Shawna Delacorte - The Millionaire's Christmas Wish

“Good evening.”

Chance looked up at the intrusion into his thoughts. As soon as he saw Marcie he rose to his feet and extended a warm smile. “Hello.” He took in the way the soft fabric of her blouse caressed her breasts, how her skirt accentuated her slim waist and the sleek curve of her calf. He glanced at his watch. “I didn’t realize it was seven o’clock already. I’ll get us a table for dinner.”

They were seated in the dining room at a nice table next to a window with an ocean view. Chance looked at the wine list while Marcie studied the menu. He gave their selections to the waiter, then settled back in his chair. He studied her for a moment. She appeared nervous, continually glancing around the room and out the window.

“You look very nice. Your blouse is a good color for you. It really brings out your eyes.” He leaned forward. “And you have lovely eyes.”

She could feel the flush of embarrassment spread across her cheeks and the butterflies dance in her stomach. She hoped her voice did not sound as unsettled as she felt. “You’re very good at this...knowing just the right thing to say at just the proper moment. But then, I imagine you get lots of practice.”

An amused grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “There you go again...maidng assumptions. I think you have lovely eyes, so I told you so. It was a simple compliment, nothing devious or subversive about it.”

The waiter brought the bottle of wine Chance had ordered, poured each of them a glass, then left. Marcie took a sip of her wine, then toyed with the stem of the wineglass and ran her finger around the rim. The lull in the conversation felt awkward to her. Agreeing to have dinner with him had been a bad idea. They obviously had nothing in common.

She nervously cleared her throat. She felt pressured to say something—anything—to break the uncomfortable silence. “When I arrived, you had such an intense look on your face I was reluctant to interrupt your concentration. I hope it wasn’t some sort of problem or bad news.”

“Well...” He took a drink from his glass. “I guess you could call it the perfect capper to a day of problems.”

She allowed a bit of a chuckle. “Starting with getting up at such a horrible hour this morning?”

He extended a sincere smile. “Not at all.” He reached across the table and covered her hand with his. His gaze settled on her face, then delved into her eyes. His voice was low, his words cloaked in honesty. “That was the best part of my entire day... until now.”

Her gaze shifted away from him as she eased her hand out from beneath his. She picked up her wineglass and took another sip, then feigned an interest in something out the window.

“It’s certainly a nice evening.” She heard the strain in her voice as she attempted to make polite conversation. When he did not respond to what she had said, she turned her gaze back to him. He had the same pensive expression on his face as he’d had when she’d first spotted him in the cocktail lounge. He seemed a million miles away in thought. Again, she was not sure if she should disturb him or not.

“Uh, Chance...is something wrong? You seem troubled.”

His head snapped up to attention at the sound of his name. He had been so absorbed in his thoughts that he had neglected to hear what she had been saying. He let out a sigh of exasperation as he leaned back in his chair. “Sorry... As I said earlier, it’s been a really lousy day.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” A sudden wave of shy embarrassment swept over her. “I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. It’s obviously none of my business.”

“That’s all right.” A hint of weariness clouded his features for a second. He did not want to talk about Jeff’s arrest. His activities with his “training school,” as he referred to it, were something he kept to himself. But the e-mail he had received from his father was an entirely different matter. He pulled the printout from his pocket and handed it to her. “I’m sure it will be in the newspapers in the morning anyway.”

She unfolded and read the piece of paper. It was a message from Douglas Fowler to his son stating that he had gotten married the day before and had left that morning and would be honeymooning on the French Riviera for the next ten days. She handed it back to him.

The look of confusion on her face told Chance that she did not understand the significance of the message.

“It’s not that dear ol’ Dad has decided to get married again without even bothering to invite his one and only son to the wedding, it’s that this is his sixth trip down the aisle. The fifth Mrs. Douglas Fowler lasted less than a year.”

“You’re kidding!” She could not hide her surprise. “Your father has been married six times?”

A chuckle escaped his throat. It was not a sound of amusement, but one of bittersweet irony. “This one is younger than I am. Care to make any bets on how long she’ll last?”

“Why in the world would anyone want to get married six times?”

“That’s an excellent question. Unfortunately I don’t have even a mediocre answer let alone a good one.” His brow furrowed for a moment, then he flashed an easy smile. “I guess everyone has to have a hobby, and getting married is his.” He tried to sound casual, but somehow it did not quite come out that way. “You see, my family is more akin to life mirroring satire rather than the other way around.”

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