Merry with a Tycoon (The Love Beach Holiday Collection)

Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CRYSTAL

The glow of my phone screen illuminates my face in the dim light of my apartment. I know I shouldn’t be doing this, but I can’t help myself. My thumb hovers over Vivian’s Instagram profile, and with a resigned sigh, I tap it.

A flood of new photos appears—Vivian and Preston at various events in Shanghai, all glittering lights and champagne flutes. They look... perfect together. A matching set of beautiful, successful people.

But as I zoom in on Preston’s face in one of the photos, I notice something. His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. There’s a tightness around his mouth, a furrow in his brow that speaks of stress or unhappiness.

I shake my head, closing the app. What am I doing? It doesn’t matter if Preston looks sad or stressed. He’s there, isn’t he? With her. Living the high-powered, jet-setting life that suits him.

What kind of life would I have with someone like that? Always waiting for him to come home, always second to the next big deal or important meeting. No, I made the right choice in blocking his number. In protecting my heart.

Even if it feels like that heart is breaking a little more each day.

My phone buzzes, startling me out of my thoughts. It’s Willy.

“Hey, Crys! What are you up to tonight?”

I glance around my empty apartment, at the half-finished mosaic on my work table. “Oh, you know. Just working on a new piece.”

“Nope, not anymore you’re not,” Willy says, and I can hear the grin in her voice. “You’re coming with me to the Hollister Christmas party.”

My stomach drops. “Willy, no. I can’t-“

“Before you say no, hear me out,” she interrupts. “Preston’s not even going to be there. He’s not due back from Shanghai for another two days. And don’t tell me you’ve never wanted to see the inside of that mansion on the hill during Christmas.”

I bite my lip, considering. It’s true, I’ve always been curious about the Hollister home during the holidays. The Who’s Who of Love Beach is usually in attendance, a section I’m not part of, obviously but Willy now is, since she’s officially dating Brogan.

And that’s what hits me.

At least, Willy and Brogan are official while Preston and I… are not.

But if Preston won’t be there, why shouldn’t I go, even if it’s just to satisfy my curiosity.

And if Preston won’t be there...

“Come on, Crys,” Willy pleads. “You need to get out of that apartment. It’ll be fun, I promise.”

I sigh, knowing I’m going to regret this. “Fine. But I have nothing to wear to a fancy Christmas party.”

Willy’s squeal of delight almost deafens me. “Leave that to me. I’ll be there in an hour!”

True to her word, Willy arrives with a garment bag and a determined glint in her eye. An hour later, I hardly recognize myself in the mirror. The deep green velvet dress hugs my curves in all the right places, and Willy has worked magic with my hair and makeup.

“There was a time when I was the one who dressed the princess,” I mused, remembering the night Brogan took Willy to a yacht party. She didn’t have a dress but I helped her find one and she looked just like a princess, much like I do right now. Heck, I even feel like one even if I’m without a prince.

But who needs a prince anyway?

“See?” Willy says, grinning at me in the mirror. “You’re a knockout.”

At the Hollister mansion, the familiar opulence I remembered when I first visited months earlier is amplified by the holiday spirit. The crystal chandeliers sparkle with added festive charm, garlands of pine and holly adorn the sweeping staircase, and everywhere, there are lights glittering. A massive Christmas tree stands majestically in the corner, its ornaments catching the light.

“Willy! Crystal! You made it!”

I turn to see Brogan approaching, a wide smile on his face. He kisses Willy before turning to me, his expression softening.

“I’m glad you came, Crystal. It’s good to see you.”

There’s something in his tone, a warmth that makes me wonder if he knows more than he’s letting on about Preston and me. But I push the thought aside, snatching a glass of champagne from a passing server.

The next hour passes in a blur of introductions and small talk. I sip champagne and try not to feel too out of place among the glittering crowd. But I can’t shake the feeling that I don’t belong here, in this world of wealth and privilege.

With Willy and Brogan deep in conversation near the Christmas tree, I slip away from the crowd in the main hall, the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses fading as I move deeper into the mansion. As my fingers trail along the rich wood paneling of the corridor, I remember Willy telling me about how Preston had the mansion divided into three separate spaces—“apartments,” Willy had called them—after their father passed away. One for Preston, one for Brogan, and one for their widowed mother. That way, Lorraine wouldn’t be by herself in the hilltop mansion.

It’s such a thoughtful solution, keeping the family close while still allowing for independence. I can almost picture Preston poring over blueprints, figuring out how to make it work for everyone.

Just like he tried hard to make the revitalization project work for everyone, too.

I’m so lost in thought that I don’t notice the man approaching until I nearly collide with him.

“Whoa there,” a familiar voice says, strong hands steadying me. “You okay, Miss Francia?”

I look up to see Javi, Preston’s bodyguard, watching me with concern. “I’m fine, thanks,” I reply. “Shouldn’t you be with Preston?”

He shakes his head. “Not for this trip, unfortunately.” His brow furrows. “Are you looking for something in particular?”

I hesitate, then make a split-second decision. “Actually... I was wondering if you could show me Preston’s rooms? It’s okay if you’re not allowed to–”

“Sure thing,” Javi replies, grinning. “Follow me.”

As we navigate the winding corridors of the mansion, Javi keeps up a steady stream of small talk about the party and the decorations. But my mind is elsewhere, imagining what I might find in Preston’s private space.

Finally, we stop in front of a set of ornate doors. My breath catches as I spot a familiar mosaic piece hanging at eye level —one of the first pieces I ever sold featuring a beach path set against an orange sunset.

“Here we are,” Javi says, gesturing to the door. “Mr. Hollister’s private suite.”

I hesitate, my hand on the doorknob. “Are you sure it’s okay for me to go in?”

Javi gives me a knowing look. “Miss Francia, I think you’ll find you’re more welcome here than you realize. Go on in. I’ll make sure you’re not disturbed.”

With a deep breath, I turn the handle and step inside.

The rooms that greet me takes my breath away. It’s not just the luxury that strikes me—though that’s certainly present—but the perfect balance of masculinity and elegance.

The space is predominantly minimalist, with clean lines and a muted color palette of deep blues and grays. Large windows offer a stunning view of the ocean, bathing the room in natural light. A sleek, modern desk faces the view, its surface neat and organized.

What catches my eye, though, are the splashes of color and texture that break up the minimalism. Several of my mosaics adorn the walls, their vibrant hues a stark contrast to the room’s subdued tones. They’re placed with careful consideration, each one complementing the space rather than overwhelming it.

A floor-to-ceiling bookcase dominates one wall, filled with an eclectic mix of titles. I spot books on architecture, philosophy, and local history, alongside well-worn copies of classic literature. On one shelf, a collection of seashells and sea glass is artfully arranged, a nod to our beach town roots.

Near the windows, a few of my crystal pieces catch the light, sending prismatic reflections dancing across the room. I recognize a particularly striking amethyst geode I’d once hesitated to part with until I saw how Preston’s eyes had lit up when he saw it.

As I move through the room, I’m struck by how quintessentially Preston it is. The space speaks to his intelligence, his appreciation for art and nature, and his connection to our small beach town. My pieces aren’t the focal point, but rather thoughtfully integrated elements that complement his taste and style.

Each familiar artwork tells a story, not just of my growth as an artist, but of the moments Preston and I have shared over the years. How could I have missed it? How could I not have seen the care, the thoughtfulness in each carefully chosen piece?

As I reach out to touch another one of my pieces, I hear the door open behind me. I turn slowly, my heart pounding, to find Preston standing in the doorway, his eyes wide with surprise.

“Crystal?” he breathes, as if he can’t quite believe I’m real. “What are you... How did you...”

I straighten up, suddenly acutely aware that I’m intruding in his private space. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be here. Javi showed me and I just... I’ll go.”

But as I move towards the door, Preston steps into the room, effectively blocking my exit. “Wait, please,” he says, his voice soft but urgent. “We need to talk.”

I look up at him, really look at him for the first time in weeks. He seems tired, the lines around his eyes more pronounced than I remember. But there’s something else there too, a warmth, an intensity that makes my breath catch.

“You kept them,” I say, gesturing to the mosaics and crystals scattered around the room. “All this time, I thought you were buying them for others.”

“I did buy many things from your shop for others but the mosaic pieces and the crystals,” he pauses, exhaling, “they were for me. Not in an obsessive stalkerish way, by the way, just my appreciation for true art. One that epitomized Love Beach… and you.”

For a few moments, we don’t say anything else.

“How’s Vivian?’ I start, doing my best to act casual. “I saw the pictures from Shanghai. You two looked–”

“It was all for show, Crystal, for the investors, for the press,” he replies. “The truth is, I couldn’t wait to come back here… and see you again.”

He takes a step closer, and I find myself rooted to the spot, unable to move away even if I wanted to.

“I tried to call you,” he says softly. “So many times. I wanted to explain, to tell you...”

“I had to block your number.” I needed to protect my heart , I almost add but I don’t.

“I understand.”

“Anyway, now that we’re here, what did you want to tell me?” I whisper, my heart racing.

Preston reaches out, his hand gently cupping my cheek. “That I love you. That I’ve been falling in love with you, it turns out, for some time, piece by piece, mosaic by mosaic, one crystal after another.”

I close my eyes, leaning into his touch despite myself. How was he to know that some months, his purchases had helped my little shop stay afloat and all that time, I had no idea how he felt about me.

How he’d been falling for me.

Opening my eyes, I cover his hand on my cheek with my own. “I love you too. I think I’ve been falling in love with you for a while now, every time you walked into my shop to buy something. I didn’t want to admit it, of course, in light of… you know, you and your brother’s history with Willy.”

He exhales. “The bullying.”

“Then that whole media circus about the rent increase and the revitalization project… and then Vivian,” I admit, my voice trembling. “So I pushed you away. I blocked your calls. I tried to convince myself that what I felt wasn’t real. But avoiding you wasn’t the answer. It just made me miserable.”

Preston tilts my chin up with his finger. “Are you still miserable?”

I shake my head. “Not right now, no. I just don’t know if this is really happening.”

He lowers his head, his lips touching mine softly as I melt into him. His touch feels so right. So familiar. His hands slip down my lower back, pulling me even closer, and for a moment, time stands still.

“What do you think now?”

“I think it’s happening,” I whisper against his lips. “But are you sure about this? Your world and mine are so different. I’m just a small time shop owner and you’re… well, you’re you. What will your mother say?”

“She’ll be happy for me,” he replies, resting his forehead against mine. “Because you and I are destined for great things together, Crystal. And I’m never letting you go again.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Yes, it is.”

As we stand there, a sense of rightness settles over me. Somehow I believe him. Either that, or I’m ready to let my walls fall—if I haven’t let them fall already.

“We should probably get back to the party,” I say after a while, though I make no move to leave his embrace.

“Probably,” he agrees, not looking like he’s in a hurry to join the party as he pulls me to him. “But first...”

He leans in for another kiss, and I meet him halfway, my arms circling his neck as his lips cover mine, the butterflies in my stomach fluttering like crazy. I don’t even care that we’ll be late.

After all, some things are worth being fashionably late for.

Thank you so much for reading Merry With A Tycoon !