Unwrapping Liam: A Good Girls Don't Novella (5 page)

But the naughty thoughts vanished when I tore open the envelope.

“This is a check for $60,000.” My voice was barely a whisper. I wasn’t even sure I had spoken.

“It should cover the rest of your time at Olympic State and then some,” Dad said.

“We’ve been paying your bills too long,” Tara added.

“What your mother means,” Dad jumped in, “is that we trust you and we support you staying at Olympic State. We hope to alleviate some of your stress with that money in your bank account.”

“You should create a budget as soon as you get back, so that you don’t...” Tara trailed off as my Dad shot her a warning glare.

“Well, I have been planning a killer kegger,” I said.

“Your sense of humor alludes me,” she said.

“I’m kidding, Mom.” I paused awkwardly, looking for the right words. Liam squeezed my shoulder, and I realized all I needed to say were two simple words. “Thank you.”

“Of course, you don’t have to stay at Olympic State,” Dad continued, ignoring that my mother was now glaring at him. “You’re a smart girl, Jillian. Do what’s best for you.”

There were so many implications in that statement, I didn’t know where to begin. I couldn’t quite wrap my head around it. No more threats of not paying my tuition. No more demands that I return home. I could do anything I wanted now. I felt liberated and overwhelmed at the same time.

“I should get breakfast in the oven,” Tara announced. It was clear she had mixed feelings about this present, and suddenly all her worrying and criticism this last week made sense. She’d known she was about to hand me my freedom, so she’d tried to condense another couple of years of Tara’s special brand of mothering into seven days. She’d said plenty of things that hurt me this week, but at least I understood where she was coming from now. Jumping to my feet, I lunged, wrapping my arms tightly around her.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“I love you, Jillian,” she said in a soft voice, tearing herself away and excusing herself once more to the kitchen.

She was never good at public—or for that matter, private—displays of affection.

My Dad accepted my hug with more spirit, which brought tears to my eyes. My family wasn’t perfect, but who’s was? We stepped away from each other and the awkwardness I was more accustomed to set in.

“Fire’s dying,” Dad said suddenly. “I’ll go get more logs.”

The fire was still roaring with life, and I knew my dad well enough to spot an excuse. It wasn’t until after he left that it hit me that he was giving Liam and I a moment alone. Liam hadn’t said anything since my parents gave me the envelope, and now a slightly smug grin rested on his face.

“You knew!” I wagged a finger at him.

“Your dad told me,” he admitted, crossing the room to take me in his arms. “It was why I didn’t go ballistic on your mum this week.”

“I can’t believe you kept it a secret.” Despite being mildly annoyed with him, I buried my face in his chest, longing for the feeling of normalcy I experienced when I heard his heart beat.

“I’m good at secrets,” he said. “I even have one of my own.”

I pulled away and stared at him. “A secret?”

He nodded, his grin bursting into a full smile. Reaching over to the tree, he plucked a tiny silver box from its branches.

“That’s why you were downstairs last night.”

“I wanted to hide it until I could get you alone.” He offered the box to me and I took it with shaky hands. Holding it now, I realized about what size it was.

“Liam—”

“Shush, chicken. It’s not that,” he said.

The relief I felt mingled with something that felt a little like disappointment, but I smiled up at him, hoping he didn’t see my momentary confusion.

“Open it,” he said softly.

I did as he asked and discovered a beautiful pearl nestled in a delicate gold ring. It wasn’t an engagement ring but it was the most beautiful gift I’d ever received.

“Pearls come from rough beginnings,” Liam said, “but they are beautiful for the suffering.”

I swallowed against the ache in my throat, knowing it wouldn’t do anything to keep me from crying, but I still couldn’t speak.

“I’ve always loved them,” Liam continued, his eyes shining. “Probably because they come from the ocean. But now they remind me of you. Beautiful and layered. They glow in the right light. There are a lot of myths about them.”

“What myths?” I asked as the first tear tickled down my cheek.

“That they are born of tears. You’re supposed to give them to a bride to ward off weeping in her marriage.”

“And yet I’m crying,” I pointed out.

“I think they ward off sad tears, chicken.” His fingers brushed away the moisture on my cheeks. “It’s a promise. That no matter what you are beautiful. You are valuable. Remember that when you wear it.”

Liam slipped the ring out of the box and onto my right hand. “Don’t want to give your parents the wrong idea.”

He held my outstretched hand, and we admired the ring for a moment before he knitted his fingers through mine.

“I like the way that looks there,” he said. “I could get used to seeing my ring on your finger.”

His words sent a thrill racing through me. It settled in my chest and set my heart to pounding. “I could, too.”

Liam’s eyes lit up and he tilted my chin up with his free hand, bringing his lips to meet mine. The kiss was soft and deep, full of unspoken promises and hopes, sweet and sensual as honey. When we finally broke the embrace we stood before the tree, letting the magic of the moment soak into us. Neither of us spoke. We didn’t need to. We were connected by love and promises and hope. My Christmas miracle had come early this year, and he was here to stay.