The Christmas Break: A Seasonal Betrayal & Grovel

by Elise Camden

Genres: Women's Fiction; Contemporary Romance; Holiday books; Holiday Romance

Synopsis

She kicked him out. On Christmas. Now he's on his knees.

Lauren Barrett is done being belittled. Done being the “tacky” wife. Done hiding her homemade crafts because her husband is embarrassed by glitter and Christmas lights.

Too late, Tom finally understands that his wife doesn't need to be toned down, she needs to burn even brighter. Now he's scrambling, desperate to do whatever it takes to win her back.

She doesn't need him. But does she still want him?

A devastating betrayal. A wife demanding her worth. A husband rebuilding himself stitch by messy stitch.

And a love story that proves sometimes the real Christmas magic starts the moment everything falls apart.

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Release date: December 10, 2025

Print pages: 434

Sample

CHAPTER 1

Lauren

 

The house glowed. It wasn’t subtle. But then, Christmas wasn’t meant to be. Lauren stood in the doorway, arms folded with satisfaction, and let herself just look. This was all her doing. Every wreath, every bow, every stitched pillow. Individually each element was impressive; together, the effect was stunning. Her eyes lingered on her favorite touches. The grand wreath over the mantel. The mason jars filled with tea-lights. The tree heavy with handmade ornaments. The hot-glue burns, the late nights—they all were forgotten as the light shimmered off sequins and metallic thread. She drifted into the kitchen and the magic followed her there—festive tea towels, twisted garlands, the smell of spice and sugar warm in the air. 

Tom’s keys rattled in the lock and her heart gave that little leap it always did. Now it would be perfect. Her strong, practical husband coming home to the house she made sparkle for them both. “Lauren?” he called. “Kitchen!” she answered. He joined her there, dropping his bag just inside the doorway. Snow was caught in his dark hair, shoulders broad beneath his coat. She couldn’t help it—every time she saw him, the world seemed to click into place. He was the moment of peace after carols fade, the warmth of a fireplace in winter. Tom and Christmas—those were her twin miracles. Her two loves. “Jesus, Lauren. It looks like Christmas exploded in here,” he said with a twist to his mouth that was half smile, half grimace. But he tugged her close to kiss her temple and she melted against his broad chest, just a little. He held her there for a moment, his muscular arm curved around the soft give of her waist, before releasing her. He reached for one of the sugar-dusted cookies cooling on the counter and took a bite. Watching her husband eat a cookie she had made herself filled Lauren with satisfaction. He headed to the living room and Lauren took a moment to savor the sight—the solid, stable man she’d married eating the cookie she’d baked for him—before turning back to the kitchen. She wanted the house to be perfect. She loved this—baking, stitching, crafting—loved being able to turn her feelings into something real, something tangible. She'd learned it from her mom, who'd learned it from hers. The counter needed clearing, the garland could be straightened. Tom’s bag was by the doorway instead of hanging where it should. Habit tugged her toward it and she moved without thinking. And as she lifted the bag something inside caught her eye. She stilled. A box. Small and velvet and completely impossible. She darted a look toward the living room. She wasn't snooping. She was tidying. That was all. She angled the bag toward the light and leaned closer, trying to make out the shape, the color, anything. Okay. So maybe she was snooping. Tom didn't do jewelry. Last year he'd bought her a heated blanket. The year before: a slow cooker. Practical gifts. Useful gifts. Sensible things. And she loved those gifts—loved thinking of him every time she wrapped herself in that soft heat, every time she stirred soup. But this—this was… so much more than that. This was a little velvet-boxed miracle. She reached inside. Her fingers brushed against the soft texture and her hand jerked back. She cut another glance toward the doorway. No footsteps. No movement. A prickle crawled across her skin—curiosity and guilt and excitement. She had to know. She had to. She pressed her palm flat against her thigh, steadying herself. This time when she touched velvet she was ready for it. Her heart hammered but when she pulled her hand out of Tom’s bag, she was holding a jewelry box. It was deep red and lush and perfect. Her breath caught. For a moment, it felt like the house was holding its breath with her. She should put it back. She flicked another look in the direction of the living room. Still nothing. She eased open the lid. For one stunned beat she couldn’t move. It was as if the world had gone silent, her senses narrowed to metal and velvet. Inside lay a silver necklace with a heart-shaped pendant. Sound rushed back—the tick of the clock, the hum of the fridge. She snapped the box closed. For a long moment, all she could do was press the box to her sternum and try to slow the riot of her pulse. She'd never seen it, she told herself firmly. On Christmas morning, when he handed it to her in front of everyone, she'd act surprised and breathless and overwhelmed… which wouldn't be acting at all. Carefully—so carefully—she eased the jewelry box back into the bag, exactly the way she'd found it, adjusting the flap so it fell just right. She could already picture it: Tom’s mother in her signature black wincing at their colorful house, his father not bothering to hide his judgment of her decorations. And then, cutting through all that—Tom. His fingers brushing her neck as he fastened the clasp, silver glinting in the light. A sparkle from her husband announcing to the world that she was loved. His parents’ polite smiles faltering just a touch as they watched. She hung his bag on the hook and smoothed her palms down her jeans. She felt giddy, breathless, like a kid who'd snuck a peek at her presents and had found exactly what she wanted. It was exactly what she wanted. Not the price tag. Not the precious metal. But Tom showing her, unmistakable and emphatic, that he loved her. She touched her wedding ring. It was greedy of her to want more. But that was what made Christmas so wonderful. It was the one time of year when you could give and give and receive and receive, and no one thought less of you for it. Wanting didn’t make you ungrateful; it made you human, alive to the magic of it all. She glanced toward the living room again, where her husband would be surrounded by everything she had decked out. Yes. This was what happiness felt like. Warm light, sugared air, her husband surrounded by all the Christmas excess she could give him. Secure. Loved. Hers.

CHAPTER 2 Tom Tom groaned as he took in the latest additions to the living room. Some over-produced Christmas pop-song was playing from the speaker. Glitter from Lauren’s latest “art work” dusted the coffee table, the floor, probably his work pants if he so much as breathed too close. He hung his jacket on the hook that was, inexplicably, decorated with a miniature wreath. At this point, he considered himself lucky she hadn’t tried to hang one on his cock. Lauren had outdone herself this year—which was saying something. Her enthusiasm for Christmas was full-blown mania. It made him cringe. “Did you notice the cushions?” Lauren seemed oddly breathless as she moved across the room to plump one. Tom managed a neutral noise. She set the cushion just so, as if it mattered in this over-stuffed room, and he stepped forward, catching her hands before she could adjust anything else. Her fingers were tacky with dried craft glue. Her wedding band at least felt smooth and solid against his skin, and he tried to concentrate on that. His wife—his soft, cozy, Christmas-sweater wearing wife—looked up at him, cheeks flushed, hair escaping her bun to frame her face. She was his favorite person. If only she’d stop drowning herself—and him—in tinsel. “You don’t need to go to all this effort,” he said, giving her hands a squeeze. “Christmas is just one day.” She squeezed back as she gazed up at him. There was a dreamy softness to her expression. “That’s why it’s so special.” She lifted up on tip-toes and pressed a kiss to his lips—warm, promising—and then she was gone again, fussing with some grotesque Santa figurine on the side table. Tom exhaled, stretching the tension from his shoulders. Christmas should be simple. Understated. One small tree, a decent meal, a few appropriate gifts from the mall. That was all it needed to be. He groaned at the reminder. The mall. Crowds packed shoulder to shoulder under tinny carols, kids screaming, shoppers jostling past with armfuls of junk no one really wanted. Perfume in the air thick enough to choke on. A last-minute scramble for a pointless gift—same as every year. He glanced toward his wife. Lauren was humming to herself, the lights catching gold in her hair. He wished they were going to his parents’ place for Christmas—it would have been easier that way. Having them come here was always embarrassing. Lauren never seemed to notice what they thought of her DIY crafts. Not that he blamed them. Their house was a joke. The tacky wreaths, the glitter, the homemade ornaments—it was all way too much. If only Lauren would give this Christmas bullshit a rest. ...