Five Years Gone Page 18

  I love being part of a couple again, and I particularly love sharing my life with Eric. We’re all but living together in the loft, and he’s been making comments lately about me giving up my place and making it official. But we haven’t actually made that decision yet, at least I haven’t. Something is holding me back from fully committing to living with him. Maybe it’s because the last time I moved in with a guy, it went so terribly wrong in the end.

  Eric and I spend the afternoon wrapping presents and making love. At the last possible minute, we drag ourselves out of bed to shower and change for the party.

  “Two hours max, and then we’re coming home,” he says as I pack up the appetizers I made earlier.

  “What’s your rush?”

  “Santa can’t come until we’re asleep,” he says with a wink. He’s wearing a red plaid shirt that would look tacky on anyone else. On him, it’s classy—or it is until he adds a tie with tiny Santas all over it.

  “Did I know you’re a Christmas geek? That seems like something I should’ve been told before now.”

  “Is my baby a secret Scrooge? Seems like something I should’ve been told before now.”

  I adjust his tie and fix the knot before placing my hands on his chest. “Christmas has been tough for me the last few years. I’m hoping we can make some new memories this year.”

  He hooks his arm around my waist and kisses me. “That’s the plan.”

  We take an Uber to Rob and Camille’s and arrive at the same time as Miles and Sky. Everyone is in high spirits as we exchange joke gifts and drink spiked eggnog that goes down way too easy.

  “Don’t get drunk,” Eric whispers in my ear about an hour into the party. “We have plans later.”

  “What plans do we have?”

  He kisses my nose. “I’ll tell you later, but lighten up on the nog.”

  “Buzzkill.”

  “We’ll see if you’re saying that later.” Against my ear, he says, “And P.S., that sweater is so sexy I can’t even look at you or I’ll embarrass myself.”

  “This old thing?” I bought the white cashmere cowl-neck sweater on sale at Nordstrom, and this is the first time I’ve worn it.

  His low growl makes me laugh. I do that a lot these days. For a time there, I had good reason to wonder if I’d ever laugh again, but with Eric, remaining dour is impossible. He’s so endlessly upbeat and optimistic and funny. I crook my finger at him.

  “What’s up?” he asks, tipping his head closer so he can hear me over the hubbub.

  “I just want you to know I love you, and I wanted to thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “Putting me back together this year.”

  “Aw, sweetheart,” he says softly, “you did the same for me.” He brings our joined hands to his lips and kisses the back of mine. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “It’s only been an hour.”

  “I can’t wait anymore.”

  “For what?”

  “Come with me, and I’ll tell you.”

  Perplexed by his mysteriousness and on fire with curiosity, I help him make our excuses. We take some major abuse from our friends and family about our early departure. When we’re outside, Eric puts his arm around me. “Let’s walk.”

  I left the dishes I’d brought at Camille’s, so we’re traveling light on the way home. Though it’s cold, the air is refreshing. A light snow is falling, adding to the magical atmosphere.

  “What’s not to love about Christmas in the city?” Eric asks, humming “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas.”

  “I have to admit the festive windows, the greenery, the snow and the sense of expectation have been contagious.”

  “I want this to be the best Christmas you’ve ever had.”

  “It already is.”

  He kisses my cheek and picks up the pace until I tell him to slow down because I can’t keep up with him. Shocking the living hell out of me, he swings me up into his arms and carries me the last block to his place, where he puts me in charge of doors and locks.

  “Put me down before you pull something and ruin your holiday—and mine.”

  “Not quite yet,” he says, carrying me into the loft and depositing me on the sofa.

  He helps me out of my coat and tosses it with his over a nearby chair.

  Then he gets down on his knees before me with the twinkling white lights on the tree providing the only light in the big room. Taking my hands, he kisses each of them and then my lips. “You’re the best thing to ever happen to me, Ava. I’ve fallen so hard for you that you’re all I think about, even when I’m supposed to be thinking about other things. There’s only you. Right when I’d given up on ever finding you, there you were at my brother’s wedding, so beautiful and sweet and everything I’d ever wanted.”

  Tears run unchecked down my face as I listen to him pour his heart out to me. I caress his face and hair and kiss him.

  “I want this,” he says, “just this, you and me, forever. Will you marry me, Ava?”

  “Yes.” I don’t hesitate, even for a second, to accept his heartfelt proposal. “I love you so much, and I’ve loved every minute we’ve spent together.”

  He leans his forehead on mine and releases a deep breath.

  “You weren’t worried I’d say no, were you?”

  “No, but I’m relieved you said yes.”

  “You have nothing to worry about where I’m concerned. I’m all yours.”

  We wrap our arms around each other and kiss like kissing is about to be outlawed. And when we finally come up for air, he gasps. “I forgot the most important part!” Reaching between the couch cushions, he produces a blue Tiffany box that he opens to reveal a stunning diamond ring.

  I cover my mouth as more tears cascade down my face while I watch him slide the ring onto my left hand. “There. Now it’s official. I hope you like it. If you don’t—”

  I kiss him. “I love it, and I love you. I can’t wait to be married to you.” My sister and I will be married to brothers. How fun is that? My parents will be thrilled. They adore Eric. We can share our happy news in person tomorrow when we go to Purchase for dinner with my parents as well as Rob, Camille, Amy, Jules and Mr. Tilden.

  Eric hugs me so tightly, I can barely breathe, but I don’t want him to ever let go. Then he joins me on the sofa, where we celebrate our engagement until the wee hours of the morning.

  “Merry Christmas, sweet Ava,” he whispers before I finally give in to the pull of sleep.

  “Merry Christmas, Eric.”

  I fall asleep with a smile on my face, but I dream of a dark-haired, brooding soldier with intense blue eyes who chases me through a maze with no beginning, no end and no way out.

  Chapter Twenty

  ERIC

  The definition of joy is “a feeling of great pleasure and happiness.” I know this because I looked it up the day after Ava and I got engaged. I once thought I’d never again be capable of true joy, but Ava showed me otherwise. I’ll be thankful to her forever for restoring my faith in humanity.

  It’s fitting that Rob and Camille are the first to hear our big news, since they’re the reason we met in the first place. We pick them up for the ride to Purchase, and when they’re settled in the backseat of my car, Ava turns and flashes her bling.

  Camille lets out a bloodcurdling scream that makes us laugh.

  “Jesus, woman,” Rob mutters, rubbing his ear.

  Reaching for Ava’s hand, Camille takes a good look at the ring. “Well done, Eric. It’s gorgeous.”

  “I love it,” Ava says, beaming at me.

  I’m so glad she’s happy with the ring. I agonized over which one to get her, and I’ve had it for a month as I counted down to Christmas Eve. Guys are told to never give engagement rings for Christmas or birthdays because they count as gifts that the woman gets to keep if the relationship goes south. If this relationship goes south, she can keep the ring. That’ll be the least of my concerns.

  The last th
ing I want to think about today is my worst-case scenario. Today I want to wallow in the joy I feel at having found my soul mate, my perfect partner and the woman of my dreams.

  Rob squeezes my shoulder. “Congrats, bud. Happy for you.”

  “Thanks,” I say, smiling at my brother in the rearview mirror.

  Ava and Camille chatter all the way to Purchase about weddings and wedding planners and wedding venues.

  “Get ready,” Rob mutters when they come up for air. “It’s gonna be all-wedding-all-the-time until the big day.”

  “Be quiet, Rob,” Camille says. “When all you have to do is show up in a tux and say ‘I do,’ you don’t get to make fun of the process.”

  “Be glad you’re not marrying a lawyer,” Rob says. “At least you’ll have a chance at actually winning an argument.”

  “Ava and I don’t argue,” I say, squeezing her hand. The biggest fight we’ve had since we’ve been together is over how to load the dishwasher. She’s a sorter—in her world, the silverware must be separated by type into compartments while loading, which I think is a waste of time. What the hell does it matter if you sort going in or coming out? According to my beloved, it matters greatly. I refuse to sort. She refuses to throw the silverware in the basket willy-nilly the way I would if left to my own devices. I’ve caught her reorganizing my work, which led to more bickering.

  Apparently, I also snore when I drink, which she handles by poking me until I wake up and turn over.

  As you can see, being with Ava is a terrible hardship, but we’ve managed to work through our “differences.” We agree on everything that matters. Our priorities are in alignment. We care greatly about our family and friends, our community and our careers. We both enjoy volunteering our time to worthy causes, such as the local food bank and after-school programs for underprivileged kids. Ava got her entire office, even Catty Caitlyn, to donate a Saturday to paint a community center that runs programs for at-risk youth. I helped, too, mostly because I didn’t want to spend an entire day without her.

  Yeah, I’m that far gone over her, but whatever. She makes me happy, and I like being happy. It’s such a huge departure from where I was this time last year, when I didn’t know which end was up or how I would survive what Brittany had done to me. After the months I’ve spent with Ava, Brittany feels like a bad dream that happened to someone else.

  We arrive at Ava’s parents’ house and share our news with our families, who are overjoyed.

  “Here’s to sisters marrying brothers,” her dad says, toasting us at dinner.

  “Hear, hear.” My dad raises his glass to us. “Happy for you both.”

  “When’s the big day?” Jules asks Ava.

  “We haven’t talked about that yet, but maybe next summer?” She looks to me for confirmation.

  “Whatever you want is fine with me.”

  “Careful,” Rob says. “A sentence like that sets a dangerous precedent.”

  His wife smacks him upside the head, making everyone laugh. “Shut up, Rob.”

  “I’d better get back to dating,” Amy says during dessert. “That’s the only thing the two of you have ever done better than me.”

  “Whatever,” Rob says, rolling his eyes. “We did everything better than you.”

  “Um, no,” Amy says indignantly. “That’s not true. Who graduated highest in our high school class out of the three of us? Who qualified for the junior Olympics in gymnastics? Who was the first to make enough money to buy her own car?” Amy holds up her hand to her ear. “What’s that? No comments from my womb-mates?”

  I grimace. “Don’t talk about wombs over Christmas dinner.”

  “Christmas is all about the womb,” Amy retorts.

  “If we’re going to talk about girl parts,” Rob says, his eyes dancing with glee, “then—”

  Whatever he was going to say is muffled by Camille’s hand over his mouth. “I have no idea how that sentence was going to end, and I, for one, do not want to know.”

  Rob nibbles on her hand, and Camille dissolves into giggles.

  It’s a very good day—one of the best Christmases I’ve ever had, even if the glaring absence of my mother makes it a far different holiday from what I’m used to. Nothing can bring me down today.

  Or so I think.

  * * *

  AVA

  I’m flying high from last night and a wonderful day with our families. The excitement of our engagement and the talk of wedding plans has consumed me today. I don’t realize until we get home that I never gave Eric the gifts I bought for him, which have been under our tree for weeks now.

  “Come open your gifts,” I say, taking his hand to lead him to the sofa.

  “I have some for you, too.”

  “You gave me a ring! That’s more than enough.”

  “That was a life gift, not a Christmas gift.”

  He loves the photo frame I got him for his office that I loaded with tons of pictures of us together and wants to see every photo before he moves on to the next gift, which is a framed piece of artwork with the following words written in a beautiful script font:

  When I was at my lowest, there you were to raise me up.

  “I love this, Ava,” he says in a hushed voice. “I could say the same for you.”

  “I thought we might find a place to put it where we can both enjoy it.”

  “In the bedroom.”

  “That works for me.”

  He puts an arm around me and kisses me. “Thank you. Not just for this, but for everything.”

  I smile and return his kiss. “Ditto.”

  My gifts to him include courtside seats to see his beloved Knicks play the Lakers at Madison Square Garden.

  “How’d you score courtside seats?” he asks, clearly thrilled with the gift.

  “One word: Miles.”

  “I love him—almost as much as I love you. This is fabulous. Thank you!”

  His happiness is my happiness. It really is that simple.

  He got me tickets to see “Hello, Dolly” on Broadway and my very first I Love NY T-shirt, which he said I had to have as an official New York City resident. The last thing he gives me is the sexiest lingerie I’ve ever owned, from La Perla.

  “I can’t wait to see that on you.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of making you wait.” Giving him a saucy look, I get up, take the package with me and go into the bedroom to change. The lavender-and-black-lace baby-doll nightgown leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination, which, of course, is the whole point. I don the matching thong and top off the outfit with a pair of spike heels. I put a little wiggle in my walk when I model it for Eric.

  He stares at me with fire in his gaze. Twirling his finger, he asks me to turn and show him the back.

  I smile at him over my shoulder. “What do you think?”

  “I think,” he says slowly, “that I have to be the luckiest guy who ever lived.”

  I saunter over to him, and propping a knee on either side of him, I straddle him and run my fingers through his hair. “The luck runs both ways.”

  He cups my ass and pulls me in tight against his erection. “Nah. I’m way luckier than you are.”

  “No way.”

  “Mmm,” he says, kissing me. “Yes, way.”

  The “argument” ends in a draw, with both of us “winning” when we make love right there, with me on top of him. I feel his love for me in every kiss, every caress and every deep thrust of his cock. In his arms, I’m able to let go of everything and give myself to him completely. I can’t believe it’s possible that our lovemaking is even more intense since we got engaged, but there’s something to be said for commitment.

  Afterward, we lie on the sofa with the Christmas tree lights casting a soft, romantic glow over us. Outside, the wind howls and the snow that was predicted for tonight begins to fall.

  “This was the best Christmas I’ve ever had,” I tell him, smoothing my hand over his arm.

  “I had that same thought earlier. W
e’re going to have to work really hard to top this one.”

  “I’m up to that challenge if you are.”

  “We’ve got a lifetime of Christmases to look forward to, and I’ll gladly take that challenge.”

  I’m on the verge of dozing off when my phone buzzes with a text that I ignore. Whatever it is can wait until tomorrow. Then it buzzes three more times in rapid succession, and I begin to fear that something is wrong. “Let me check that.”

  Eric releases me so I can reach for the phone on the coffee table. The texts are from Miles:

  Ava? Are you up?

  Have you seen the news?

  Ava?

  Turn on the TV.

  I stare at the phone for a long time, torn between wanting to know what’s up and not wanting to know. This has been the best day of my life, and I don’t want anything to ruin it. Not that long ago, a text like that would’ve sent me flying for the remote. Now, I don’t want to know. But Miles can see that I’ve read the texts, so I respond to him.

  On my way to sleep. What’s up?

  He responds instantly. Al Khad’s associates released a recording of the raid to show how American service members attacked his family and other civilians. They’ve outed the US commandos who orchestrated the raid. It’s all over the news. You can see their faces…

  “Ava?” Eric’s voice is husky with sleep. “What is it?” When I don’t reply, he pushes himself up on one elbow. “Sweetheart, you’re shaking. What’s wrong?”

  I hand him my phone so he can see the texts from Miles.

  “Oh my God. Do you want to see the video?”

  “I… I don’t know. Part of me does, but an even bigger part of me doesn’t.”

  “Do you want me to look for you?”

  I once showed him a picture of John, so he’d be able to pick him out. “I… I don’t know what to do.”

  “I’ll do whatever you want me to.”

  “Just hold me for now. That’s what I need.”