Chapter 5

December 24, 1987

It had been a busy two days since the Holt Family and Remington had arrived in New York City. On Tuesday evening, the family had indulged in true New York style pizza at Joes on Bleecker Street, then afterwards the children and Laura had enjoyed ice skating at Rockefeller Center. On Wednesday morning, they'd been roused before nine by the incessant ringing for the telephone beside the bed. Abigail would accept no excuses, and Laura spent the entirety of the morning and well into the noon hour accompanying mother and sister as they did some last minute Christmas shopping, while Remington and Donald stayed behind with the children. That afternoon there was matinee performance of Annie for the children, followed by dinner for the adults at Tavern on the Green.

When that same bedside phone had begun shrieking on Christmas Eve morning, much as it had the day prior, Laura muttered an epitaph Remington had rarely heard pass her lips. A pair of sleep bleary blue eyes popped open and watched as she blindly reached for the telephone, her eyes still closed.

"'Lo," she mumbled into the receiver. When she stiffened in Remington's embrace, he needn't ask who it was calling.

"You may be on vacation, Laura, but not from manners," Abigail chastised. Laura elbowed Remington to move and they rolled simultaneously, she to her back, he to his stomach.

"Good morning, Mother," she corrected herself automatically.

"Laura, Frances and I have the most wonderful surprise planned for the children today: A visit to see Santa for Laurie Beth and a short trip to the American Museum of Natural History for Danny this morning. Gray's Papaya for lunch – The concierge insists they serve the best hot dogs in the country and you know how the children enjoy hot dogs. Then this afternoon a visit to FAO Schwartz for Mindy. I'm sure we'll all have a wonderful time."

"I'm sure the children will enjoy it, Mother," Laura replied politely, closing her eyes and blocking out the light in the room with the palm of a hand over her eyes, determined she'd go back to sleep once she got her mother off the phone.

"I'm sure we all will," Abigail corrected. "I know it's not quite the thing for the adults, but—" Laura dropped her hand from her eyes and lunged up to a sitting position.

"I'm sorry, Mother, but given the itinerary for the day showed we had it free, Mr. Steele and I have made plans." Oh, ho, there is no way I'm letting us getting roped into this one, she silently vowed.

"We've already told the children everyone would be coming. They'll be terribly disappointed," Abigail replied in a tone that suggested Laura was being selfish.

"Well, I'm sorry if they'll be disappointed, but these are plan that can't be changed," she informed her mother firmly.

"As far as I know, the only thing that can't be changed in life is death," Abigail retorted, clearly irritated by Laura's lack of cooperation. "Now, tell me your plans and let's—"

"I can't say," Laura cut her off, then played the card Abigail could never resist. "It's a surprise for Remington." The eyes of the man beside her popped open with interest. "He's been so… accommodating… about giving up our plans in Aspen for my family," she buttered her mother up, "I'm sure you have to agree he's more than earned an afternoon with just him in mind."

"Well, why didn't you just say so to begin with dear," Abigail scolded, drawing an unseen roll of her daughter's eyes, "Given how much Remington does for you and how rarely you put him first," Laura went slack jaw and gesticulated her frustration, "I wouldn't want to spoil it for him."

"Mother, I have to go. We'll see you at six." She was nearly in the clear or so she thought. She only had to wait for her mother to say goodbye, then she could try to forget this call had ever happened.

"You mean four, don't you, dear?"

"No, Mother. We agreed to meet here in our room at six to leave for dinner before the ballet," Laura corrected.

"Well, Remington and I did speak after you went to bed, so it's understandable he hasn't had the chance to tell you yet." Laura's head snapped in said man's direction, and she glared down at him.

"Oh, you did, did you?" she asked, not bothering to disguise her irritation. Hearing the tone, Remington decided it might be wise to start his day and his quick glance at Laura before rolling out of bed confirmed that decision was wise. "What exactly did you speak about?"

"The children had asked if we were still going to do presents on Christmas Eve. It's been a family tradition since you and Frances were children, after all. So when Remington volunteered the use of your suite given you have a tree whereas the rest of us don't, he—"

"He offered to have Christmas here," Laura surmised. Remington hurriedly shrugged on his robe as she shot darts at him with her eyes.

"I hope you know how fortunate you are, dear. Remington is such a kind and generous man."

"Oh, he's something else, alright," Laura pretended to agree, her mother oblivious to the edge of sarcasm in her voice. He dared to flash his pearly whites in her direction, having accurately assessed Abigail was singing his praises. Picking up a pillow from the bed, Laura slung it, pegging him in the back of the head before he could make his escape to the bathroom. With a small shake of her head, she forced herself to focus on whatever Abigail was saying about Santa Claus. "I'm sorry, Mother, what were you saying about Santa Claus?"

"I said," Abigail began in the disapproving voice, "Little Laurie Beth is beside herself, convinced Santa Claus won't be able to visit her this evening because she's away from home."

"So, tell her Santa knows where every child is, home or away," Laura suggested absently. She and her Mr. Steele needed to have a little chat.

"Honestly, Laura, did you listen to anything I said at all?" Abigail retorted, irritably. "We tried, but then she went on to point out we have no tree, no chimney and she's absolutely convinced that Santa doesn't bring presents unless he has a tree to put them under, and he can't very well just roam the halls of the hotel delivering children their gifts." A mischievous smile lifted Laura's lips. Since Remington was so determined to play family man, she'd give him family – in abundance.

"You know, Mother, the second bedroom in our suite has two full-sized beds and we do have a fireplace," she suggested. "Frances and Donald could take one bed, the girls the other, and Danny I'm sure could survive on night on the floor, and if not, there's always the sofa."

"It's lovely gesture, dear," Abigail complimented. Laura's brief smile at the rare praise rapidly turned into a frown at her mother's next words, "But before we get poor Laurie Beth's hopes up, I think you need to discuss it with Remington and make sure it's alright with him."

"I don't need Remington's permission, Mother," she retorted aghast. Closing her eye she counted to ten, then rather than argue she decided to approach the matter from another direction. "Besides," she forced a pleasant note into her voice, "You know how important family is to him. If staying here will bring Laurie Beth peace of mind, he'll insist."

"I hope you realize how lucky you are, Laura," Abigail repeated her earlier assessment, "To have a man so concerned about family. He's going to make a wonderful father." Laura lifted her fingers to her brow. How her mother had managed to manipulate the conversation towards marriage and family… again… she wasn't quite sure.

"I'm sure he will make a wonderful father to someone's children one day, Mother," she retorted with a sharp edge in her voice.

"There's no need to be testy, dear," Abigail replied with a long suffering sigh. "You know perfectly well I meant with you." The comment only served to irritate Laura more.

"And that's the problem!" she told her mother with exasperation, dropping her hand from her brow to emphasize her point. "I don't even know if I want to get married, let alone have children. Things are perfect just the way they are, as far as I'm concerned."

"Well, it's no wonder poor Wilson left, with an attitude like that," Abigail chastised. "Men like Wilson and Remington are only going to be willing to play house for so long before they either press for more permanency or move on to new pastures."

"That's not why—" Laura stumbled to a stop. To correct her mother's notion Wilson left because she was unwilling to marry him, would mean sharing more about her relationship with Wilson than she'd ever been willing to with her mother… or was now. "Marriage doesn't make someone stick around, Mother," she said instead with no little exasperation. "Look at Dad. He had permanency and he still 'moved on to new pastures.'" At her mother's sharp, wounded intake of breath, she scrunched her face in remorse. "I'm sorry, that was uncalled for," she sighed the apology. "My point is, a marriage license sometimes just… makes things more complicated than you could ever have predicted," she explained, thinking to the worthless marriage license held between Remington and she at that very moment.

Their personal relationship had never been without its complications, but in the months before the INS had arrived in their lives – well, except for that little hiccup at the Spa – they had been on the same page: Committed to one another and moving – a bit slower than he might like, maybe – forward towards something real, something honest.

Then she'd stood by and had watched everything she'd believed turn to ashes. He hadn't trusted her enough to come to her when he found himself in trouble. He'd gambled with her hard earned trust and had tried to put one past her… again. He'd risked the Agency… again… by trying to outwit the INS with a hair-brained scheme. And in attempting to marry the hooker, he'd abandoned her as much as her father and Wilson ever had, for he'd never once considered what his decision might do to her.

Yet, she'd still 'married' him to save his lousy hide… for no other reason than her heart had no idea how to let him go.

For a month afterwards she'd simultaneously pushed Remington away while pulling him close, openly flirting with Anthony Roselli while anticipating a 'honeymoon' with Remington. Her fury, her feeling of betrayal, her heartbreak, has swirled around her like a living breathing entity with her unsure who she was more infuriated with: Him, for what he'd done or herself for still loving him, despite what his deeds had shown. In the end, that flirtation with Roselli had confirmed what she'd known somewhere in her heart for a long, long time: Despite all his glaring imperfections and huge missteps, no other man would do. So, she'd kicked Roselli to the curb and had decided she had no choice but to risk placing her heart in the hands of the man she loved… just… one… more… time – and hope that this time he'd handle it with care.

It had taken three days – three days of talking, fighting and walking away – to find their peace with all that had transpired. She was, after all, not the only one left reeling from the month's events. In her fury, she'd lashed out at him and he'd been helpless to defend himself, at least not if he wanted a chance at all. And then, she'd betrayed his trust as well by keeping Daniel's true relationship to him secret.

The night before Daniel's televised funeral, they'd finally crossed that line. Exhausted by another long day of emotional interchanges, they'd laid down to take a much needed nap. It wasn't an unfamiliar position they found themselves in, as they'd spend many a lazy afternoon napping together on his couch or hers. Where they'd chosen to nap, was unfamiliar territory: In the large bed in their 'honeymoon suite' while a fire blazed across the room. But after weeks of being at odds and a tentative peace restored, she unconsciously wriggled herself more snugly into the folds of his body when he'd spooned behind her. She'd felt his relief in the release of the tension in his body, as much as she'd heard it in his weary, staccato sigh.

They'd made no plans to consummate their relationship that evening. Over the last three days there had been no talk of a 'honeymoon' at all. Other matters – namely the survival of their partnership, friendship and quasi-romance – has been of far more pressing concern.

But on that night, making love had come as naturally to them as breathing. Not a word had been spoken about feelings, no promises had been made. Those had followed the next night, as they'd stood in one another's arms in the master chamber after Remington had carried her up the stairs.

They hadn't made love that night… or the next. He'd been so invested on repairing their tattered relationship that he'd never had time to properly grieve Daniel. That night had been about him, as had the next several days. She'd sent Mildred home under the guise of preparing the Agency to reopen and then, once it was just the two of them, stepped back and allowed him to grieve in whatever manner he needed to, with her unyielding support awaiting him when he turned to her. There were times he'd disappear for hours, walking the grounds of Ashford Castle alone. There were times he sought out her company even if only to be silently in her presence. On the second night he'd stayed awake until nearly dawn, helping himself to glass-after-glass of scotch until he was shockingly drunk… then had laid his head upon her lap as he'd fallen asleep muttering to himself about the lad who no one had ever wished to claim, let alone keep. He'd awakened the next morning somewhat sheepish, having remembered being fully in his cups but not a word of what he'd said.

Moving in together had occurred as naturally as making love that first time. The evening they'd arrived home, they'd collapsed, exhausted, into Remington's bed. They'd made love the next morning, then she'd departed for the loft alone. They spent the day unpacking, cleaning their individual homes, restocking their cupboards and fridge. By five o'clock she'd decided she'd had enough of domestic solitude and had called to invite him over for dinner – delivery, of course. He'd spent that night with her, then they'd spent the next pair apart. If the INS was watching them that closely, well, they had a cover story already prepared - Lover's tiff, just a small snafu adjusting to wedded bliss, yada yada – but they were equally determined the INS would not decide the course of the personal relationship. Still, in less than three month's time 'will I see you tonight' had changed, by its own accord, to 'I'll see you at home.'

No, that 'marriage license' didn't simplify their relationship, but complicated it, instead. She'd stopped even attempting to count all the balls hanging in the air, just waiting to rain down on their heads. They'd kept their faux marriage a secret from Laura's family at her insistence: She didn't have it in her to mislead them into believing she and Remington were truly married, and didn't trust them not to blow the marriage act wide open to the INS if they knew the truth. Monroe knew their 'marriage' was nothing more than a con, but having lived the life he not only provided exemplary testimony to the INS regarding the longevity of the Steele-Holt personal relationship, but had found it more than a bit amusing to pull the wool over the Federal Government's eyes. A few, select former clients were led to believe they were married – as they could attest to double dating with the couple in the past – but were sworn to absolute secrecy under the guise it would destroy Laura's career if it got out, the proverbial 'secretary' having a fling with her boss, and all that.

They still had a hard time living with the fact that they'd allowed Mildred to go on believing they were, as Remington put it, 'well and truly wed.' They hadn't made that decision lightly, but had argued back and forth for days, listing the all the reasons for telling her the truth, and countering those with reasons they should not. Under the heading of 'for' there had only been two reasons but they had been big ones: They didn't like deceiving her, and she'd be devastated when she learned they hadn't brought her in on the scam. And on the list against: She'd been so happy to believe her kids had finally tied the knot, and the idea of breaking her heart was, well, heartbreaking. Selfishly, revealing the truth would mean two years of looks, winks, hints and outright advice that they just 'do it for real already,' and neither of them were up for that. Then there was sheer practicality: Mildred would likely be drilled, endlessly, about the Steele marriage and one little slip up would be disastrous. As much as they loved the woman, the reality was she was inclined towards bragging on occasion and, when overexcited, often followed something she'd blurted with a hand slapped over her mouth, and a muttered oops. And therein had lay the most important 'against' that outweighed all the 'for's': In lying to her, she would not be complicit to their crime should it be brought to light.

Yes, that piece of paper was causing more than its share of problems, and it wasn't just a matter of who to tell what. She'd had to provide a copy of that fake marriage license to Social Security to change her name with the Agency in an 'act of good faith' for the INS. How would they rectify that after this was over? A fake divorce to accompany the faux marriage? Last year they'd been single almost as long as they'd been married, so filing separately hadn't raised eyebrows, but the new year was upon them, and there were decisions to be made about committing fraud with yet another governmental agency. There were joint check and savings that had been established for show. And their rings? Well, remembering when and with whom to wear them and when and with whom not to was a herculean task in and of itself.

Complicated indeed.

"Laura!?" Her mother's sharp tone drew Laura from her thoughts.

"I'm sorry, Mother, someone's knocking at the door downstairs. I better go get it, in case it's room service," she fibbed. "We'll see you this afternoon. Bye."

Without ceremony she disconnected the line. Deciding room service wasn't a bad idea, she called and placed an order for a pot of coffee and tea, as well as a breakfast for each of them. It was, she had to concede, another morning to sleep in foiled by her mother.

And speaking of mothers…

She stood up and tromped into the bathroom, planting fisted hands on her hips as she stared at Remington in the mirror.

"So, I hear you and Mother are getting to be quite the phone pals," she announced in a clipped tone. He paused the stroke of his razor and looked at her in the mirror.

"If by 'phone pals' you mean the phone rang and I answered, then I suppose we are." He softened the retort with quick smile before returning to his shave.

"Did you speak about anything in particular last night?" His forehead crinkled as he pretended to give serious thought to the question.

"Ah, yes, she told me a delightful tale about your first time you danced in your ballet school's recital. You were seven, I believe, and you wore a little white—"

"One of these days, I'm gonna…" she growled while making a strangling motion with her hands. It had been one of the most humiliating days of her childhood, the little rosebuds of her panties left on display through her leotard. She'd been teased mercilessly for weeks. Was it any wonder she hadn't wanted to share news of their fake marriage with her Mother? "Skip the story, please," she ground out, now. "What else did you and Mother discuss? Anything about, oh, Christmas Eve?"

"Well, surely you're not upset with me for agreeing to attend Midnight Mass with the family?" he protested. She pressed her fingertips to her forehead and stared at him agog.

"I meant the Christmas Eve gathering before dinner and the ballet," she replied in a dazed tone. "I didn't even know about Midnight Mass. You could have just said—"

"It's one thing simply not to attend church, but I've a little too much of the Irish Catholic lad in me to outright refuse when invited," he defended. "Besides, it's fam-"

"…ily," she finished for him. "I know, I know," she confirmed with exasperation. Dropping her hands from her forehead, she took two steps towards him and forced a beatific smile upon her face. He immediately reared back and regarded her warily.

"Laura?" he drew out her name in question, a chill skittering up his spine. Dropping his razor, he faced her while lifting a thumb to his mouth so he could worry the nail. That particular smile normally meant she was about to impart upon him a rather painful lesson. She laid her flattened palms against his chest and looked up at him with widened eyes.

"Midnight Mass just reminded me of something," she smiled, serenely. "Do you remember last Christmas Eve?" She wrapped her arms around his neck and toyed with the damp ends of his hair. "The music, the fire burning, the Christmas tree lit, and me…" He laughed a wolfish laugh.

"In that delicious little ensemble that left absolutely nothing to the imagination," he finished appreciatively.

"Mmmmm," she agreed with a hum. A hand left his hair to skirt down his neck, over his collarbone then paused to play in the damp whorls of hair covering his chest. "You should see what I had planned to wear this year."

"I can hardly wait," he grinned, wrapping his arms around her waist and gathering her closer. "Of course, should you wish to give me a little preview now, I think-." His words came to a stop and he frowned when he realized she'd used past tense. "Had planned?" he questioned. The part angelic, part sultry smile disappeared from her face in the blink of an eye, and she pulled out of his embrace.

"Since you enjoy spending so much time with my family," she informed him, as she left the bedroom and continued speaking from the room beyond, "I've invited them to spend the night with us so Santa can find Laurie Beth." She appeared again in the doorway, and held up five pieces of clothing. "So this little ensemble?" His eyes skimmed over the white silk stockings, red and white garter, then fastened on two pieces of material formed into a bow. His imagination went wild, trying to envision exactly where those bows might go. He swallowed hard. "Take a good look, because this is the only time you'll be seeing it as it's hardly appropriate for guests."

With those words, she spun on her heel and disappeared back into the bedroom. He stared at the empty doorframe for two blinks of an eye then gave chase.

"Laura… Laura… Perhaps you're being a bit hasty…"