It was late noon, three days later, and Amelia still felt utterly pampered—spoiled in a way that wrapped itself around her like the thickest comforter on a cold morning. The past few days had drifted by like a dream, soft and surreal, and she couldn’t help but smile at the memory of it all.
After breakfast on Boxing Day, Damien had taken her to the towering tree in the living room, where he’d surprised her with more gifts than she could count—boxes upon boxes, all wrapped in glittering paper and tied with satin bows, every single one just for her. She had cried. Despite doing everything in her power not to, the tears had slipped free.
And guilt enveloped her, settling in her chest like an anchor.
Because she hadn’t gotten him anything. Her. The woman who had made him believe in Christma
