The Holiday Games

Chapter 6

six

. . .

Leo

D amn it.

I don’t want to talk about Vivian.

I don’t want to think about Vivian. I’d be happy to forget Vivian ever existed, in fact, and devote myself to worshiping Caroline Cane’s body full time, but her big blue eyes are already filling with horror.

“You knew?” she wheezes.

I exhale. “Not at first, no. But once I had time to think about it, I put the pieces together. What about you? When did you connect the dots? Before or after you signed a production contract with my company? If it was before, can we agree that ruining my show isn’t in either of our best interests? We both stand to lose a lot of time and money.”

“Can we talk about this somewhere else?” she whispers, her gaze cutting to our left before returning to my face. “Somewhere my ex-boyfriend isn’t staring at us and crying?”

I glance toward the picked-over Christmas tree stand, surprised to see her hometown honey swiping at his face with his big fists. Beside him, the brunette in the elf costume is rolling her eyes hard enough that her head is getting involved.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she mutters. “You’ve been talking about breaking up with her for four months! I thought this is what you wanted.”

“I thought I did,” Chris says with a sniff. “But seeing her with someone else…” His focus sharpens on Caroline’s face, desperation flashing in his eyes. “Candy, please, this isn’t who we are. We aren’t big city people, and we won’t ever be happy with big city people. Let’s forget this happened, get the eight o’clock train back home, and make it official, okay?”

Caroline clears her throat. “Um…what?”

“I’m ready to propose!” The Rockette backs away from him with a disgusted sound as he drops to one knee, his arms outstretched. “I shouldn’t have kept you waiting for two years, baby. I’m so sorry. That’s my fault. I understand why you felt tempted by some big city jerk. But I can forgive you, and we can move on like it never happened. I promise. I know we’ll be so happy.”

“Wow,” Caroline says flatly. “That’s decent of you, Chris, but I meant what I said. I’m not attracted to you.”

I wince at the bluntness, but he deserves it.

More than deserves it.

“I don’t want to be your girlfriend,” she continues, “let alone your wife. And I did nothing that requires your forgiveness.” She hooks a thumb my way. “That was the first time I’ve ever kissed this man.”

“B-but you said,” he stammers.

“I was lying to make you jealous,” she says. “Nothing happened in the igloo.”

His jaw drops, his expression frozen in shock for a beat before his features twist with anger. “That’s not cool, Candy. Lying isn’t cool.”

“I know, and that’s why I never do it,” she says, a fact I find comforting after my experience with her cousin. “But this time, I’m really glad I did. You deserved a dose of your own medicine. You’ve been lying to me since August. August, Chris! And exit tension dread…” She shakes her head. “I can’t even. We are so not meant to be.” She laughs, a light, easy sound, I know would make me feel lousy if I were in Chris’s shoes.

Which is great. I hope he kicks his own ass all the way back to Vermont. It’s no less than he deserves for being a cheating sack of shit.

“Seriously, Chris,” Caroline says with a shake of her head. “Go home. Read a book. Take several long looks in the mirror and think about where this went wrong.” She narrows her eyes. “And stay away from my inn. You’re not welcome at happy hour and the hot tub is no longer available for your complimentary use.”

“But my back!” Chris bleats, clutching at his spine as he staggers to his feet. “I need the heat for my back. The bathtub at the farm isn’t big enough. I’m a big guy.”

“Oh, shut up,” the Rockette says, pulling a handful of needles off a nearby tree and tossing them at his face. “I thought country boys were supposed to be loyal sweethearts who taught city girls the true meaning of Christmas, not dirty, two-timing liars. I mean, your middle name is literally ‘Christmas.’ You should suck less.”

“He really should,” Caroline agrees. “His parents are lovely and raised him right. He has no excuse.”

His face beat red, Chris flashes both women a heated look before turning to charge through the remaining trees, out onto the open dock at the back of the expo center, where the other vendors are loading up their things.

“Well, that was a bust,” the Rockette says with a sigh. Glancing Caroline’s way, she adds, “I’m sorry about helping him cheat. He had me convinced you were like Mr. Rochester’s wife in Jane Eyre, some madwoman in the attic he had to stay with, or you’d wander into the mountains in a fit of mental illness and be eaten by bears.” She emits a short, sharp laugh. “I should have known better. Men always lie.”

“Not always,” I cut in. “The only thing I lie about is how much women are going to love my cat.”

The Rockette looks confused. “Why would you lie about that? Women love cats.” She shrugs. “I mean, I love cats. Cats are adorable.”

“Not my cat,” I say. “His owner left him with me four years ago, and he’s never gotten over it. He still tries to kill me at least once a day, and the last woman I brought home ended up with cat feces in her hair.”

“In her hair?” The Rockette wraps a hand around her throat in horror.

I nod. “Yes. The cat crept in quietly while we were sleeping and left a present for us on her pillow. By the time we woke up it was everywhere, and Megan didn’t think I was such a great catch, after all. Greg laughed about it for days.”

“Greg?” Caroline’s eyes widen. “The cat’s name is Greg?”

“It is.”

“That was my cousin’s cat’s name,” she says. “The one who died before she left the city.”

Ah-ha.

Perhaps proving Vivian is a liar will be easier than I thought…

“Is that what she said?” I ask, a pleasant warmth flushing my skin. I don’t usually take pleasure in revenge, but Vivian is a special case. Just like cheaters, pet-abandoning people who lie about dead cats deserve every bit of payback coming their way. “No, Greg is still very much alive. And exactly where Vivian left him when she bailed on me without bothering to ask if I wanted to adopt my ex-girlfriend’s cat.”

“But she said he died,” Caroline repeats, blinking faster, obviously still not getting the “Vivian is a sociopath” memo. “In the city. That he was run over by a bike messenger, and you didn’t care at all. She said you insisted on going to some fundraiser thing at a comedy club the same night, even though she’d been crying all day and was so upset she could barely stand up. She showed us pictures!”

A scowl claws into my forehead. “Of a dead cat?”

“Yes,” Caroline says, before adding with a wrinkle of her nose, “I mean, no. Not of the cat. But there was a big shoebox she’d decorated to use as a casket and a gravesite with a tiny marker on it. She said she’d buried him in secret in Central Park and that someday, when we came down for a shopping trip, she’d show me his grave and we’d leave flowers.”

“Huh,” I say.

Caroline brows lift. “That’s all you have to say? Huh? ”

I shake my head. “No, I just…” I laugh. “That’s a new level of bizarre. Even for Vivian. On some level, she must have felt guilty about leaving him, I guess.” I frown as I ponder aloud, “Do you think she believes her own lies? Maybe not at first, but eventually? Given enough time and distance and fake funerals?”

“I can’t believe this,” Caroline says.

“Me, either. It’s wild,” the Rockette says, making us both flinch.

“Sorry, I forgot you were here,” Caroline says, clearing her throat. “Is there…something you need?”

The Rockette laughs. “Oh, no, sorry. I was just sucked into the drama. If this story is true, your cousin is probably a sociopath. They’re way more common than people think. I heard like seven or eight percent of the population or something!”

“Thank you,” I say, motioning toward the woman. “See, she gets it.”

The Rockette nods. “Yeah, my grandmother was the same way. Never met a story she wouldn’t exaggerate just for the fun of it.” She rolls her eyes. “Or to get sympathy or extra cigarettes from the other inmates. She was in prison for fraud by the time I was a teenager, but I still went to visit her. When Grammy wasn’t feeding you a load of bullshit, she was a super fun lady.” She frowns, her gaze growing distant as she adds, “Maybe that’s why I keep falling for liars. I should probably take a look at that.” She lifts a hand, smiling vaguely as she wanders away. “See you two around. Good luck with the cat and maybe try dating if that feels right. That kiss was super-hot.”

“Thanks,” Caroline says, her cheeks flushing. She keeps her gaze fixed on a spot over my shoulder as she mumbles, “It was pretty hot.”

“It was incredible,” I say.

Her forehead furrows. “But I can’t date my cousin’s ex.”

“Of course not,” I agree, pushing aside the disappointment inspired by her words. Right now, I have to focus on ensuring the survival of my show. We’re supposed to be at the rink to start filming in less than two hours. “But could you work for him? If he proved to you that Vivian isn’t a person who deserves your loyalty?”

She nibbles on her bottom lip. “I don’t know. I still can’t believe this is real. Vivian’s never lied to me.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, keeping my tone gentle. “Or maybe you just never noticed the lies because you’re a decent person who takes people at their word?”

She plucks at the front of her sweater. “I…I don’t know.”

“But you know what Greg looks like?”

Her gaze sharpens, refocusing on mine as she nods. “Of course. No doubt. I met Greg lots of times. Vivian adopted him while she was home for summer break in college. He’s a big fluffy orange tabby with golden eyes, a white chest, and a heart-shaped birthmark on his back paw.”

I frown. “Really? A heart-shaped mark? I’ve never noticed that.”

Caroline looks relieved. “See! Maybe it isn’t Greg. Maybe this is all some big, confusing mistake.”

“Or maybe Greg is just such an asshole, I’ve never gotten close enough to inspect his back paws,” I say, still ninety-eight percent sure my Greg is her Greg. The tabby part certainly tracks. “There’s one way to find out.” I nod over my shoulder. “Up for a quick trip to my place? You can meet Greg, and if we decide to move forward, we can share a cab up to Central Park. I believe you’re supposed to be in wardrobe by seven thirty.”

“I am.” She studies my face another beat before nodding. “Okay, yes, I’ll come meet Greg. But fair warning, if it’s not Greg, I’m calling Vivian to sort this out. There’s no point in living in a state of angry confusion when a simple conversation can sort everything out.”

“Agreed,” I say. “Which is why I came back. Once I realized who you were, I knew we had to have a conversation.”

Caroline cocks her head, seeming to evaluate me anew. “Good. Communication is important.”

“So can I assume you had plans to communicate with me, as well?” I ask. “Eventually? Or were you planning to do something terrible to ruin my show before running away into the mountains of Vermont, never to be seen again?”

Her cheeks flush. “I wasn’t going to do something terrible .” She shrugs, adding in a mumble, “But maybe I thought I could get some dirt on you during filming. And maybe I could leak that dirt to the press and maybe you’d get cancelled. And maybe I would be okay with that since you hurt my cousin terribly.”

“That’s a lot of maybes,” I say, deciding not to touch the “hurting” Vivian part. One step at a time. First, I’ll prove to her that Vivian’s a liar. Then, we’ll move on to debunking whatever breakup story my ex whipped up for her family. “And it’s hard for a reality show scumbag to get cancelled. We behind-the-scenes guys get away with a lot of shit, and I haven’t done anything nearly dastardly enough to get cancelled. I’m actually a decent human being. Not great—a little bitter and jaded and prone to seeing the world through a glass darkly—but…decent.”

“I’ve noticed that about comedians,” she says thoughtfully. “Even the wholesome ones seem to see the darkness in the world more than most people.”

“That’s why we make jokes, I guess,” I murmur. “All the exit tension dread.”

A smile explodes across her face and her laugh vibrates through the air, making my heart lift.

Damn…that laugh. If I weren’t half in love with her already, that big, shameless laugh would have me well on my way.

When she catches her breath, she nods, still grinning. “Let’s meet your cat and go from there. No matter what we decide…thanks for what you did. Seeing Chris run out of here crying was a lot easier than feeling like the pathetic hometown girlfriend who got played.”

“You’re the farthest thing from pathetic,” I say, starting toward the door. “Up for the subway or are you a taxi girl?”

“I can handle the subway,” she says, falling in beside me.

I bet she can. She’s a formidable woman.

But can she handle learning her cousin is a pathological liar and still smile for the cameras tonight? That remains to be seen. But I can’t deny I’m looking forward to seeing her face when she realizes Vivian’s dead cat is still very much alive.

That’s going to be a moment I’ll never forget.

Much like that kiss…