One Midnight Kiss: A Billionaire Fake Fiancée Holiday Romance
One Midnight Kiss: Chapter 35

Waking up felt like surfacing from the depths of hell. It was so bad, I would actually welcome a trip back through the gates of hell to escape what was waiting for me when I fully embraced consciousness. My head pounded, my eyes felt glued shut, and my mouth was as dry as the Sahara. I cracked one eyelid open, only to be met with a black snout and two warm, wet noses pressing into my cheek.

“Frank, Harriet, bad dogs,” I groaned, nudging the two slobbering, snorting dogs away. They refused to budge, tongues lolling, practically vibrating with energy. They were looking at me like I was a milk bone. “Yeah, yeah, I missed you too.”

Harriet yelped in response.

I rolled out of the bed in Christa and Wilder’s guest room and stood, swaying a little. The dogs were circling my ankles. I did not have the strength or willpower to keep my balance with them trying to trip me. The room spun and I clutched the edge of the nightstand for balance.

How the hell did I end up here?

I steadied myself, dragging a hand over my face. Wilder’s house. Of course. It smelled like pine and the holiday candles Christa always had burning this time of year. The thick smell of cinnamon, clove, and something sweet, maybe vanilla, surrounded me. It took me a few seconds to collect my thoughts. It was a bit like a scavenger hunt trying to piece everything together.

I grabbed my phone and saw the day. Christmas. Shit.

How in the hell had I gotten here?

The hangover hinted at the answer. I managed to shuffle into the hallway bathroom and splashed cold water on my face, hoping to clear the cobwebs. Memories from last night flooded back in fragmented pieces.

Natalia storming out of my apartment like she’d seen a ghost. The expression on her face—shocked, almost betrayed—played on a loop behind my eyelids. I had said everything but that I loved her. And she’d run. She might have jumped out the window if I had told her I loved her. I was glad I didn’t go full truth on her.

I expected her to be surprised but not repulsed. Talk about a blow to the ego. But worse than that, it shredded my heart like cole slaw. I knew the risk of putting myself out there, but I never actually thought it would happen. I thought she felt something for me. I sure as hell didn’t expect her to outright flee in horror.

I sighed, gripping the sink, trying to push away the wave of nausea churning in my gut. Feeling sick on Christmas morning was like getting coal in my stocking. Not cool.

I trudged downstairs, flanked by two eager furballs trying to trip me. Together, we followed the muffled sound of voices and clinking mugs. The living room came into view, all cozy and warm with the Christmas tree lit up. The little nativity Christa put up every year was glowing. It was all very Norman Rockwell. And it all made me feel even more nauseated.

Bah, humbug.

Wilder and Christa were snuggling on the couch wearing goofy matching pajamas with pictures of the Grinch, which matched my own mood. But they were laughing over their eggnog-laced coffee. They both turned when they saw me.

“Well, look who’s finally up,” Wilder said, eyebrows raised. “The dogs guarded you all night. I think they were worried about you.”

“Or they were hoping he would puke so they could eat it.” Christa flashed me a tight smile. “I’ll go start breakfast,” she said and quickly excused herself. She disappeared into the kitchen like she couldn’t get away fast enough. I couldn’t blame her. If it weren’t for her meddling, Natalia wouldn’t have been in my life at all—and maybe we wouldn’t have been in this mess.

I couldn’t remember much about last night. I wasn’t sure if Christa was mad at me or upset with her own role in this disaster. I dropped onto the couch across from Wilder, slumping into the cushions. “How did I get here?”

“You don’t remember?” Wilder asked with an amused smile.

I shook my head, immediately regretting it as pain sliced through my skull. “Not really.”

Wilder sighed, setting his coffee down. “I picked you up from a bar downtown at one in the morning. You were wasted, rambling about how you had ruined everything. You weren’t making any sense. I brought you here just in case it was going to be one of those nights with your head in the toilet.”

I winced, rubbing a hand over my eyes. That tracked. I remembered bits and pieces now—stumbling out of the bar, calling Wilder in a moment of desperation. Natalia’s face, pale and stricken, haunted me.

Christa reappeared with a mug of black coffee, putting it down in front of me without a word.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, reaching for it like a lifeline.

Christa perched on the arm of the couch, looking anywhere but at me. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. “The breakfast casserole is in the oven,” she said, her tone cold.

Whatever was said last night had clearly pissed her off. She was never this chilly toward me.

“Do you remember anything else?” Wilder asked.

I took a sip of the coffee, letting the hot liquid burn down my throat. The memory of last night came rushing back—Wilder helping me inside, me leaning heavily on him as I tried to explain the situation. I remembered going to the bar right after she left. I couldn’t stand to stay in the apartment. She ran and then I ran.

“I told you,” I muttered, my voice hoarse. “I told her I love her.”

Wilder nodded slowly. “Yeah, you did.”

I let out a bitter laugh, sinking deeper into the couch. “Doesn’t matter now, does it? She took off like I just peed on her shoes.”

“Why do you think that is?” Wilder asked, like he was genuinely curious. It was so like him—calm, methodical, always trying to solve the puzzle. I was the spontaneous one, with an inventor’s personality that tended to be a little more eccentric. And more likely to lose my shit.

I shrugged. “I pushed her too far. Too soon. I don’t know why she doesn’t trust me yet.”

Christa made a small noise, drawing my attention. I glanced over at her, frowning. She was biting her lip, looking like she wanted to say something but wasn’t sure if she should.

“What?” I asked, meeting her eyes. “You obviously have something to say. My head hurts too much for reading between the lines. Please just tell me.”

“Hey,” Wilder said, his tone gruff. “Do you remember calling her a meddlesome nightmare?”

I grimaced. I didn’t remember saying it, but it made sense that I did. Part of me did blame her for pushing me toward Natalia. I fell and now I was hurt. I was angry and wanted someone to blame. But I could agree, this was on me. Christa didn’t force me to fall in love with a woman that didn’t want me.

“Christa, I’m sorry. You’re not a meddlesome nightmare.”

She waved it off, but her smile was strained. “I get it. I thought I was helping. I just wanted you two to find happiness, you know? I thought Natalia was stuck on some fantasy—this mystery man from Paris. It was eating her alive, and I thought if she saw what was right in front of her…”

“What did you just say?” I interrupted, my heart pounding in my chest.

Christa frowned. “I was saying I’m sorry too.”

“No, not that. The mystery man in Paris. Who is he?” My voice was sharp, demanding.

Christa blinked at me, clearly taken aback. “That’s the part you’re focused on?”

I nodded. “Humor me, please.”

“I don’t know,” she said, shrugging. “Natalia met a man at a party in Paris last year. On New Year’s to be exact. It was some exclusive party she was invited to. She’s been talking about him ever since, like he’s some kind of—I don’t know—fantasy prince. I thought she was clinging to false hope, holding on to this idea of him instead of moving on. I really thought you two would be good for each other. Something told me you guys were a perfect match.”

My mind reeled, the room tilting on its axis. “Natalia was at that party?”

Christa nodded slowly. “Yeah, why?”

I let out a laugh, but it sounded hollow, almost delirious. If I were them, I would think I was crazy. “Oh my God. She was there. The woman I met on that balcony. It was her.”

Wilder looked between us, confused. “What are you talking about?”

I stood up so fast that the room spun, forcing me to grab the back of the couch for balance. “I met a woman at that party, Wilder. I didn’t know her name. It was electric. We connected instantly, but then she ran off before I could even ask who she was. I thought I’d never see her again. I told you I met someone, but I didn’t get into specifics. It’s her! It’s fucking her!”

Christa’s eyes widened, her mouth dropping open. “Wait, you’re saying⁠—”

“It was Natalia,” I cut in, my voice rough with disbelief. “She was the woman on the balcony.”

Christa’s eyes widened in shock. “Oh my God. I had no idea. She told me all about the man on the balcony. She’s been waiting all year to see him again. You told her you would meet her there, same time next year, right?”

I laughed again, a little unhinged. “Yes! Of course you didn’t know. How could you? She didn’t know it was me, either. This whole time, we’ve been—” I broke off, running a hand through my hair. “This is insane. She’s been right here in front of me this whole time. I felt like I was cheating on the woman from Paris with Natalia. And I felt like I was betraying Natalia for thinking about the woman in Paris!”

Wilder nodded slowly, the pieces falling into place in his analytical mind. “So, what you’re telling us is that you’ve essentially been in love with the same woman twice over, without realizing they were the same person? That’s pretty wild.”

“Yes.” I nodded, pacing now, the energy of the revelation making it impossible to sit still. My hangover was gone. My blood was pumping as I replayed all those little moments that I dismissed, telling myself it was impossible. “Remarkable, ironic, crazy—call it whatever you want.”

Christa smiled in triumph. “Well, well, well. Looks like trying to get you together was the right move, after all. Who’s the meddlesome nightmare now, huh? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like I fucking nailed it.”

“You absolutely did,” I said, grinning back at her. “More like a meddlesome dream.”

She nodded. “I’ll take it.”

“So where is she now?” Wilder asked.

“She’s supposed to come here, right?” I asked, glancing at Christa.

Christa’s face fell, and she shook her head. “No. She’s not coming.”

My stomach dropped. “Why not?”

Christa hesitated, then sighed. “She’s on a plane to Paris right now.”

“She got the invitation,” I said.

“What?” Christa asked with confusion.

I cursed under my breath. “I have to go. Thanks for saving my ass. And for the place to sleep.”

Wilder grabbed my arm as I started for the door. “Fox, wait. What are you going to do?”

“I need to find a mask.” I rushed out of their house and looked around. I didn’t drive last night. I quickly pulled up my app to call an uber, hoping someone was working on Christmas. Thankfully, I managed to get a ride.

I got back to my building and hopped in the elevator. My heart was pounding. She had to know it was me when I told her last night.

So why did she run?

I couldn’t explain it. I practically ran down the hall to my door, expecting to find an invitation to the party. I stepped on something in the hallway. A sticky note crinkled and half-stuck to the floor. I picked it up, barely glancing at it before opening the door. I looked at the floor, hoping to see that an invitation had been slipped under my door. I didn’t see anything. I tossed the sticky note on the counter and rushed into my room to pack a bag.

I didn’t have an invitation. Maybe it was in my actual mailbox. I grabbed my keys and rushed back to the elevator. Every second felt like an eternity. I made it to the wall of mailboxes and quickly opened mine. I sorted through stacks of junk mail, a few Christmas cards and bills, but there was no elegant invitation. How was I going to get into that party without an invitation? I was on the verge of tearing my hair out as I ran back upstairs.

I grabbed my phone as soon as I walked through the door, dialing the airline without a second thought. I needed the first flight to Paris, no matter the cost.

I was going and I was getting into that party. Period. I wasn’t letting her get away.

Not for a third time.