His for the Holidays

Chapter 3: Gilded Extravagance

Mika

Channing's smile grows wider as he nods. "Okay," he says, his voice light and playful, as if his crazy plan is completely normal. I turn to leave, but something stops me. I have been too preoccupied with my downward spiral. I hadn't taken a moment to acknowledge what he did. I turn to face him again, speaking quietly. “Thank you,” I say, my eyes meeting his once more. “For saving my life.”

At my words, he straightens and the easy smile disappears to be replaced by something more solemn. “You’re welcome,” he says after a beat. “I’m just glad I was there in time.”

His words settle heavily in the room, and for a moment, I want to ask him how. How he was there at the right moment and how he knew what I had planned to do. But as the image of the dark, limitless water flashes through my mind, the words refuse to come. The serenity it gave me at the time is gone now. Rather, I feel a chilling, snarling fear. I force a tight little smile as the thought makes my shoulders tremble.

I mumble, "Have a good day," realizing that I have no idea what time it is, and he reciprocates as I leave. However, I realize with a sinking feeling that I have no idea where I am as soon as I enter the hallway. Compared to my side of the ship, the opulence here is even more overwhelming, and this side is entirely unfamiliar. Polished brass fixtures gleam in soft, golden lighting, and plush carpeting muffles my unsteady footsteps.

For a moment, I feel small and lost in this vast maze of luxury. Just then, a crew member walks by, and I catch his attention. "Excuse me. I am trying to find my cabin." I mumble my number to him, and he responds with a polite smile and a nod, directing me to the elevators and giving me clear instructions. With a quick "thank you," I follow his instructions while holding the dish Channing gave me.

The elevator ride is brief, and as the doors open, a little comfort is finally brought by the familiar surroundings. In contrast to the gilded extravagance I just left behind, the corridor I enter feels familiar.

This ship is enormous, a brand-new ship setting out on its first voyage, and my stay here is way out of my price range. I used up all of my savings to get here. I was skeptical at first, despite having always wanted to go on a cruise.

But, given everything we had been through, Wade and I decided we deserved it. Furthermore, Wade's company had only been running for three months, but things were already looking up. He had promised to reimburse me for the trip as soon as his settlement cleared his account.

Wade used his money as startup capital for his new business after his accounts were unfrozen. He put in everything he had, but since the settlement he won was scheduled to be approved anytime this month, it was not an issue.

He convinced me that our life was going to change for the better, and now I don’t get it. I am baffled as to why he persuaded me to come here when he knew he would do what he did. Why didn't he just bring her?

For five years, I have fought Wade's battles alongside him, dragging myself through his chaos because I believed we were a team. I believed we were building a future. But now I realize I was fighting for him, not for us. Never us.

Wade’s health deteriorated three months after we became official. He was diagnosed with depression, and it consumed him for two years, leaving me no choice but to carry us both. The legal proceedings resulted in the freezing of his accounts, making me liable for all expenses, including our bills, his medical treatments, and lawyer fees. Regardless of my role as his lawyer, the firm I represented demanded p*****t. And those fees were a nightmare.

I handled it all. The emotional impact of his breakdowns. The sleepless nights spent investigating his case. Late-night shifts at work, juggling multiple clients to keep us afloat. And every time I returned home, exhausted and barely holding it together, I would find him on the couch, staring blankly at the TV, or lying in bed, too tired to move.

It wasn’t his fault. Depression is cruel, and I would remind myself of this every day. But it did not make things easier. It did not reduce the crushing pressure.

Two years. It took him two arduous years to emerge from the abyss. He began looking for work again, promising me things would get better. And for a time, they did. He found a job—a good one, even—and for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, I could breathe. But then he won the case and had to stop working to concentrate on the venture he wanted to undertake.

In our five years together, Wade has only been employed for a year and a half. We won the case three months ago. Even though he did not get everything that was taken from him, he was paid for his contributions to the business, which is what we were fighting for. We were overjoyed.

I believed that things were finally improving, not realizing that he would be evicting me before the millions had even reached his account. And now I am broke in addition to heartbroken.

I exhale in relief as I finally see my stairwell and make my way to my cabin. But I stop when I get to the door. I don’t know why. Maybe because it feels too quiet, too empty. We’d chosen a double cabin because we were a couple. Walking into the space alone now feels oppressive. But I have no choice. So, with a sigh, I open the door and step inside, and even though I know nothing has changed, it feels bigger and the air is heavier.

I look around, unsure what to do with myself, and my thoughts return to Channing and his insane plan. It is absurd, but despite that, I find myself smiling at the thought.

I murmur to no one in particular, "I guess it is already working," as I place the plate of food on the small table, unsure how this whole plan will work. I go to the bathroom and clean up the remnants of this morning's mess.

When I am finished, I brush my teeth, get rid of the sour taste of whiskey, and look at the time. It’s 1:30 pm. I do not bother with clothes; I just put on my robe and walk back into the cabin.

My stomach growls as I uncover the plate and inhale the aroma of the salmon. I pour myself a glass of wine and sit down to eat, and the first bite is incredible. The flavors explode on my tongue, temporarily muting everything else, before my thoughts return to Channing. The easy smile I never knew he had.

Over the seven years that I have worked for his family, I have never seen him the way I did just now. Channing is 32, only two years older than me, but he is always so serious. I have always pondered how he draws in all the women with such a solemn and commanding demeanor. But then again, there’s a hot man under that seriousness.

With an athletic build that makes you want to reach out and put your hands in places that will get you fired, Channing Sullivan stands either 6'1" or 6'2". His sharp jawline and high cheekbones give him a naturally commanding presence, so he may not even realize how intimidating he appears.

And the stormy gray eyes carry an intensity capable of both disarming and intimidating, depending on the situation. His sandy blond hair is always perfectly styled, adding to his polished appearance.

He is the managing partner of his family's law firm, Sullivan & Archer LLP. And the firm is well-known for its exceptional track record and high-profile clients.

My phone vibrates, jolting me out of my drooling haze, and I reach for it. My niece sent me a message asking how the cruise is going. I promised them photos and videos. I begin to type a response, but before I can finish, the phone rings. A video call.

I quickly adjust my expression, smoothing out the cracks and putting on my best "everything is fine" face. My parents lean in behind my niece as her face appears on the screen.

She exclaims with enthusiasm, "Aunt Mika! How is the trip going?" and I do my best to match her vigor.

“It’s going great!” I lie while maintaining a cheerful tone as I move the camera slightly to reveal the cabin.

“Where’s Wade?” my mom asks.

“He’s up on the deck,” I answer, my heart racing at the lie. They adore Wade. If they knew… I can’t. I just can’t right now. I tell them I will make videos tomorrow, and my nieces excitedly remind me of the mementos I said I would bring back. “Don’t worry,” I say, smiling through the ache. “I won’t forget.”

We eventually end the call, and I set the phone down. Sadness curls inside me, coiling tighter as I stare at the phone, thinking about how disappointed and sad they will be for me. I don’t get to dwell on the sadness, though, as I'm startled by a knock on the door. I walk up to it and open it to be greeted by two smiling crew members.

The first has the largest bouquet of roses I have ever seen—red, pink, white, and even yellow—arranged so perfectly that it looks like something from a dream. The second holds a small tray containing a folded card and what appears to be a single piece of decadent chocolate.

“Miss Mika?” one of them asks with a polite smile.

“Yes?” My voice is uncertain as my gaze shifts between them and the gifts.

"These are for you," he says, handing me the roses and chocolate, and I take them. "Mr. Sullivan would like you to be his date tonight at the Christmas dinner," he says as I return from setting the roses aside. I grab the card from the tray, my heart racing, and read the neatly written note:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Miss Bosi,

Life has thrown enough at you. Let me take something off your plate. Will you be my date tonight?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The words hit me harder than I can comprehend, and a lump forms in my throat as I read them again, allowing the gesture to sink in. It is sweet and thoughtful, and I am not sure why I cry as if he is proposing. It is only dinner, but I can not stop myself.

“Yes,” I whisper, smiling through my tears. Then louder, “Yes, tell Mr. Sullivan I’ll be his date.” The crew members beam as though they were the ones asking me out on a date. Before I can continue, another crew member approaches, holding a garment bag and another bag in one hand. He says warmly, "From Mr. Sullivan as well," and extends the bags to me.

I carefully accept them, and they wish me a good day. I thank them before closing the door behind them.

I gently place the bags on the bed, a huge smile on my face, and the garment bag calls to me first, so I unzip it. The fabric peeks out, and as I pull it free, a gasp escapes my throat. The gown is golden and shimmers in the soft light of the cabin. It looks like something out of a fairy tale, the kind of dress you would see in a movie, not something designed for someone like me.

I look at the size and gasp again. How the hell did he know? My fingers brush against the fabric, which is soft and smooth, like liquid gold flowing between my fingertips, and tears sting my eyes again.

I turn to the other bag, desperate to see what is inside, and my heart leaps when I discover a pair of silver heels nestled carefully inside. They are elegant, and when I put them on, they fit perfectly. It is as if they were made specifically for me.

I reach for the dress again and carefully pull it from the garment bag. It feels light in my hands as I carry it to the mirror and hold it up to my chest. “It’s so beautiful.” I exhale, my lips curving into a soft smile as tears well up in my eyes once more. Nobody has ever done anything like this for me before.