every time, I wake up on the verge of tears.

“Just a dream,” I tell myself, then go on with my day.

With the secret growing in my womb, along with the eerie silence from Orson St. James and George Hamilton, it makes for a great recipe to induce unnecessary anxiety. I could easily resolve it by telling the guys about the pregnancy. But I’m scared. I have my reasons, though most no longer sound rational. Not when Sebastian, Waylan, and Riggs have repeatedly proven themselves as honorable and reliable men.

“Where’s your head?” Eva asks, pulling me from my thoughts.

We’re in her car, on our way to the bakery. It’s December twenty-eighth, and we have a few large orders to prepare before New Year’s Eve. It’s not our usual volume, but it’s better than nothing. The guys are at the house with Dario and the girls enjoying hot chocolate while we work.

“Sorry,” I tell Eva. “Just thinking about everything. Have we heard from the lawyers yet?”

She shakes her head, turning the corner. I listen to the clicking sound of the car’s turn signal. “Not yet. They haven’t been able to reach Orson’s people, but they said it’s to be expected in between the holidays. Most attorneys don’t reopen until after the New Year, if not later.” She gives me a long, worried look. “We’re going to be okay. It’ll go through. It has already gone through, actually. The minute the clock hit midnight, the place was ours.”

“I know, I know. I’m just still uneasy.”

“Probably because you’re growing a new life and you haven’t told the father yet,” she says pointedly.

“Fair enough.”

“The wait for the building is over. Why don’t you tell him?”

I take a deep breath, letting a heavy sigh leave my chest. Ahead, the bakery grows larger on an empty street. Snow covers the sidewalk and the rooftops, while the holiday-themed lights twinkle in red and green on every streetlamp and above every window. Gosh, I love this festive glow.

“I’m scared,” I tell Eva. “I don’t know how he’ll react.”

“Cora, Sebastian is going to be a father. He’s already working hard with Waylan and Riggs to keep Dario. He obviously likes kids. I think he’ll be happy.”

“You think?”

“I’m sure. Has Sebastian given you any reason to doubt him?”

I shake my head. “No, but we haven’t really talkedabout the future, either. We were so focused on the escrow, waiting for their Urban Parkour campaign to launch, for the holidays to pass. There’s been too much in front of us.”

“Well, losing the bakery is no longer an issue,” she chuckles softly. “And that’s also thanks to Sebastian and the guys. Come on, Cora, chin up. Let’s figure out the best way to tell him about the baby while we get these last few orders out of the way, okay?”

We pull over in front of the bakery. I look out through the window, noting something is off.

My instincts immediately flare.

“Hold on,” I mumble, then open the door and get out of the car. “There’s a window missing.”

“What?” Eva gasps and joins me.

Our bakery has been vandalized—worse than before. Not one, but two of the large front windows have been smashed. Inside, the tables and chairs are knocked over. The new pastry displays are cracked but not shattered. Sugar and glass is everywhere. Paper napkins and smashed syrup dispensers cover the floor. I think I’m going to be sick.

“Good Lord,” I hear Eva mumble.

I follow her gaze. I hadn’t even noticed it at first, the giant red spray-painted slur covering the entire wall behind the counter.

“WHORE,” I read the word aloud, shaken to the core. “I… Oh, God, I’m going to puke.”

I rush to the side and damn near dive into a pile of shoveled snow, breaking into a cold sweat as I let it all out. The horror, the shame, the grief— they come crashing into me, turning my skin into a thin layer of ice while my insides boil with fury.

Eva doesn’t move, silently weeping as she shifts her focus between me and the destruction of our bakery. Minutes pass in the most awkward silence.

I have no thoughts. Nothing smart or reasonable to say. I only have anger and outrage, exhaustion and frustration. And so much fear and shame because whoever wrote that on the wall—they know.

Where do we go from here?

“This is unbelievable,” Eva finally says.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my jacket sleeve and look at her. She’s staring at the destruction, grief glimmering in her wide eyes. Her lower lip quivers. I feel her pain because it mirrors mine. They did this to hurt us and they succeeded. They wanted to wreck us. When will it stop?

“I don’t understand,” I reply. “The place is ours. They can’t take it away from us.”

“It’s purely out of spite,” my sister shrugs, growing visibly disgusted. “Simple fucking spite. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“We have to report this. I’m calling the sheriff—” I’m about to take my phone out, but Eva stops me with a bitter laugh.

“He’s as spineless as they come, Cora. Foreman won’t lift a finger against them. He’s already proven that, more than once. No, there’s no point.”

“They didn’t win,” I snap. “We’re the owners now. They can break as many windows as they want, it doesn’t change the fact that we fucking won!”

The sound of approaching footsteps, of boots crunching over the snow, has me turning around just in time to see Orson St. James as he crosses the street and walks over to us with an irritatingly unnatural smile.

“Merry belated Christmas, ladies!”

“Fuck you, St. James!” I growl. “Tell your lackeys it’s over. We’re the owners now. They might as well accept it and move the fuck on.”

“Is it over, though?”

Eva and I freeze, staring at him. For a second or two, I can hear my heart beating in my ears, drumming in agony as the mere sight of this man amplifies my morning sickness. But Orson looks irritatingly calm. Even grinning with what I can only describe as pure satisfaction. I expected him to foam at the mouth, not… whatever this is.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, my voice trembling.

“Well, Miss Levine. As it turns out, that tenancy agreement we inherited from Mr. Selznick is simply the gift that keeps on giving.” Orson chuckles and produces another copy from his coat pocket, along with a large manila envelope, handing them both to Eva without taking his eyes off me. “Your sister has the right to know how you single-handedly destroyed everything.”

“I don’t understand,” I mumble.

“That makes two of us,” Eva whispers, staring at the papers. “What am I looking at?”

“Oh, I highlighted the specific clause in bright green. Page three, you can’t miss it,” Orson says, still smiling at me.

I want to smack him to wipe that obnoxious smirk from his smug face. It would land me in jail, but I would have zero regrets.

“A morality clause?” Eva asks, then gives me a confused look.

All I can do is shrug. “I don’t get it.”

“Whether Mr. Selznick intended for that clause to stay or not doesn’t really matter,” Orson says. “Times have changed, I’m well aware. And things that were considered immoral during his time are now no longer really frowned upon. Be that as it may, there are things I cannot condone as a good Christian. And a woman fornicating with numerous men at the same time… I’m sorry, I must draw a line as it goes against my religious beliefs and my decency. As a husband, a father, a man of the church, I simply can’t.”

“You’re the one who started those vicious rumors,” Eva says, briefly scanning the text. “Just so you could use this antiquated clause? You don’t have any proof of Cora fornicating with anyone. We could sue you for defamation.”

“The clause is clear, however. Should the owner be uncomfortable with the tenant’s behavior and lifestyle, should they consider it immoral or devious by the current legislation and religious beliefs by which the landlord abides, and should they present proof of said behavior and lifestyle, then they are well within their right to reject the escrow and render any sale null and void,” Orson insists.

Eva scoffs. “Proof of said behavior and lifestyle. You don’t have that. You fanned the flames on a nasty rumor. That’s not proof, you prick!”

“Check the envelope.”

My blood runs cold. I have an inkling of what might be in that envelope, and in the back of my head, I’m already going over all the possible instances in which I might’ve been caught in a compromising position with Sebastian, Waylan, and Riggs. In retrospect, lying to Eva has clearly come back to bite me in the ass. I can almost see my life falling apart brick by brick.

“No,” I whisper, but Eva can’t hear me.

With trembling fingers, she tears the envelope open and takes out a handful of printed, high-resolution photographs. I can’t see them from where I’m standing but judging by the speed with which the color drains from my sister’s face as she looks at them, I know it’s over. Orson found a way to destroy us, even after the escrow went through.

“Rutger Resort,” Orson says, noticing my hesitation to come closer so I can see what proof he brought before us today. “They pride themselves with discretion and confidentiality, but they’re not impossible to breach, Miss Levine.”

“No.”

“Cora, what is this?” Eva mutters, turning one photo so I can see it.

There’s me. Tangled between Sebastian, Waylan, and Riggs. We’re naked. In our private suite. The image was captured from somewhere close by, likely through one of the windows. We didn’t see or hear anything at the time.

“I can explain,” I manage.

Eva shakes her head in sheer disbelief.

Orson, on the other hand, decides it’s a good time to belt out a hearty laugh. “The morality clause stands, ladies. And with that kind of proof, there isn’t a court in this land that won’t side with me. I just hope you didn’t drink too much champagne celebrating this Christmas, because I am still the owner of the bakery building, since that automatic sale has just been rendered—”

“Null and void,” Eva finishes his sentence for him, giving me a horrified look. “Cora, how could you do this?”

“Eva, I can explain, it’s not—”

“You have until January seventh to vacate the premises,” Orson cuts in with a harsh and unforgiving tone. “I’ve let you squat in here for long enough. Besides, I need to renovate, by the looks of it. Your proclivities are to blame, Miss Levine. This is what whoring around gets you. I suggest—OUCH!”

Eva’s hand shot out so fast, nobody saw it coming.

Especially Orson.

The strike damn near spun his head around. His cheek begins to swell and redden as he covers it with his palm, giving her a stunned glare. But Eva doesn’t move. She just looks at him with nothing but the purest rage and hatred.

“This is anything but over,” Eva hisses. “The clause is easy to interpret in any court of law. It really depends on how progressive the judge assigned to this case will be.”

“You’re joking,” Orson gasps.

“I’m fucking tired of you constantly trampling on our lives simply because you can.”

“It’s not my fault your sister—OW!”

She slaps him again. This time a backhand. Just as hard, just as painful.

All I can do is gawk and hold my breath.

“Mind your fucking tone!” Eva shouts. “Or I swear I will put all my manners aside and go feral on your saggy ass. It’s one thing to bully us and wave your stupid antiquated contracts in our faces. It’s one thing to set your faithful church dogs on us. It’s one thing to resort to shitty tricks to make life harder for us. But you will address us both with the respect we deserve, as your tenants and as taxpaying citizens.”

“How dare you strike me. That’s assault!” Orson croaks, shaking with anger.

Eva replies with a slight shrug. “Call Sheriff Foreman. I’m sure he’ll be glad to rush right over so you can hide behind his skirt. In the meantime, you’ve delivered your argument, your proof, your whatever. You’re done. So get the fuck out of my sight and wait for a call from our lawyers. We are contesting every single goddamn line in this tenancy agreement. You’re not taking the bakery away from us this easily. And if you show up here to harass my sister or me again before then, you will live to regret it. Mark my words.”

“And you mark my words, Miss Bronx, I will see you in court. And after I win, I will toss you out in the streets and spend the rest of my life making each of you miserable.” He jumps back before Eva can hit him a third time.

“It’s Mrs. Bronx, you piece of shit. Now get out of my face before I shove my boot up your ass.”

I’ve never been prouder, and at the same time, more terrified of my sister in my whole life. This rage, however, is remarkably effective, the words stinging, hitting the bullseye with Orson. He pulls back and skips across the street, eager to get in his car and drive off.

The silence he leaves behind reminds me of a tomb. A tomb where I will be buried in just a few moments, if I’m to judge the situation based on the expression on my sister’s face.

She stands on the edge of the pavement, staring into the nothingness. She’s what matters to me the most. My sister, my business partner. My best friend. And I kept one hell of a secret from her.

The kind of secret that undid all of our hard work.

“Say something,” I tell Eva, my voice echoing in the biting wind.

“What do you want me to say?” she replies. Her tone sounds flat. Emotionless.

She’s mad, I know it. She just has a funny way of showing it because this is, by far, the worst thing I’ve ever done. She was quick to tell Orson we’d see him in court, but I’m sure she doesn’t really believe we’d stand a chance. I’ve thought about this before, though I never imagined such a scenario would actually come true.

“I swear, Eva, we were careful. Rutger Resort is super strict with their privacy and—”

“Clearly, they fucked up,” she cuts me off, giving me a hard look. “I don’t know what’s worse. The fact that you trusted them or the fact that you didn’t trust me enough to tell me what you were doing with…. God, with all three of them!”

“I’m sorry,” I sob, breaking down into a million little pieces. “I’m so sorry.”

“How the fuck am I going to fix this? Orson blindsided me. Had I known, I could’ve… I could’ve stopped you from getting too deep with them. I thought you went away with Sebastian only. I thought Sebastian was the baby daddy. Oh.” She pauses, her eyes widening with shock. “Is he even the father?”

I lower my gaze in shame. “I don’t know.”

“So it could be Riggs or Waylan or Sebastian?”

“Yes.”

“Do they know?”

“No.”

“Ah, so you didn’t lie about that, at least.”

I try to move closer, but she takes a step back. “I know it sounds awful, but—”

“But what, Cora? Why? Why keep this from me? When there was so much at stake?” Eva scoffs and shakes her head again. “So all these people spreading rumors were actually telling the truth. You are hooking up with three men. And it has cost us everything. ”

“I’m sorry,” I say it once more. I’ll never stop saying it. I don’t know what else to do.

“Save it,” Eva shouts, car keys jingling in her hand as she stomps to her car. “I don’t even want to look at you right now!”

I give her a confused look. “Wait, where are you going?”

“I’m going to the hardware store to get some plywood for these fucking windows. You need to stay here and make sure no one comes along and loots the goddamn place on top of everything else,” Eva bluntly replies. “And tell your boyfriends what happened. They’re just as responsible as you for this entire shitstorm.”

“Eva, please—”

“I need to get away from you for a minute before I say things I’ll never be able to take back. You fucked up in a way I can’t possibly fix, and I need to figure out a way forward. For myself, for my daughters, for my family. I’ll be back.”

She gets in the car and drives off in a screeching fury.

The taillights glimmer red before she turns left and vanishes from sight. I’m left to my own devices, sobbing and crumbling as I struggle to remain upright against this merciless devastation. It is, like my sister said, a disaster of my own making.

And I don’t think I can survive it.