Free What Happens At Christmas by Victoria Alexander

that’s it, then. You know it all. Now you can leave.”
    â€œWho is this prince?” he said in a stern manner.
    â€œThat, too, is none of your concern.”
    â€œCamille.” His tone eased. “I’m not leaving until you tell me everything.”
    â€œYou know everything.”
    He studied her, determination in the very lines of his body. It had been a long time, but she recognized his resolute manner.
    â€œIf that’s the only way to get rid of you . . .” She blew a resigned breath. “He is Prince Nikolai Pruzinsky, of the Kingdom of . . . Oh, I can’t recall—”
    â€œAh yes, lovely place,” he murmured.
    She cast him a scathing glance and continued. “He longs for a traditional English Christmas. I still don’t see why, but he is foreign and he’s read any number of English Christmas stories, and, well, you understand.”
    Grayson’s forehead furrowed. “Not entirely.”
    â€œHe expects, as well, a proper English family, and I intend to give it to him. As my family has never been what one might call proper, in the strict definition of the word—”
    He snorted.
    â€œIt seemed to me, as Mother, Delilah and Uncle Basil are out of the country, anyway, hiring actors to play my family for Christmas was a rather brilliant idea.”
    His brow arched upward.
    â€œI intend to make this Christmas with my family—”
    â€œYour bought-and-paid-for family?”
    She ignored him. “All he has ever thought it would be.” She hesitated. She might as well tell him everything. The damnable man wouldn’t be satisfied until she did. And they had never lied to each other, not really. “And, while he is here, I fully expect him to propose.”
    â€œYou love him, then.” His resigned gaze met hers.
    â€œI don’t . . . not love him.”
    â€œDo you love him or don’t you?”
    She huffed. “Once again, Grayson, this is none of—”
    â€œNone of my concern. Yes, yes, I know.” His tone hardened. “Tell me, Camille. Do you love him or not?”
    â€œI fully plan to love him,” she said in a sharper tone than she intended, but then Grayson was so annoyingly persistent. “There is nothing about him not to love. Why, he’s every woman’s dream.”
    â€œSo you are going to do it again. Marry someone you don’t love.”
    â€œStop it at once, Grayson.” She drew her brows together. “This is not the same. Not at all. I am not a nineteen-year-old girl. I am a woman who knows her own mind. He is what I want, and I intend to have him.”
    â€œWhy? You don’t need his money.” He paused. “I assume he has money.”
    â€œOf course. He’s a prince.” Camille scoffed. “And how do you know I don’t need his money?”
    â€œYou’re a very wealthy widow.” He shrugged. “Win has kept me apprised of your life these past eleven years.”
    â€œYes, of course, he would, wouldn’t he?” He and his cousin had always been as thick as thieves. Precisely why she had kept her distance from Winfield Elliott for all these years.
    â€œAs I assume you are aware of the twists and turns of my own life.”
    â€œNot at all. I have made it a point not to be.” In truth, she had avoided any talk of him whatsoever, going so far as to forbid Beryl to so much as mention his name. Beryl must have said something to Mother, who never spoke of Grayson either. Given that Camille’s social circle rarely crossed his cousin’s, or that of most of his friends, it had been remarkably easy to go for years without hearing a word about him. She knew he had gone off to America shortly after her marriage and had been involved in some sort of business enterprise. She had heard as well that he had never married; but beyond that, she had no idea how he had lived his life or what had become of him. She