Fidelity (Infidelity #5)(108)

“Child,” Jane said, “I told you, Santa flies a sleigh. Snow’s a Christmas miracle.”

I leaned closer. “Jane’s right.” I glanced at her smiling brown eyes, winked, and looked back to my daughter. “She always is. Santa’s sleigh flies better in snow.”

Angi tilted her little head. “But when you were little, you lived at Grandma and Grandpa’s big house. It doesn’t snow there. Did you still get Christmas miracles?”

“Baby, you’re my miracle.”

She reached out and laid her small hand on my tummy. “And my baby brother, too?”

“That’s right.”

“So Santa will still come?”

“Now how old are you?” Nox asked.

“You know how old I am! I’m three and a half!”

“Has Santa ever not come?” he asked again.

“No.”

“There is one thing you have to do,” I said.

“What?”

“You must go to sleep.”

“It’s the rule,” Nox added with a wink.

“No,” she declared with all her daddy’s finality. “Grandpa said I could stay up with him and watch for Rudolph. Santa needs his nose in the snow.”

Nox’s shoulders straightened. “Grandpa said that, did he?”

“Yep.” Auburn curls bounced as Angi’s little head bobbed.

When she was first born, her hair was copper, just as Dr. Beck had described mine. But with time it’s grown darker. I wouldn’t be surprised if one day it was as dark as her daddy’s. I still have my hopes set for some red highlights.

“Angi,” Oren called. “You weren’t supposed to tell. That was our secret.”

Her little eyes opened wider as she covered her mouth. “Oh, Grandpa, I forgot!” She took off toward him and my mother. “Can we still stay up? Please? I won’t tell…”

I shook my head as she landed directly between our parents.

“He never told me I could stay up for Rudolph,” Nox muttered.

“Mr. Lennox, some Christmas miracles take longer than others,” Jane said.

With my hand in Nox’s, we watched as both Oren and Momma nodded and agreed to whatever diabolical plan Angi was hatching. Though they’d decided marriage wasn’t in their future—or more accurately, my mother had decided she’d spent most of her life as a man’s wife—she and Oren were rarely apart. Whether they were in Savannah, London, or visiting us in New York, they were together.

When Momma had explained her reasoning, how after years of marriage, first to my father and then to Alton, she wanted to live for herself, I understood. It had been my plan when I’d left Savannah after academy and gone to California. I’d wanted to know what it was like not to be Alexandria Montague, what it was like to be Alex. And then I’d become Charli with an i. Now it was Momma’s chance to live as Adelaide Montague. She’d dropped the Fitzgerald and embraced being herself.

Not being married didn’t lessen Mother and Oren’s obvious love for one another. While at first the whole idea had seemed strange, it no longer did. With Oren by her side, I witnessed a mother I’d never known, one who was fiercely loyal and intensely driven. After the court agreed to uphold not only my grandfather’s will, ruling that Alton’s recent revision had been made by a man who was not of sound mind, but also our shares of Montague Corporation—together we maintained the majority vote—she asked Oren to help her, to teach her. She set out to learn what her father and Alton had told her she could never do. With Oren beside her, and with the help of Nox and Oren’s people, the board of directors was thoroughly vetted. Those loyal to Montague, to the belief in the company, were retained. Those loyal to Momma’s deceased husband were relieved of their positions.

New faces, both men and women, were brought on board. The misogyny of the past was over. It wasn’t always smooth. Change rarely was. The value of Montague stock fluctuated. Some of the subsidiaries sought other backing and support. However, Montague wasn’t alone in its struggles. The entire country had seen the shifts. The country as a whole was in a state of flux.

That had its advantages. We were no longer front-page news. Alton’s murder was in the past, as was Suzanna’s conviction. The press had called her a scorned lover. She’d received a life sentence with the possibility of parole after twenty-five years. Bryce’s plea was not guilty by reason of insanity. After his stunt at the hotel with Chelsea, it seemed plausible. However, the state didn’t accept it. The prosecution took the risk of taking his case to trial. Melissa Summers had been murdered on the Saturday of our engagement party. Hundreds of people saw and spoke to Bryce that night.

Cold and calculating were words used by the prosecutor. The trial went on for a lengthy period of time. Chelsea and I attended every session. The jury deliberated for days. Finally we received word the verdict was in.

Guilty of murder exercising malice and aforethought.

His sentence was for life with no possibility of parole.

Over time the association with Montague faded away. Despite my grandfather’s antiquated way of thinking, he had built a company that fostered success. As other headlines took precedence, the CEO or majority stockholder of Montague Corporation was no longer an issue.

Momma never took the position of CEO. She recognized her limitations. That said, she helped to fill the position with a person she could trust, and now she was an active member of the board. Even from London, she managed to stay on top of the pressing matters.