Difficult to imagine, but given he hoped to appeal to Rafael’s charitable side maybe it was worth a shot. And he believed in encouraging staff initiative and drive.
‘Knock yourself out,’ he said.
‘Fabulous. I’ll hit the shops.’
* * *
Ruby crouched down and carefully moved the small potted tree a couple of centimetres to the left of the hearth. She inhaled the scent of fir and soil and felt a small glow of satisfaction at a job well done. Or at least she thought so—Ethan clearly had reservations about the whole Christmas idea, and her research into Rafael Martinez had shown her why.
Like Ethan Caversham, he had a reputation for ruthlessness, and an internet trawl had revealed images of a man with a dark aura. Midnight hair, tall, with a dominant nose and deep black eyes. Unlike Ethan, he’d left a score of girlfriends in his wake—all glamorous, gorgeous and very, very temporary. For a second Ruby dwelled on Ethan, and curiosity about his love-life bubbled. But it was none of her business.
He’s your boss, nothing more.
‘Hey.’
Ruby leapt up and swivelled round. Chill, Ruby. Ethan was many things, but he was not a mind-reader.
‘Hey. Sorry. You startled me.’ She gestured around. ‘What do you think? I was just making sure the trees don’t overshadow Dash and Dot.’
‘Dash and Dot?’
Ruby chewed her bottom lip. Idiot.
Ethan’s lips turned up in a sudden small smile and her toes curled. For a second he’d looked way younger, and she could remember her flash of gratification at winning a rare smile all those years ago.
‘You named the china dogs?’
‘Yes. In my head. I have to admit I didn’t intend to share that fact with anyone. But, yes, I did. Queen Victoria had a spaniel called Dash, you see.’ Ruby puffed out a sigh. ‘And then I thought of Dot because of Morse code. Anyway, what do you think?’
‘Excellent names,’ he said, his features schooled to gravity, though amusement glinted in his eyes.
Ruby couldn’t help but chuckle, despite the clawing worry that he’d loathe what she’d done. ‘I meant the decorations.’
Hope that he’d approve mixed with annoyance at her need for approval. A hangover from childhood, when approval had been at high premium and in short supply.
Surely he had to like it? Her gaze swept over the small potted trees on either side of the fireplace and the wreath hanging above. Took in the lightly scented candles on the mantelpiece and the backdrop of tasteful branch lights casting a festive hint.
‘It’s incredible.’
‘No need to sound surprised.’ Sheer relief curved her lips into a no doubt goofy grin. ‘Admit it. You thought I would produce something ghastly and flashy.’
‘I should have had more faith.’
‘Absolutely. Don’t get me wrong, I can do tacky schmaltz—in fact I have done. A few years back I worked in a café called Yvette’s. Yvette herself was lovely, but she was incredibly sentimental. On Valentine’s Day you could barely move for helium-filled heart balloons, and as for Christmas... I provided gaudy tinsel, baubles, mistletoe—and this absolutely incredibly tacky light-up Father Christmas that had to be seen to be believed.’
Ethan glanced at her. ‘You’re a woman of many talents. But what about you? What kind of Christmas is your kind?’
The question caught her off guard and without permission her brain conjured up her game plan Christmas. ‘Me? Um... Well... I’ve spent every Christmas working for the past decade, so I go with my employers’ flow.’
‘So it’s just another day for you? You said you were a Christmas kind of gal.’
‘I am.’ His words pushed all her buttons and she twisted to face him. ‘It’s a time of celebration. I’m not overly religious, but I do believe it is way more than just another day. It’s a time for giving—a magical day.’
His lips were a straight line as he contemplated her words. ‘Giving, yes. Magic, no. That’s idealistic. Christmas Day doesn’t magically put an end to poverty or disease or crime.’
‘No, it doesn’t. But it is an opportunity to strive for a ceasefire—to try and alleviate sadness and spread some happiness and cheer. Don’t you believe that?’
He hesitated, opened his mouth and then closed it again. Waited a beat and then, ‘Yes, Ruby. I do believe that.’
‘Good. It’s also about being with the people you care about and...’
The familiar tug of loss thudded behind her ribcage...the wondering as to the whereabouts of her siblings, the hope that their Christmas would be a joyful one. It would. Of course it would. They had a loving adoptive family, and the thought encased her in a genuine blanket of happiness.
Seeing Ethan’s blue-grey eyes resting on her expression, she went on. ‘And if you can’t do that then I think it’s still wonderful to be part of someone else’s happiness. That’s why I’ve always worked Christmas Day; watching other families celebrate is enough for now.’
‘For now?’
‘Sure.’ Keep it light. ‘One day I’ll have a family, and then...’
‘Then all will be well in the world?’ His scathing tone shocked her.
‘Yes.’ The affirmation fell from her lips with way too much emphasis. ‘And when I have a family I can tell you the exact Christmas I’ll have. An enormous tree, the scent of pine, crackers, decorated walls, holly, ivy, stockings with a candy cane peering over the top. The table laid with cutlery that gleams in the twinkle of Christmas lights. In the centre a golden turkey and all the extras. Pigs in blankets, roast potatoes, roast parsnips, stuffing and lashings of gravy. But most important of all there’ll be children. My family. Because that is what Christmas is about. And that is magical.’
Ruby hauled in breath as realisation dawned that she might have got a tad carried away.
‘Anyway, obviously that is in the far distant future and not something I need to worry about right now.’
It would take time to save enough money to support a family—time to go through the lengthy adoption process.
‘No, it isn’t.’ Ethan’s voice was neutral now, his eyes hooded. ‘And now isn’t the time to dream of future Christmases.’
‘It’s not a dream. It’s a goal. That’s different.’
Dreams were insubstantial clouds—stupid aspirations that might never be attained. Goals—goals were different. Goals were definitive. And Ruby was definite that she would have a family. By hook or by crook.
‘But you’re right. I need to be in the kitchen—or you and Rafael will be eating candle wax for dinner.’
‘Hang on.’ His forehead was slashed with a deep frown. ‘I meant now is the time to think about present-day Christmas. What are your plans for this year?’
His voice had a rough edge of concern to it and Ruby frowned. The last thing she wanted was for Ethan Caversham to feel sorry for her—the idea was insupportable.
‘I’ll be fine. I have plans.’
Sure. Her plan was to shut herself away in her apartment and watch weepy movies with a vat of ice cream. But that counted as a plan, right? It wasn’t even that she was mourning Hugh—she was bereft at the loss of a dream. Because for all her lofty words she had been stupid enough to take her eye off the goal and allow herself to dream. And Hugh had crushed that