Daddy's Coming Home For Christmas

Chapter Five: What Does a Six-Year-Old Want for Christmas?

Raphael

Hungover and jet-lagged, I stumbled down the stairs of the private jet I had chartered from Dubai. I could have bought my own jet, or a whole fleet of jets, but I didn’t feel the need.

My personal assistant, Rachel, grabbed my arm to keep me from tumbling face-first onto the tarmac. A car was already parked beside the hanger, waiting to receive me, my assistant, and a mountain of luggage that was mostly hers, not mine.

The snow glittered viciously in the noontime sun, like tiny ice crystals stabbing my bloodshot eyes.

I did not make a habit of over-indulgence. I rarely allowed myself to look for comfort in the bottom of a bottle. It was just the prospect of returning to Townline that had stirred up a lot of things that were better off left buried under the sediments of time and resentment.

“Where to, Mr Segretto?” The driver asked with a friendly smile.

I had already made arrangements for my staff and I to be lodged at the Mountain Top property. Although the resort was officially closed, I had kept on enough of the essential staff to meet our needs.

I thought about going straight home to the Segretto house. A part of me was longing to see my mother, to wrap her in my arms and kiss her cheeks and tell her I was sorry for being such a terrible son.

But if I showed up like that, hungover, bleary-eyed, travel weary and stinking of stale whiskey, she'd probably greet me with a slap and turn me out until I was sober and clean.

I had delayed this long, another day or two wouldn’t hurt.

At least I wouldn’t have to worry about running into Beth and Gabriel. Rachel had informed me that Gabe and his wife had moved to a house on the lake last year. On the one hand, I thought it kind of a d**k move that he’d made his home so far away from mom. On the other hand, the less I had to see of them, the better.

I thought a lot about the little girl, though. Gabe and Beth's baby. As much as her arrival in the world had hurt me, it wasn’t her fault.

You don’t get to choose your parents. Beth used to say that all the time when we were teenagers.

Lucy was still my niece, still a Segretto, still part of the family. She must be around six by now. I’d spent so many years trying to pretend she didn’t exist, but now I was curious to meet her. Did she know about me? Had her parents already poisoned her little mind against me, or was there a possibility of a relationship?

I turned to Rachel, who was sitting ramrod straight in a slick business suit, her blond hair perfectly coiffed, even after an international flight. “What do six year old girls want for Christmas?”

She looked up from her phone with a bland expression, as if to remind me that she wasn’t exactly the maternal type. “I don’t know. A pony?”

I shook my head. If the kid wanted a pony, I could buy her one, complete with the barn and a groom. But I knew my brother wouldn’t approve. He would see any lavish gift as an attempt to undermine him, to buy the kid’s love and favor.

“Yeah,I was thinking of something smaller. Dolls? A teddy bear?”

“Is this a rhetorical question, or do you actually want me to pick out a gift for a kid?”

Rachel was excellent if I needed to choose a present for a host, or a special guest, or a farewell gift for one of my short-term relationships. If it was jewelry, a designer bag, perfumes, even gifts for men, she had exquisite taste. But shopping for a kid? I shook my head. “She’s my niece. I should pick out something myself.”

Rachel arched a perfectly waxed eyebrow in my direction. She was aware I had a niece, but this was probably the first time I’d ever brought the kid up in conversation,

We passed through Townline and continued toward the mountains. The taller peaks were home to several downhill ski resorts. However, Mountain Top actually sat on a lesser peak so insignificant that it had no official name. It was a small, but exclusive resort popular with outdoor enthusiasts, perched on the shores of a small lake adjacent to the national forest. It had been a popular destination for Hollywood elite, politicians, and other wealthy people who wanted low-key family fun back in the 80s. Swimming, boating, hiking and horseback riding in the summers, cross-country skiing, ice skating, and horse-drawn sleigh rides in the winter.

Unfortunately, the facilities hadn’t been updated or improved much since then. The main lodge looked tired and old, and the rental chalets were in even worse condition. The aging owners hadn’t kept up with the property, or the changing times, and the rustic charm of the place had faded into obscurity.

“The parking lot hasn’t been plowed, salted or sanded,” I pointed out as the car tires crunched over ice and snow.

“The hotel has been closed since the sale,” Rachel pointed out.

“But I kept on most of the staff, and they knew we were coming.”

I stepped out and felt the cold wind bite against my skin and blow through my thin coat. It had been a long time since I had experienced real winter conditions. I would need a warmer jacket, hat, gloves, and some waterproof boots.

The inside of the lodge opened up to a huge fireplace, which might have been a warm, welcoming feature, adding a certain ambiance to the post and beam reception area. If it had been lit. And the massive floor to ceiling windows that looked out over the lake below would have been charming, if they were clean and had the sills not shown signs of rot and decay.

The young, nervous, and rather star-struck receptionist checked us in and handed us the keys to our rooms. She was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, and didn’t look like she had graduated from high school yet.

I was given the executive suite, while my PA had one of the standard rooms. “Have someone bring the luggage from the car,” I told the girl behind the desk, while mentally making notes of what would have to change, and who would have to go.

Starting with the kid behind the desk. I'm sure she was a nice girl, but the front end of the hotel needed a polished professional, someone with experience, possibly a degree in hospitality. Not some kid working for minium wage.

The executive suite was the best accommodation the resort had to offer, but I found the three-bedroom apartment mediocre at best. The private balcony had gorgeous views, but the hot tub was old and out of service. The walls needed painting and the carpet was worn and stained. The kitchen needed to be modernized, as did the entertainment center and the seating.

I thought about pouring myself a stiff drink from the bar, but decided against it. I had to sober up at some point, and face life head-on. The rest of my crew would arrive after Christmas. I was bringing in my own architect and interior designer to start. Once we had addressed the structural issues and started the remodel, I would bring in the rest of the team to hire and train the staff, work on rebranding and marketing campaigns, and create the quality experience that customers expect from the Segretto Star name.

I grabbed a water bottle and slipped off my shoes, and sat on the couch. It might not be stylish, or new, but I would give it three stars for comfort. I didn’t move when the porter carried in my two suitcases and set them beside the door.

I’d take the day to settle in, and tomorrow, I would go face my mother.