I Do

Chapter 28

As if being stuffed into a spare guest bedroom on a lumpy mattress that had an odd scent wasn't torture enough, my curly-haired fiancé was jittery throughout the night, tossing and turning with an infantile excitement.

"Harry," I'd snapped, my voice harsh in the sinister silence of night. "Will you lie still?"

"It's Christmas Eve," he'd protested in a whisper, swiveling around so that his electric green eyes that glimmered with anticipation met my weary blue ones. "I can't help it."

"Learn to, then," I demanded, exasperatedly burying my face in the starchy pillow in an effort to escape the dense, smothering tension that was tainting our relationship.

"Aren't you the least bit excited that it's Christmas Eve, though?" Harry murmured, persistent in his attempts to restore peace between us. Hadn't he noticed that all my smiles in his direction had been forced? Wasn't he aware of the strained quality of our conversations? Didn't he realize that I was simply not in the mood to discuss things with him?

"Not especially." I closed the conversation abruptly, sighing sleepily and shifting to face the empty side of the bed. Harry inhaled heavily, slumping backwards into his pillow. For a moment, my muscles stiffened and my jaw clenched as I mentally prepared for an argument. An argument that never came.

Tucking a silky curl behind my ear, I waltz past the tacky Christmas tree, which is coated in ugly homemade ornaments and reeks of a pungent evergreen scent. Why in God's name don't people purchase flawlessly decorated, artificial ones that don't smother the air and aren't cloaked in tacky objects? Prancing away, I notice a massive, bulging bag stuffed with the remnants of wrapping paper and roll my flawlessly black-lined eyes. Of course they proceeded to unwrap all the gifts without me.

I storm into the tidy kitchen, where Anne is hunched over the stove, preoccupied with the fierce stirring of a holiday soup. Gemma lounges carelessly at the kitchen table, chatting nonchalantly with her mother. Her gaze flicks towards me and with a prissy, slightly uncomfortable smile, she wishes me good morning. God, what I wouldn't give to be in Paris.

"Merry Christmas," I reply dryly. "Where's Harry?" As irritating as he's been, I'd prefer his company to that of his family; we, in particular, are as agreeable as a hive of bumbling, vicious bees and a honey-craving bear.

"Out," Gemma offers unhelpfully. "Did you sleep well?" Her concern over my sleep is so insincere that I nearly gag.

"Fine, thank you," I inform her tightly. "Where is out?" I peek through the green curtains framing the window, half-expecting Harry to be flailing outside in the snow. He honestly is such a child. But no, the driveway is barren and the snow untouched. So where the hell is he?

"He said something about dropping off gifts," Anne chimes in, smiling tenderly. "Can I get anything for you? Breakfast? Juice?" I've never quite been able to pinpoint what I dislike about Harry's mum, but this is most certainly a factor. From the moment I met her, she's always seemed so clingy, so overly perky. As though she's desperately trying to conceal the fact that, in reality, she disapproves of my relationship with her son with a ferocity only a protective mother contains.

I glower, my icy blue eyes swamped with rage at the realization. What kind of man abruptly abandons his beautiful fiancée on the biggest, most celebrated holiday of the year without even letting her know where he's gone? Well, merry effing Christmas.

-Hallie-

An alarmed shriek explodes from my chapped lips and I scoop up a handful of snow, tossing it defensively in Harry's direction. The icy wind has chilled me to the bone, my flesh is numb, my throat burns uncontrollably, my fingers are as solid as bricks, numerous snowballs have smashed into my face, and I'm having the time of my life.