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At least the huge Christmas tree in the living room had already been decorated, providing some sense of a festive spirit. Even if my stomach continued to churn.

Before heading downstairs, I pulled out my phone, hoping to see a text or a missed call.

There was nothing.

I’d already sent him a couple of texts with no response. With the first, I’d known he was alive because he’d read my text. So far he hadn’t with the second. What if something horrible had happened to him?

Right now, I couldn’t think about that. I moved downstairs and into the kitchen, struggling with more nerves than before. My frustration was turning into fury and when I poured a glass of wine, I spilled because my hand was shaking so badly.

I also realized after the fact that chugging red wine wasn’t a good idea, coughing until I laughed. How could anyone live this way? How?

Standing in the man’s expansive kitchen with all his gleaming appliances staring back at me, Christmas music heard throughout the entire first floor, I was taken by how normal everything felt while being as surreal as any relationship could be. I had no idea whether Maxsim was dead or alive. I’d been sick inside since being forced from the party.

I’d made excuses to my friends and colleagues that Maxsim had something special planned while knowing there was a good chance I’d never see him again. I’d pretended while on the phone with Hope that I was in good spirits when every passing second I was dying a little more inside.

She’d even mentioned she was hoping to see Sergei during the holiday week. I’d almost told her to shut down her feelings for him and that he wasn’t good for her, but it wasn’t my business.

The situation was crazy, a rollercoaster of emotions at best. But here I was hoping against all odds that at any minute he’d walk through that door.

I took another sip of wine, which turned into another more controlled gulp. Why did I find the one man I should avoid the one I was falling hopelessly in love with? Why? Why couldn’t I pick a nice and very boring accountant?

Every time I mused over the idea for long enough, thoughts of Steve entered my mind. He’d been perfectly normal, perfectly boring, and everything I hadn’t wanted.

Fuck it.

At least I could make myself useful and place the presents around the tree. Then I’d nibble on the sugar cookies Mina had helped me bake and place them in a festive plate for Santa before chomping down on the carrot sticks since the reindeer had deserved treats too.

And if that man decided not to make it for Christmas, I’d make certain he was placed on the naughty list.

For the rest of his life.

I laughed, choking on the sound as I did and all while a single tear slipped down my face. “This is ridiculous. He’s a big boy. He can take care of himself.”

Fortunately, I’d found wrapping paper for the special doll Julie had helped me find the night before and instead of making a tag that said Santa like the others, I’d make it from her papa. As I grabbed the doll and a few other presents, another tear rolled down my cheek. Nope. I wasn’t going to be sad. I had no reason to think anything was wrong.

His men would have gone nuts and they were casually strolling the grounds as if everything was perfectly normal. At least I’d learned they had a building all to themselves where they could relax and grab some sleep.

I was laughing by the time I reached the tree. Once again, how perfectly normal.

Six trips later and the tree looked beautiful while I was at the point of exhaustion. There were even a dozen dog toys, which couldn’t have surprised me more. Since I’d purchased a few, I’d say the pup was going to enjoy his first Christmas.

I knelt in front of the tree and rearranged a few packages, noticing one with my name on it.

He’d bought me something. Oh, wait. There was a second one. I don’t know why that struck me so hard, except that Steve had all but forgotten to get me anything the year before. My, how things changed.

Damn it. I told myself I wasn’t going to cry.

I glanced at the couple of packages with his name on them. Reaching over, I rolled my finger across the huge bow I’d made myself and for about a million reasons, the floodgates opened.

I’d never liked to cry and hadn’t in a very long time. I’d learned to be strong after having lost my family to one thing after another. Once I’d decided to stop crying, very little if anything had caused me to shed even a single tear.

Maybe the reason was because I’d found a family and one that I adored, so much so I was terrified of losing them.

While I could call Hope, she was with her parents celebrating a wonderful family holiday. I’d never felt so very much all alone as I did right now.

And it sucked.

Maybe a good cry had been exactly what I’d needed. When the floodgates were finally closed, I sat back while Nat King Cole crooned about the warmth of a fire. A few seconds later, I moved to the couch. If I was going to feel sorry for myself, I’d do so comfortably.