“For Christmas.”

“Whuh?”

As he laughed, I scrambled up from beneath him. “Explain, please.”

“Nothing to explain. I booked a job in Brazil—I’ll be working in Rio on Christmas. I want my best girl with me.”

Christmas in Brazil. Sultry warm ocean breeze. Sipping caipirinhas under festival lanterns. Coconut oil. Bikini. Simon.

Second Christmas away from home in a row?

I flashed back to Christmases past, growing up. I had a favorite aunt and uncle— doesn’t everyone? Technically my great-aunt and -uncle, Liz and Lou were legends in our family. They never had kids, and whether that was by design or nature, I never knew; no one ever talked about that. But they led a life that I had always dreamed of.

They traveled every year, and I mean they traveled. Uncle Lou made good money, invested wisely, and when he retired at sixty-five they hit the road. They owned a home in San Diego, but they just used it as a base. They had friends all over the world and spent time in places like Madrid, Athens, Rome, Lisbon, Amsterdam, Caracas, and São Paulo. Rio de Janeiro. They took off whenever they wanted, and went wherever the wind told them to go. They were only occasionally around for Christmas, and I was always excited to see where my present would come from each year, what faraway place the postage would be from.

Did they love their family less because they chose to travel across the globe for Christmas? I never thought so, although some of the more traditional members of the family felt it was strange and a little selfish that they didn’t want to be singing carols at my grandmother’s and eating turkey with everyone else.

I thought it was romantic, exciting, and a little wonderful.

They passed away a few years ago, within three months of each other. After they died I was helping to go through some of their things and I came across their passports. They were battered, worn, and stamped with cities all across the globe, some of which I had never heard of.

And when I went to Salzburg last year to keep Simon company on Christmas, I didn’t feel selfish or strange. I thought it was romantic, exciting, and more than a little wonderful. Furthest thing from traditional, but maybe a Simon and Caroline tradition?

I mentally calculated whether my additional work responsibilities would allow me to take time off. The holidays were a busy period for us, but the week between Christmas and New Year’s was pretty manageable. This invite was out of the blue, but not out of the world of the possible.

I began to hum “The Girl from Ipanema,” a grin slowly spreading across my face.

“Is that a yes to Rio?” he asked.

“It’s a hell yes, Wallbanger—hell yes to Rio!” I squealed, wrapping my legs around his waist and seeing the look of excitement on his face before I brought him down for a big, wet kiss. Last year, I invited myself along. This year, he wanted me with him. Fuck, I loved this man.

We kissed for a moment, then he went back to his side of the couch and resumed my foot rub and I went back to my sketching.

A few minutes later, I got a text. I snorted, then told Simon, “Hey, this just in from Wedding Central. You need to get measured for your tux, pronto. Jillian said you and Benjamin are supposed to go together; she’s freaking out.”

“I know—best man and all; I need to look good.” He rolled his eyes.

When Benjamin asked Simon to stand up for him at the wedding, it was kind of perfect. Since I was one of Jillian’s bridesmaids.

“You’ll look good, no one is worried about that.” I laughed as he tickled the bottoms of my feet. “The one that I’m worried about is Sophia. She’s out of her funk as of this morning, and ready to buy the sexiest dress she can find for this shindig.”

“Mmm-hmm,” he replied, concentrating on my instep.

“I think she really just wants to make sure that she’ll look good if Neil comes, you know? I mean, is he coming? For sure?”

“Mmm-hmm,” he replied again, the tiniest of crinkles appearing on his forehead. I let him rub my feet for another minute.

“So, is he bringing anyone to the wedding?” I asked in the most nonchalant tone possible.

“Caroline,” he warned.

“What? If he’s bringing someone, that’s something that would be good to know ahead of time, don’t you think? It’s not like you’re betraying the guy code just by telling me if he’s bringing anyone, right?” I asked, poking him in the belly with my big toe, eliciting a smile.

“Yes, he’s bringing someone,” he allowed, watching my face carefully. I breathed out just as carefully.

“Okay, see, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” I asked, pushing my foot under his hand again. He resumed his kneading. I let one minute go by.

“So, is she pretty?”

“Not gonna do this,” he said, lifting my feet off his lap and standing up.

“What? I’m just asking if she’s pretty,” I insisted as he turned back toward me.

“I’ve told you, this is not something we can talk about. You get too worked up to be rational, and I—”

“I get worked up? Of course I get worked up! My best friend had her heart ripped out because your best friend was an idiot who cheated on her, and—”

“For the last time, he didn’t cheat!” he snapped.

“Kissing is cheating! Of course it’s cheating!” I snapped back, standing up to face him.

“He kissed an ex-girlfriend once—it happened once. And he told her. He didn’t have to tell her about it at all! He could’ve kept it from her, but he told her!”

“Oh, now he’s supposed to get points for that? For telling her after he cheats on her?” I cried.

When I said Simon and I didn’t fight, we really didn’t. Except for this one thing.

So here’s the full story. When Neil’s ex-girlfriend came to town and their dinner ended with the kiss, Neil told Sophia about it, and she left. And since then, she’s refused to talk to him, refused to see him, refused to have anything to do with him. Erased e-mails and deleted texts. She didn’t want him to try and explain anything, because in her mind there was nothing to explain.

The problem is that all of the guys agreed that what Neil did, wrong as it was, wasn’t enough to break up over. Of course, the girls all agreed that kissing was cheating: dicks didn’t need to be inserted for it to be cheating. Sophia had every right to end things with Neil, and as the cheater, he didn’t get much say in how it went down.