Her Secret Santa

Chapter Twenty-Three

CLARA

“ U p and at ‘em!”

I groan, burying my face deeper in the pillows on Allie’s couch. I spent the whole night crying, and I’m not in the mood to open my eyes, much less go through a day of Christmas festivities.

“Nope, I gave you last night to be humiliated and sad,” Allie says ruthlessly, tugging at my arm and forcing me to sit up. “Moping time is over, it’s Christmas.”

I shoot her a truly pathetic glare, my eyes red from crying and lack of sleep, my hair a rat’s nest of blond tangles. I’m wearing her pajamas and sit bundled in a candy cane striped blanket. I whine at her like a kicked puppy, silently pleading for more time to hide away from the world.

She sits down next to me, pulling me close in a one-armed hug and petting over the mess of my hair.

“Look, I know the press was overwhelming. You never expected to be in the public eye like that, and the headlines are scary. I won’t fault you for being scared.” Her tone is the one she only uses when she needs to be taken seriously, no nonsense, no room for argument. “But do you really believe that Zade doesn’t care about you? He hasn’t stopped calling you, and I don’t think you’re stupid enough to fall for someone who’s using you.”

I flinch at those words, not wanting to admit that I did fall for him, or at least was well on my way.

“It doesn’t matter,” I say, shaking my head forlornly. “We live in different worlds, Allie. Even if he did care about me, it would never work. Even the news thinks it’s laughable, you’ve seen the headlines.”

Allie sighs harshly through her nose, and she pulls back, forcing me to look her in the eyes.

“He’s famous, rich, well-connected,” she says. “You’ve always said people like that should do good with what they have, right? He was trying to be a better person. He might be able to do some real good in the world with guidance from you. Maybe even do something good for you , too, and you deserve it just as much as anyone else.”

My mind can’t accept that, no matter how much I know Allie means what she’s saying, believes it. Maybe it’s because I’ve always felt guilty that my grandma bent over backwards to make sure I had a good life, but it’s so hard to see myself as someone who deserves the same kind of care that I try to give everyone else. My grandma gave me everything—she gave me her whole life until she physically couldn’t anymore—and I feel selfish thinking about deserving any more than I’ve already been given.

I go quiet as she continues her rant, reminding me over and over that I deserve good in my life as she gets ready for the day. She kisses me on the forehead and pulls me in for one last hug.

“You know you can come to my mom’s with me if you want,” she reminds me gently.

I smile, but shake my head. She doesn’t want me to be alone today, but I won’t be, and seeing my grandma and Brooke will help.

“I promised Brooke I’d be by this morning.” It seems like so long ago that we were talking about Christmas morning plans for the kids. “And I need to go see my grandma too. I’ll be okay.”

“I’m only a phone call away, alright?” Allie says. “How about we do presents tonight when you’re back from your grandma? We can crack open a bottle of wine and watch some dumb movie.”

“That sounds absolutely perfect,” I say. “I’ll see you later. Drive safe!”

I only allow myself a few minutes to sit on the couch and stare at the floor after she leaves, feeling pathetic for myself. As soon as I find the strength for it, I get up and head into her bathroom to get ready for my day. There’s no fixing my hair without spending a long time brushing it, and I just don’t have the energy, so I toss it up into a bun, not worrying about keeping it neat. I snag an extra toothbrush from beneath the sink to brush my teeth.

I do my best to put on a happy face and focus on the good things. It’s Christmas, after all. One of my favorite days of the year.

Snow falls outside, and the air is crisp the way it only ever is around the holidays. Christmas lights and street decor dot the sidewalks as I drive over toward the children’s home. I circle the block a few times before finding street parking, grateful for the quieter roads, even if traffic is still excessive.

I bundle up in a coat I borrowed from Allie and march down the sidewalk through the snow. All the presents I got for the kids are already there, wrapped and labeled, and hopefully we’ll be able to get them through breakfast before they start tearing into everything.

Stepping inside, my smile fades immediately as my jaw drops open, totally stupefied.

For a moment, I think I must have somehow walked into the wrong building, but I recognize all of the little faces running around. It’s the… everything else that doesn’t seem to fit.

There’s a huge tree—a real tree that I can smell—against one wall, shining string lights wrapped around it and hanging from the walls. Mugs of hot cocoa sit on brand new tables, and there are piles and piles of food on platters, more than ten times this many kids could eat in a single morning.

“Clara!”

Brooke practically slams into me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders as she shakes with sobs. Her black hair is down for once, and it still smells like her go-to cheap drugstore pomegranate shampoo, the only thing that makes sense right now.

“Thank you, thank you ! I don’t know how you did it,” she gushes, pulling back to cup my face adoringly. Her freckled cheeks are flushed and her green eyes sparkle with unshed tears. “The food, the gifts, the new clothes. I still can’t believe they all got college scholarships, and the yearly donation means we can get all of our repairs done. I never even dreamed of a number that high, and I just?—”

She breaks down in tears again, and I hold her close in shock.

College scholarships? Donation? Food? All of it is making me lightheaded, and I don’t know why she’s thanking me . I’m totally shell shocked, watching Alejandra, the oldest teen, sipping at a mug of hot cocoa and laughing as the younger kids toss toys around amongst them. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look so at ease in the four years I’ve known her.

And that’s when it hits me.

“Zade,” I whisper in shock.

Brooke huffs out an angry little noise, wiping her tears away as she shakes her head.

“Don’t think about that playboy right now, Clara,” she urges me. “I’ve seen the articles, he doesn’t deserve your time or your heart. It’s Christmas, and you’ve pulled off the most incredible thing in the world. ”

I blink in confusion, my mind going a million miles an hour. A soft, overwhelmed laugh falls from my lips as I look at the kids bouncing around, trading toys—brand new ones—between each other, fingers sticky with food and so much leftovers still sit on the table. I’ve never seen these kids fail to clear their plates.

“No, no, Brooke, I didn’t— Zade did this,” I say. “I didn’t know about this.”

She looks at me disbelievingly, her brows peeking up over the rim of her circular glasses. I can see how little she thinks something like that is possible, even with there being no way I would have ever had the money for something like this. I can hardly believe it myself. But he’s the only one who could have been behind this.

He did this.

Did he do it for me ?

I don’t have time to think about it before Steele rushes up, all wide green eyes and excited babble. He’s holding a Godzilla toy and telling me about all the lizard facts he learned in the fact book Santa got him, and it’s so much that I almost burst into tears. I force my own feelings to the back of my mind, allowing him to lead me into the fray of the kids. They’re all wearing new pajamas, some of them with the tags still on—warm, cozy cotton and flannel without holes or stains.

I spend the morning at the children’s home, bouncing between surprise and gratitude at every new revelation.

The pantries are fully stocked and the utilities have been paid through to next year, along with the lease. I can’t even fathom how much stress this just took off Brooke, the amazing things this will do for the future of every kid living here. I still have no idea what to do with my feelings for Zade. Sure, he’s done a lot of good here, but does that mean that I can just trust him, especially after allowing the media to tear me apart? Can he really want someone like me ? Someone the public believes is clearly not good enough and nothing more than a gold digger?

Can I really make him change so much? I just don’t understand how someone like me could make a difference in a life like his.

I spend the morning and into the afternoon at the children’s home, relaxing with the kids and helping clean up dishes and put leftovers in containers. I can’t remember there ever being leftovers from a meal here. We could always make enough to go around, make it stretch, but there wasn’t extra. If feeding the kids meant Brooke went hungry, she was happy to do it.

I head over to the nursing home as the sun starts to fall in the sky, warm golden rays catching the snowdrifts and sparkling against windowpanes.

The day feels so much different now than it did when I woke up this morning, but I still have no idea what to do. I turned my phone off last night in an attempt to escape Zade’s unending calls and texts, and I haven’t turned it back on. I know I’m being a coward. I know I shouldn’t care what the media thinks of me. Of him. Of our relationship. But I do. The truth of that only serves to make me feel worse. I wonder as I drive into Brooklyn what I’ll find when I turn my phone back on. Will there be apologies? Pleas? Explanations?

Will he be able to convince me that he meant it when he said he wanted a family with me? A life together?

I’m less surprised to find the nursing home in a state of luxury and excess after spending the day at the children’s home, but it’s still enough to bring tears to my eyes.

I worked hard to make sure my grandmother could stay in a nice place with around the clock care and creature comforts, somewhere in a good part of the city. She didn’t want for much here, and her life here is probably cushier than it was at the apartment, but walking through the doors this evening doesn’t feel like walking into a care center.

It feels like walking into a home .

The front desk is empty, but music and laughter can be heard through the dining hall doors, so I make my way there. Scanning the crowd for my grandma, I notice how all the residents are all enjoying heaping plates of food that smell absolutely mouthwatering.

“She’s in her room,” Sarah says.

I jump in surprise at hearing her voice from behind me. When I turn, she’s helping Thelma section out yarn for her one of her many crochet projects.

“Her room?” My grandma is the most social person I know. It makes no sense for her to be in her room on Christmas while everyone else is eating dinner together. “Alone?”

“She asked me to send you in when you arrived,” Sarah says, an oddly mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

I thank her, confused, but head down the hallway anyway. I’m sure my grandma has heard something about what happened between Zade and me. She watches the news pretty much non-stop, and with the way the reporters swarmed the mall yesterday, I’m pretty sure I’ve been on it. I’ve refused to turn it on all day, and I asked Brooke and Allie not to as well when I was with them. She probably wants to give me a chance to vent in private. There are too many thoughts in my head, too much affection and worry in my chest to know what to do with.

She’s sitting in her wheelchair when I walk in, a tidy knit sweater draped over her frail form. She looks like she’s been waiting for me, her hands folded expectantly in her lap and a soft smile on her wrinkled face.

“Merry Christmas, Grandma,” I say, bending to envelop her in a warm hug. “Were you waiting?”

“Not for long,” she assures me, patting my arm. “Sit down a bit.”

I sit obediently, taking her usual armchair so I can be close enough to hold her hand. I have no idea what to say if she asks me about Zade, but she always has a sixth sense about the right thing to say, what to ask, and when to ask it.

“Your momma never realized what a gift she got when she had you,” she starts, startling me. This isn’t at all what I expected her to bring up—we almost never talk about my mom. “I think you go through life with the mindset that you’re worth less than everyone around you, and I think it’s gotten to the point where you don’t realize it either. It breaks my heart to watch you be everything for everyone around you and not get anything back.”

I open my mouth to argue, to tell her that I get so unspeakably much from everyone, that the kindness in the world around me is all I could ever ask for, but she doesn’t give me the chance.

“You deserve someone who wants to give you everything,” she says, staring into my eyes like she’s trying to get me to understand something—what that is, I have no idea. “You deserve someone who loves you just like you love the world, Clara.”

I blink at the certainty in her voice. She’s said this to me before, but it’s always been something of a plea, a reminder of something I don’t quite believe. This time feels different. It feels like she’s pointing me in one very obvious direction.

It’s not at all the direction I expect her to push me in.

She lifts the remote and turns on the TV in front of us. My brows furrow in confusion as misery threatens to overwhelm me. I’ve already heard all the horrible rumors circulating about me, and this reminder is exactly what I’ve been avoiding all day. But instead of a smug reporter on screen, I see Zade. He looks paler than usual, with bags under his eyes and ruffled hair, dressed in a simple black button down as he speaks to a group of reporters.

“I’m not here to deny the allegations of my relationship with Clara,” he says firmly, and I wince. “I’m here to clear up the rumors surrounding the situation. I’m the one who pursued Clara. We met while I was playing Santa, and she showed me how kind-hearted a person can be. She made me want to be like that too. Everything being said about her being a gold digger is an absolute lie. I’m happy to have the public believe the worst of me, but I won’t stand for anyone to believe anything by the best of Clara.”

It’s just a clip of his speech, the video cutting off and shifting back to a group of reporters who immediately start picking apart his words.

Tears burn hot in my eyes, anxiety and a deep-rooted desire to trust Zade warring in my gut. I was expecting the media to continue their slander and attack me, not for Zade to appear on the screen and stand up for me.

My grandma passes me a tissue to dab at my eyes before her attention shifts behind me, and the hair on the back of my neck stands up. I can’t turn around as the aide comes in and wheels her out into the hallway because I can feel eyes on the back of my skull. I can feel the attention, and I have no idea what to do.

I hear footsteps, muffled over soft carpet.

And then Zade comes into view, heartbreakingly gorgeous in front of me, kneeling in front of me where I sit in my grandma’s favorite armchair like he’s never seen something more perfect. I can’t even bring myself to be upset that my grandma set me up because the overwhelming wave of calm that washes over me tells me everything I need to know about how I really feel.

Every ounce of my being longs to fall right into his arms, desperate to feel the warmth of his embrace again. It’s such a strong desire that I can’t even move with the weight of it.

He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, dark eyes mapping my face like he’s trying to memorize every single line of it.

“Zade,” I whisper, a million words welling up on my tongue as emotions overwhelm me.

His hands shake when he finally pulls his phone out of his pocket, pulling something up before handing it over to me. I look between his face and the phone in confusion.

“Please,” he whispers.

I take the phone, but dragging my eyes away from him takes gargantuan effort.

Shock slams into me when I finally look down and read through the article he pulled up. On the screen, clear as day in black and white text, is more than I could ever even imagine. It’s an interview from earlier today in which he details the charity he’s starting in my honor. He’s fundraising for children’s homes and nursing homes in the city, ensuring that their needs are met and promising that he’ll do his part to ensure no one goes without while other people have more than they could ever need.

“I want to do it together,” he says as I reach the end of the article. “You know the city. You understand what people need. You know how to give, and if it wasn’t for you, just watching you be the selfless, incredible person you are, I don’t think I’d have ever even thought about learning how to do that too. You’ve given me so many special moments, and I never realized how important that kind of thing could be. I want to help you make sure that all of these people have the life they deserve.”

Tears spring to my eyes, and I launch myself into his arms. He grunts at the impact, stumbling back in surprise, but his arms squeeze tight around me. I can hear his heart hammering in his chest, feel the tremble in his arms as he holds me, and I can’t think of anything but how much I never want this to end.

I reach up with clumsy, fumbling hands, and yank him down into a kiss that feels like heaven and home all at once.

I’m crying, or maybe he is, or we both are, but there’s wetness on our cheeks, and I can’t stop smiling for long enough to properly kiss him.

“You gave me so much,” he whispers against my lips. “In return, I’m yours. I’ll give you everything, the best life you could ever imagine, and I’ll learn how to be better from you. I’m not going anywhere, and I don’t want you to go anywhere either. I know I fucked up, and I can’t take that back. I promised you I’d handle the media, and I wasn’t careful enough, but I swear I’ll?—”

All I can do is kiss him again, emotion welling so high that I can hardly breathe, much less speak.

“I love you.” It’s the only thing I think to say. “I love you, Zade. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I love you too,” he says, the words muffled against my lips and dripping with desperation and affection. “I love you so fucking much, Clara. I’m proud to be with you, I’m proud to call you mine. No hiding, no uncertainty. I’m yours, little one.”

I melt into him, euphoric and adoring and so in love I can feel it in my bones, happier than I know what to do with. I don’t think I’ve ever been this wholly happy in my life.

“My own personal Santa Claus,” I giggle between kisses.

“Yeah, well, you dropped your list. Figured I had to do something about it,” he teases, winding his arms around my waist and looking into my eyes with so much love it almost hurts. “You know that list was only the beginning, right? I’m going to give you the entire world.”

I pull him down into another kiss, the only way I could possibly answer him. One day I’ll be able to tell him that he gave me the whole world when he decided to be mine, but for now, I’ll bask in the warmth of his arms, knowing that he truly will do whatever it takes to keep me.

It turned out to be a very Merry Christmas after all.