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I don’t know why Cam looked at me earlier, or why she blushed in response. It suggested they’d argued about me—why would that be?
I give her a small smile. I can’t deny that I’m glad he left. I just hope she doesn’t go after him.
“Well, this is turning out to be quite the evening,” Tyson states. He looks at Gaby. “You want a divorce now or do you want to wait until the end of the day?”
Juliette snorts and James gives him the finger, which makes the rest of us laugh.
The waiter comes back with the whiskies and a fresh bowl of mulled wine.
“Are you staying?” Gaby asks Juliette.
“Yeah,” she says. “Fuck it.” She ladles the wine into her glass. “I’m going to get drunk and enjoy myself with my friends.”
“Glad to hear it,” Gaby says cheerfully. “To friendship.” They clink glasses, and everyone else joins in. Then there’s no more time to talk as the MC starts the next round of the quiz.
Now that Cassie and Cam have departed, the mood around the table improves vastly. We order some platters of food and mince pies to follow, and the waiter is kept busy bringing more mulled wine and whisky to the table.
In between rounds, we chat and tell jokes, and I watch Juliette start to unravel. It’s like everything about her is turned up to eleven; her eyes are too bright, her laugh too high. She’s in seven kinds of pain, but she’s determined to ignore the fact that her relationship is crumbling around her ears.
When the quiz finishes and we collect our prize for coming second—a box of chocolates—the music starts. We all continue to chat for a few songs, but then Justin Bieber’s Mistletoe starts up.
“Everyone up,” Alex states, and we all groan. “I want to dance and I’m not making Missie climb over everyone—up!”
We all slide along the benches and get to our feet. Tyson leads Gaby onto the dance floor, and Alex heads off with Missie.
Juliette watches them go, then looks at me. Jesus, she’s so fucking beautiful. I know she belongs to someone else, but he’s not here, and she’s unhappy, and all I can think is that I want to make her feel better. So I offer her my hand.
I half expect her to decline and say it’s time she left. But her lips curve up, just a little. And then she slides her hand into mine.
My heart soars. I lead her away, onto the dance floor, turn to face her and slide my right hand onto her waist. Then we begin to move.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see James and Aroha also take to the floor a few feet away, but I don’t look at them, giving them their privacy. There’s magic in the air tonight, the whisper of promise, like rustling presents beneath a Christmas tree, and I’m not interested in anything except the woman in my arms.
For a long while, we don’t say anything. Juliette’s left hand rests on my shoulder, and we move slowly together. To an onlooker I’m sure we must look like strangers, with our pose formal, and a good six inches between us.
But I can barely breathe. I know she wears Shalimar perfume because she loves the story behind it—that Jacques Guerlain decided to pay homage to the way that Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan built the Taj Mahal to honor his beloved wife after her death—and the fresh, sensual scent brings goosebumps out all over my skin.
My fingers curl around hers, and I have to fight not to brush her skin with my thumb. She keeps her gaze fixed on my throat, so I have plenty of time to study her shiny brown hair in its neat twist, her smooth, flawless skin, her long dark lashes.
We dance for ages, and gradually, her stiff spine begins to relax, and she moves closer to me. We speed up for a while with Mariah Carey’s All I Want For Christmas is You, and I spin her around and make her laugh, but when Judy Garland starts singing Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, we move closer together again. Juliette lets out a little sigh, then finally closes the distance between us and rests her cheek on my shoulder.
I wish it was romantic, but I can feel how melancholy she is, how sad. Wanting to hold her, I slide my arm around her waist and pull her against me, and we move slowly to the music. I press my lips on the top of her hair in a gentle kiss, and I know she feels it because she sighs.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, not sure why she and Cam were arguing about me, but hating the fact that I might be the source of her misery.
She lifts her head and moves back from me a little. Her eyes glisten as she looks up at me.
“You always make me feel better,” she says.
I look into her big brown eyes. “That’s what I’m here for.”
She swallows hard, fighting against tears. Ah, she’s so unhappy. It’s breaking my heart.
“Why don’t you talk to me?” I ask. “I’m your friend, right? Tell me what’s bothering you.”
She glances around. “Not here. I don’t want to bawl my eyes out in public.”
“You want to go somewhere else?”
