Ten Lords a Leaping
"Am I forgetting anything?" I ask Caroline, looking around the room one last time before I zip up my small bag. Most of my things are already at the hotel or on their way back home. I pat my pocket and feel my new pen, and Call of the Wild is in my jacket. "Please tell me you've finally finished your fucking letter. I need it."
Caroline sighs and reluctantly pulls a folded piece of paper from her pocket. "You can't read it," she says.
"Fine. Whatever." I hold out my hand, but she doesn't give it to me.
"Well," she says, hesitating. "Maybe you should. Look it over, I mean. I didn't know what to say."
Fuck. Like I did any better?
"Dear Mom," she recites in a formal voice. "So sorry you thought I died. I didn't, but you can't tell anyone that. I understand if you want to kill me now. I'll explain when I see you in about a year. Love, Caroline." She rolls her eyes. "What did you say to her in yours?"
"Dear Liz, so sorry you thought Caroline died..." She grabs a nearby shoe and throws it so fast I almost can't catch it.
"Death by stiletto?" I ask with a smile just before it hits me in the face. "It's all fun and games until somebody loses an eye."
"Oh shut up." She huffs and flops dramatically back onto the bed. "You don't have to leave yet. They aren't going to be here for hours."
"Things to do, people to eat," I vaguely reply.
"Lies to tell, family to avoid." She says. "I don't know how to do this without you."
I set my bag on the floor and flop next to her, enjoying her little squeal of surprise as she bounces. She immediately curls into my side, her hair tickling my nose as she nestles in and gets comfortable.
"Yes," I firmly say, smoothing back her hair so it's not in my face. "You do. It's Christmas with people you love, and then hosting a party you've already planned. You're going to be charming and gracious and lovable, which is exactly what you do best."
"Where will you be?" she quietly asks.
"I have plans for Christmas, and then I'll be back here. I'll see you the night of the ball."
"I don't believe you." She shakes her head like a child. "I think you're a big liar because you don't have plans at all. You're going to be alone, sulking in a gloomy hotel room, watching It's a Wonderful Life and getting drunk before eating the maids."
"Hmm" I purr. "Now that does sound like a perfect way to spend Christmas. Well, not the gloomy part. There's nothing gloomy about five stars."
She swats my arm. "You're both a snob and a jerk."
"Oh Caroline," I say with a sigh. "Haven't we established that yes, I am a jerk? A really big one. And I like to think of myself as appreciative of the finer things."
"You're an intolerable, hedonistic, aristocratic snob."
"Well, I can think of worse things," I honestly reply.
"You're not as mean as you want people to think, you know," she whispers. "I'm onto you."
"Well, you're not as shallow," I snap. "So I guess we both defy expectations."
Caroline flinches at the harshness of my words, and I immediately feel like a dick, so I pull her closer and kiss the top of her head. Poor Liz, when she gets the call. With the time difference, it'll be the middle of the night, and some stranger with a French accent will tell her her only daughter is dead, and she'll be alone and not know the truth. I am a dick, no fucking way around it.
"This is my 180th Christmas, Caroline," I finally say. "I can handle it."
"But you don't have to be alone," she says. "You don't. You have me, and Stefan, and..."
"I really do have plans," I interrupt, before she can drop the E-word. I can't afford to be tempted. Not now. Not when so much is on the line and it would be so fucking easy to give in.
"Fine," Caroline sulks. "Be that way."
"I will."
She nods. "What else do I need to do to get ready? Do I pack my things, or..." her voice trails off.
"Nope," I say. "I've already hired a crew who've been compelled to believe they'll die terrible, painful deaths if they steal, break, or in any way damage a single one of your precious belongings."
"That's not funny, Damon," she scolds.
"Good thing," I say. "Because I'm not fucking kidding."
"I can't take you anywhere, can I?" she asks. She tries to sound put out about it, but within seconds, she's giggling. "It's really not funny," she says not very convincingly. "But then I imagine these poor terrified men, jumping around all nervous, looking over their shoulders for the boogie man, and packing up my stuff like it belongs in a museum. I hope you're paying them."
"Handsomely," I reply.
She laughs so hard she shakes the bed, and I can't tell if her tears are actual tears, or tears from laughing, and maybe it doesn't matter because the line between the two is too fucking blurry most of the time anyway.
"Christ," I mutter. "And you can't take me anywhere?"