Christmas with My Grumpy Ex (Feuding Hearts Christmas #1)

5. Dancing Through Memories

5

DANCING THROUGH MEMORIES

MAX

"Daddy, do you think it'll snow today?"

Amelia'svoice is a soft chirp, filled with the kind of hope only children manage to keep alive. Her eyes, wide with excitement, pierce through the fog of early morning as she perches on the edge of my bed, curls a halo of chaos in the dim light.

"Let's see what the sky says,Mellie Bear." I crack one eye open and groan, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

She's already bouncing off the bed by the time I swing my legs over the side, her small hand slipping into mine as we make our way to the window. Outside, the city stretches below us, still and vast, the early morning light barely brushing the tops of buildings.

Ameliapeers out thoughtfully, squinting at the sky as though she can will the snow into existence.

"I think… just maybe… snowflakes will dance today," she declares with the kind of certainty that only comes with being nine years old.

I chuckle at her confidence. "You've got quite the imagination. But I think you might be right."

She beams up at me, her joy infectious. "We need to start decorating then! The snow needs to know we're ready for Christmas."

"That's a solid plan," I agree, ruffling her hair as we head into the living room, where our bare Christmas tree stands waiting. It's been days since we picked it out, but I've barely had time to think about decorating.Amelia, though, has been patient—until now.

The treeloomsin the corner, its branches reaching out like expectant arms. I remember the day we chose it,Amelia'seyes wide with wonder as she ran from tree to tree, declaring each one "perfect" until she found the one that spoke to her heart. It was a moment of pure joy, untainted by the shadows that sometimes linger in our lives.

"Can we put Mommy's angel on first?" she asks, already rummaging through the ornament box.

My heart clenches at the mention ofLaura. Even after all these years, the pain of her loss still feels fresh sometimes, especially during moments like these.

"Of course," I reply, my voice a little rougher than I intend.

LiftingAmeliainto my arms, I hold her up so she can place the delicate angel atop the tree. Her fingers, careful and precise, secure it in place as if she's performing a sacred task.

The angel, with its porcelain face and gossamer wings, wasLaura'sfavorite. She'd insisted on putting it up first every year, claiming it brought good luck.

I stare at it, a haunting reminder of Laura. A surge of remorse washes through me, depositing a nagging thought in its aftermath: Would I have loved her differently, if I'd known our time was so short?

Our marriage wasn't built on passion or grand romance. It was a union of convenience, two people fulfilling societal expectations.

We were friends, co-parents, but never truly lovers. I thought we had all the time in the world to figure it out.

Until we didn't.

"There,"Ameliawhispers reverently, stepping back. "Now Mommy can watch over us."

A lump forms in my throat, but I swallow it down, forcing a smile. "She'd love that,sweetpea."

Amelia'sattention shifts back to the ornaments, her tiny hands pulling out a glittering snowflake.

"Remember when we made these last year?" she asks, grinning up at me. "You burnt yours!"

I laugh, the soundshaking offthe remnants of sleep and melancholy. "It wasn't burnt. It was artistically toasted."

"Daddy!" She giggles, her laughter lighting up the room.

Together, we spend the morning dressing the tree with an eclectic mix of ornaments—some from my childhood, others handcrafted byAmeliaover the years.

Each bauble and trinket tell a story, a fragment of our shared history. There's the miniature violin from my first recital, the clay handprintAmeliamade in kindergarten, the delicate glass ballLauraand I bought on our honeymoon.

Death has a way of rewriting history, casting a rosy glow over memories that were once mundane. But the truth is, Laura and I were never meant to be each other's great love story. We were two people trying to make the best of the hand we were dealt.

And yet, as I watch Amelia's face light up with each ornament we hang, I can't help but wonder if I could have tried harder. If I'd known our time was limited, would I have opened my heart more? Would I have fought harder to keep her safe, to keep her home?

The "what ifs" are a dangerous game, one that threatens to consume me if I let it. But as Amelia tugs on my hand, eager to show me the perfect spot for her favorite reindeer ornament, I'm reminded that I can't change the past.

All I can do is honor Laura's memory by being the best father I can be to our daughter. And maybe, just maybe, find a way to forgive myself for the love I never fully gave.

I glance over at Amelia who’s paused to admire our handiwork.

"What about lights?"she asks.

"We'll get some new ones, don't worry."

I drape a spool of silver tinsel around her shoulders like a shawl, and she twirls in a circle, laughing as it unfurls behind her.

"We're like elves!" she declares, dancing around the room.

"Santa's got nothing on us," I agree, smiling as I watch her spin.

Her laughter fades into a more reflective tone as she stops mid-twirl. "Do you think Mommy sees us now? From heaven?"

The question catches me off guard, and for a moment, I'm at a loss for words.

How do you explain the complexities of loss and memory to a child? How do you balance honesty with hope?

I kneel beside her, my hands resting gently on her shoulders. "I know she does, sweetheart. She's watching over us every day."

Amelia'seyes, search mine. "Really? Even when we can't see her?"

"Especially then," I assure her, pulling her close. "Your mom loved you more than anything in this world. That kind of love doesn't just go away."

She throws her arms around my neck, and I hug her tightly, feelingthe weight ofher love and loss, and mine. This is why I've avoided Christmas in the city for so long—too many memories, too much unfinished business withLaura.

But Carson asking me to return, and just maybe having Ellie in my life again, makes me feel like this could be an opportunity to stoprunningfrom them.

Maybe we need to face this season head-on.

I kiss the top of her head, her curls tickling my nose. "I think it's time to get moving,Mellie Bear. You don't want to be in your PJs whenGigiarrives."

"Okay,Daddy." She grins, bounding toward her room to get dressed.

As I head to the kitchen, the scent of coffee fills the air, mingling with the sound ofAmelia'schatter about decorating. I toss a few eggs into a pan, listening to her from across the suite. I can feel her excitement, a vivid reminder of the magic this time of year brings for her.

"Are we going to add lights today,Daddy?" she asks, poking her head around the corner, her face already glowing with excitement.

"Definitely. And maybe some candy canes, too," I reply, flipping the eggs as the sizzle of butter fills the air.

"With the sparkly ones!" She claps her hands, delighted.

Before I can respond, a rhythmic knockechoesthrough the suite. It's a familiar sound—Mother, with her usual impeccable timing. I wipe my hands on a towel and head to the door, opening it to reveal her standing there, radiating holiday cheer as only she can.

"Good morning,Max," she greets me with a warm embrace before stepping inside. Her gaze lands onAmelia, and her expression softens. "And how's my littleMellietoday?"

Amelia bounds over, flinging herself into Mother's arms. "I'm great, Gigi! Daddy and I are decorating. See the tree?"

Motherscoops her up with ease, her smile widening. "It looks beautiful, darling."

I move back to the stove, giving them their moment.Motherhas always had a special bond withAmelia—one that I think comforts her as much as it does me. They chat excitedly about the decorations,Amelia'splans for the day, and how she hopes the snow will come soon.

As I finish breakfast,Motherpours two cups of coffee, her movements familiar and soothing in the kitchen that's become her second home. She takes a sip, then watches me for a moment before speaking.

"Maxim, have you thought about what I said? About meeting new people?"

She raises this topic again after trying to set me up with every woman she could think of. I crack another egg into the pan, applying a bit more pressure than needed.

"Mother, we've had this conversation before."

She doesn't relent, her voice soft but firm. "It's been four years sinceLaurapassed. You're allowed to find happiness again."

My chest tightens at her words, the familiar resistance rising within me. Before I can respond, she places a hand on my arm, her touchgentlebut insistent.

"Just think about it," she says quietly.

"I will," I murmur, knowing it's not a promise but enough to end the conversation.

As we sit down to breakfast,Ameliachatters away, filling the room with stories and laughter, blissfully unaware of the undercurrent of tension betweenMotherand me.

Moments like this make my heart feel full, even ifthe weight ofthe past still haunts us.

After breakfast, it's time for me to leave for the office.MotherushersAmeliainto her room to get ready for a trip to the park, while I gather my things. Before I go, she stops me with a knowing smile.

"I've asked Ellie to pull together some options for and family photos," she says.

"Family photos?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, something special for this year. It'll be good to have a picture withAmelia,Quanie, and the rest of the family."

I nod, though apart of metenses at the thought. This will be the first family photo withoutLaura and Dad. "Just letMerrilynknow the details."

As I head out the door,Amelia'ssweet voice calls after me. "Bye,Daddy! Don't forget the lights!"

I turn and wave, my heart lighter for just a moment. "I won't. See you later,sweetpea."

"Love you, Maxie."

I stop and shake my head at the ring of my childhood nickname. "Love you too, Mother."

With one last glance at the suite, I step into the private elevator, ready to face the day.

Carson’s out taking Quanie to doctor’s appointments and doing their final tour of the hospital. So, I’ll sit in his meetings most of the day.

As the doors close, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the polished metal. The man staring back at me looks tired, a little worn around the edges. But there's something else there too—a glimmer of hope, perhaps.

The elevator glides down effortlessly, taking me to the executive floor. I make my way through the floor, nodding to staff members as I pass. Their respectful greetings of "Good morning,Mr. Wellington" follow me, a constant reminder of my position, my responsibilities.

Sometimes it feels like a weight, pressing down on my shoulders. Other times, like today, it's a welcome distraction from the swirl of emotions left behind in my suite.

As I reach the executive offices,Merrilyngreets me with her usual efficiency. "Good morning,Mr. Wellington. I’ll buzz you about fifteen minutes before each appointment. But Carson would like an update on the galapreparations."

I nod, suppressing a sigh."The gala. "

My mother has stepped down from her role at the hotel, choosing instead to dedicate her time to Amelia and prepare for the arrival of Carson and Quanie's baby. She’s ready to embrace her role as Gigi, and I can see the excitement and warmth in her eyes when she talks about it.

It's a bittersweet transition, knowing how much she poured into the family business, but I can't help but feel relieved. Amelia will have her grandmother close by, and with the holidays approaching, I know this will mean the world to both of them.

"Thank you,Merrilyn. I'll give him a call."

I head to my office and move through the day like a well-oiled machine.

The morning starts with the familiar rhythm of my routine. I've worked remotely for the last four years. Throughout the day the thought of being among my team, collaborating in person, feels oddly appealing. I envision brainstorming sessions filled with energy, the hum of productivity surrounding me.

It’s a stark contrast to the solitude that comes with working from my home office.

The clock ticks forward, and my mind drifts back to recent meetings—conversations filled with ideas, laughter, and the occasional tension. I find myself longing for that camaraderie, the kind that reminds me I’m part of something bigger than just myself.

I imagine how it would feel to walk the hallways of The Wellington, engaging with my staff and soaking in the atmosphere of a bustling hotel. But just as I let that thought sink in, I receive a buzz on my phone, jolting me from my reverie. It’s a reminder for my last meeting of the day with Ms. Hawthorne.

The grandeur of the ballroom never fails to impress, even after all these years. But today, as I guide Ellie through the space, it isn't the crystal chandeliers or the gleaming marble floors that captivate me—it's her.

The way she moves with purpose, her eyes alight with ideas, as if she's already orchestrating the magic of the gala in her mind. I find myself watching her more than the room, mesmerized by the graceful sweep of her hand as she gestures towards potential decorating spots, the slight furrow of her brow as she concentrates.

“What do you have in mind?”

Elliepauses in the center of the room, her gaze sweeping upward. "We could drape the ceiling with fabric—soft blues and whites to mimic a winter sky."

I follow her line of sight, envisioning the way the chandeliers would sparkle against that backdrop. "It would look like stars twinkling in the night."

She smiles, that familiar, businesslike smile, but there's something more beneath it. "Exactly. And for centerpieces, ice sculptures surrounded by frosty flowers. Elegant, but warm enough to feel inviting."

It's her artistry that catches me off guard—the way she sees this space not as it is but as it could be, transforming every detail into something extraordinary.Elliedoesn't just plan events; she creates experiences.

The air between us is professional, as it has been since the mixer. But beneath the professional courtesy is something raw—something that refuses to stay buried.

"I want to check the acoustics,"Elliemurmurs, stepping toward the small stage where she plans to place a smaller ensemble forthe gala'sentrance. Her voice trails off as she looks over the space, her expression thoughtful.

In the past, I kept Ellie separate from my life. But now, as I watch her, unable to ignore the way she fits so seamlessly into this world, yet remains just out of reach.

She stands on the stage for a moment, taking in the room. Then, as if on instinct, she begins to sing.

Summertime by Ella Fitzgerald.

It's a song I haven't heard her sing in years, and yet, as her voice fills the space, I'm transported back to the time when her music was the soundtrack to our love.

Her voice is smooth, haunting, and it's like we're back in college again, lost in those moments of possibility and youth.Elliehad always dreamed of a career in music, and hearing her now, I mourn what we lost. What I let slip through my fingers.

But there's no use going down that road again. Life took us in different directions. There'sAmeliato think about now—mysweetpeawho depends on me.

Ellie'ssong comes to an end, and the notes linger in the air for a moment longer than they should.

"I haven't sung that in ages," she says softly, her eyes meeting mine across the ballroom. There's a vulnerability there that makes me want to shield her from the world.

Before I can respond, the doors burst open, and a familiar voice calls out, cutting through the moment like a ray of light.

"Daddy!"

Amelia'svoice breaks the spell. I turn just in time to see her rush into the ballroom,Virginia, her nanny, trailing behind her.

Ellie'seyes widen in recognition—she's metAmeliabefore, but it still catches her off guard to see my daughter here, in the space we've been creating together.

"Hey,sweetpea," I say, crouching down to greet her.Ameliaruns into my arms, her face glowing with excitement.

"Daddy, what are you doing here?" she asks, her eyes wide with curiosity as they flicker between me andEllie.

"We're working on the party for Christmas," I explain. "Miss Ellie'shelping us with it."

Amelia'sface brightens as she looks up atEllie. "You're helping with the Christmas party? Does that mean you'll be there too?"

Elliesmiles warmly, bending down toAmelia'slevel. "I'll be helping with all the decorations and making sure it's the best Christmas party ever . What do you think of that?"

Amelia'seyes light up, and she throws her arms aroundElliein a spontaneous hug, much toEllie'ssurprise. "I think that's perfect!"

Ellielaughs, hugging her back with a warmth that comes naturally to her. Seeing them together, I feel a tugin my chest that's hard to ignore.Elliehas always had a way with people—she can make anyone feel at ease.

But watching her withAmelia, it's different. It's personal.

"Are you coming to the Christmas market tomorrow, MissEllie?"Ameliaasks, bouncing on her toes.

Ellieglances at me, and I shrug, leaving the decision in her hands.

"I think I could make it," she says, her smile genuine. "If your dad says it's okay."

Ameliaturns to me with wide, expectant eyes. "Please,Daddy?"

I chuckle, nodding. "I think we can make that happen."

Ameliabeams, then runs off to explore the room, chattering to Virginia aboutthe Christmas party and the dress Miss Ellie helped her pick.

I watch her for a moment, my heart full. She's everything to me—my world, my reason for staying grounded.

"She really is a special little girl, "Elliesays quietly, her voice soft but filled with meaning.

"Thanks," I reply, glancing down at my feet for a moment, unsure of how to respond. "She's my everything."

Ellie'seyes linger on mine for a moment longer before she shifts the conversation back tothe gala. "We'll finalize the decorations and the budget tomorrow after the market. That’s give me time to order everything and start the prep."

"Sounds good," I say, though my mind is already elsewhere. The more time I spend withEllie, the harder it is to keep the past from creeping in.

"I should go," I say after a beat, checking my watch. "It's time forAmelia'sbedtime."

Ellienods, stepping back as I gatherAmeliain my arms.

"Goodnight, MissEllie!"Ameliacalls over her shoulder, waving excitedly. "See you tomorrow."

Elliewaves back, her smile genuine but guarded. "Goodnight,Amelia. Sleep tight."

Leaving the ballroom, I steal a final look at Ellie.

An idea takes shape, dangerous and tempting. What if I asked Ellie to pretend to date me? Just for the holiday season. It would give Mother the happiness she craves, seeing me "moving on." It would let Amelia spend time with an incredible woman. And maybe, just maybe, it would give me a chance to make things right with Ellie after all these years.

I push the thought away, but it lingers. It's ridiculous. Ellie would never agree. We're barely on speaking terms as it is. And yet...