“You too, love.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  THROUGH THE FOG OF heavy sleep, Saint heard his phone buzz. Then it buzzed again. And again. He groped for it, but he couldn’t reach it without getting out of bed. That had been intentional, knowing it might be early when Brooke texted, and he didn’t want to be tempted to go back to sleep afterwards.

  Brooke: HAPPY CHRISTMAS, FRANCIS DANIEL SAINT

  Brooke: The Everleighs are UP

  The next text was a selfie of Brooke and Olly in matching pajamas, smiling so wide the gap between his lower front teeth showed. His heart swelled, and he tapped the photo to save it. He hoped she didn’t get dressed—he wanted to snuggle with her in those soft flannel pajama pants. Saint groaned and covered his head with the pillow. He was so in love with her, even when she was being insane. She was going to leave and take his heart with her, and now he had to go put on a happy face for Olly’s sake. That was a lot to ask at 6:35 a.m.

  Brooke: Come hungry. We have festive coffee and treats.

  Saint: What is a festive treat?

  Saint: Or is only the coffee festive?

  Brooke: Come over and see.

  Saint: So. Early.

  Brooke: You were warned. My holiday spirit cannot be contended with.

  Brooke: It has no decency when it comes to time.

  Saint: Okay.

  Brooke: ARE YOU COMING OR NOT

  Saint: Woman. No yelling.

  Saint: Getting dressed now.

  Brooke: HURRY. STOCKINGS WAIT FOR NO MAN.

  Saint rolled out of bed and pulled his academy sweatshirt off the end of the footboard. He checked his email for palace emergencies while the coffee brewed and Buster did a morning backyard sniff. The passenger load on the train was light, given the early hour and its darkness except for Christmas trees all lit up in everyone’s windows. He trudged up the steps, feeling every one; it was possible he’d overdone it on his workout after he’d kissed her a few nights ago. He’d figured excessive exercise and a cold shower was the only way he’d sleep. It hadn’t helped.

  She threw open the front door before he could even knock.

  “What took you so long?!” she cried, and he put a hand over her mouth.

  “Your holiday enthusiasm is going to wake the neighbors, love.” Both hands on the doorjamb, she was barring his way into the apartment, and he had a moment’s confusion . . . until she glanced pointedly upward. Mistletoe. Don’t remember that being there a few days ago . . . It was very good that she was holding on to him, because his knees immediately went a little weak and he felt his cheeks flush, fighting the redness the cold had wrought. Moving his hand to her waist, he kissed her slowly, savoring her warm against his cold.

  “When did I tell you my middle name?” he asked, pretending to be stern.

  “You never did. It was in the background check I ran on you when you started meeting with Olly as his mentor. I’ve had it in my back pocket all this time for when I needed to get your attention.”

  “That’s such a mum thing to do.” He kissed her again.

  “Which part?”

  “All of it.” He kissed her longer this time; he’d opened the floodgates now.

  “Whatever. You love it.”

  “Do you hear me denying it?” I’m allowed to kiss Brooke Everleigh. He already felt wired, like he’d had too much sugar, and the holiday hadn’t even really started. She moved so he could come in, and he saw Olly coming down the hall. “Hey, happy Christmas, mate.”

  “Captain! Finally!” The boy dragged him over to the couch, as Brooke tried to help him out of his coat.

  “Just a minute, just a minute, Oliver,” he chuckled. Brooke took his layers and hung them up as he surveyed the room. She had Christmas music playing through the speakers via her phone, a fireplace on the TV, three fuzzy red-and-white stockings hung from the entertainment center. They were packed to the brim with small tissue-wrapped gifts, including one with his name on it. It was on a piece of masking tape, and it had obviously been put there by Oliver, but it was there.

  The Everleighs were both buzzing around like they’d had six cups of coffee, and he just sat on the couch and let them wear themselves out. Eventually, they settled down enough to open gifts.

  “So, did you buy stocking gifts for yourself?”

  She nodded. “But some my mom sent.”

  Olly’s stocking contained art supplies, sidewalk chalk, a few little cars and gadgety things, a chocolate orange. And then, because it was Brooke, there was also a new toothbrush, toothpaste, and three pairs of socks she’d knit. Her own stocking mainly contained gourmet food items: jars of roasted garlic and artichokes, pine nuts, vanilla. Seeing what she considered a luxury made him doubly glad he’d sprung for the spa gift card.

  Saint was enjoying watching them coo and gasp over each silly thing, but they eventually noticed that he hadn’t touched his own gifts.

  “Go on then,” Brooke said, getting up for more coffee that he thought she really didn’t need. Hesitantly, he opened the first small present. He rattled the white box, and Olly giggled excitedly.

  “What’s this one?”

  “Open it!”

  Saint opened the cardboard box, only to find twelve bone-shaped cookies. “For Buster?”

  Olly nodded, literally bouncing on the couch. “Mum and I found a recipe on the internet!” He was touched that they’d thought about his dog. The other things were small . . . His favorite candy bar. A pack of sanitizing wipes for meet and greets. A book of pictures Olly had drawn, some of which were really good. Those were going right onto his fridge. Why? So you can miss them every time you eat? He pushed the punishing voice away. He felt disappointed when he reached the bottom of his stocking . . . He’d secretly hoped for something made by her, too.

  Brooke rubbed her hands together. “Do you need a bathroom break before we dive into real presents?”

  He shook his head. “I know it’s fascinating to you, Everleigh, but stop asking questions about my body. I’m capable of regulating it myself.”

  “Fine, but no breaks until all the presents are open.”

  “Fine.” He got up and rummaged around the tree until he found one with his name on it. Saint shook it, but it didn’t make any sound. “Not a book.”

  “No . . .”

  Olly giggled, and Brooke gave him a quelling look.

  “It better not be anything weird.”

  “Weird?” Her face was placidly neutral, but she hid behind her coffee cup.

  “Yes, Everleigh. Weird. It better not bite, burn, or otherwise injure me.”

  “I can’t believe you think me capable of such a thing . . .”

  He glared at her as he ripped into the present, then stopped suddenly. In a navy blue that perfectly complemented his coat, she’d knitted him a hat with two thin white stripes, a pair of matching mittens, and a scarf.

  “It’s all wool,” she said. “None of that synthetic stuff. It should keep you very warm.”

  He didn’t know what to say, so he stared at the pieces, fingering their rough weave. Neither Calynda nor his mum was much into making things unless it was food. He’d never been doted upon like this before, and it felt . . . good. Strange, but good. Emotion welled in his chest.

  “You know, perhaps I will use the facilities . . .”

  “Try them on,” she prompted gently.

  “Yeah, try them on!” Olly yelled. “Took her flippin’ forever to get the mittens right. She had to start over like ten times.”

  “Language,” Brooke chided, her cheeks dusted with pink. Her eyes met his, and he saw her vulnerability; she hadn’t spent much money on the gift, but she’d been thoughtful. Still, she seemed uncertain whether it was enough. He fitted the hat onto his head, then wound the long scarf around his neck and pulled on the mittens. He stood up, grinning down at her, and turned so that she could see him from a variety of angles.

  Brooke nodded approvingly. He was never going to take them off. Saint moved to the Christmas tree again to find his gift to her. It hardly seemed like enough now. Maybe he should’ve done two hundred dollars. Olly beat him to it, finding one for himself.

  “Olly, I need to talk to you before you open that one,” Brooke said. “You got one bigger present instead of a bunch of little ones this year . . .” The boy, who had already ripped off the paper, stared slack-jawed at the box.

  “A TABLET?” he shouted, and she nodded, grinning.

  “Say thank you,” Saint prompted, but Olly ignored him in favor of ripping the box open.

  “I already charged it,” Brooke said, as he tried to frantically get the box open. “Slow down now, please.”

  “Well, we’ve lost his attention for the rest of the day,” Saint chuckled, handing her his present.

  She ripped it open with as much gusto as Olly had his. “The day spa? Seriously?” She looked delighted, shocked.

  “You like it?”

  She beamed, bouncing her eyebrows. “I love it, I’m just surprised you’d want another man’s hands on me, that’s all.”

  He felt his face harden. “What are you talking about?”

  “The massage artists there are all men . . . big hands . . . big, strong hands. Those guys are gonna work my kinks right out.”

  He plucked the slip of paper out of her hands. “Changed my mind.”

  “Saint!” She reached for it, but he held it away.

  “And please, don’t say ‘kinks’ in polite company.”

  “That’s my present!” She reached across his lap, but she was still too short to reach.

  “I’ll get you something safer, like a book.”

  “Books have never been safe. They contain every kind of dangerous idea about how life ought to be.” She held her hand out flat, and, disgruntled, he put the gift certificate back into her possession. “Oh,” she cooed, “for that amount, I can get the full body instead of just neck and shoulders . . .”

  “Vixen. Stop it.”

  Brooke giggled.

  “What’s a vixen?” Olly asked, not looking up from the tablet.

  “Of course that’s the one thing you hear, little man.” Saint leaned over to see what he was doing. “Did Mum download you anything fun?”

  “Learning your letters is fun,” Brooke said as she rose to collect forgotten wrapping paper and ribbons, a warning in her tone.

  “Oh, my mistake.” He grinned. Saint tried to focus on what Olly was showing him on the tablet, but Brooke kept bending over to pick things up. It was very distracting. When she was finally done, he relaxed a little bit until he realized she’d gone down the hall to the bedrooms and been gone for a while.

  “What’s Mum doing? Did she say?”

  “I don’t know. Why do you always want to know where she is?”

  “I’ll explain it when you’re older.”

  “I hate when grown-ups say that,” he sneered, his gaze still fixed on the tablet. Saint glanced toward the hallway again, but he couldn’t hear her coming.

  “Olly.”

  “What?”

  “Look at me for a second.”

  Hesitantly, the boy dragged his gaze up to Saint.

  “What do you think about me dating Mum?”

  “Dating her?” The boy scrunched his nose in thought. “Like, kissing and stuff? Did she change her mind? I told you she would.”

  “Yes, kissing her, but also taking care of her. Making her laugh, buying her presents, cooking for her, watching TV together.”

  His face cleared. “Oh. That’d be fine.”

  “You might have to get babysat more often, so Mum and I can go out alone.”

  “That’s okay. Uncle Judson lets me stay up late and eat sweets.”

  I’m sure he does. “All right. As you were.”

  As Olly went back to the tablet, Saint saw her standing in the shadowed hallway. She’d gotten dressed into jeans and a green T-shirt that said, “Don’t get your tinsel in a tangle.” She crooked a finger at him and he rose to meet her.

  “How many of these T-shirts do you have?” he muttered, feigning annoyance.

  “Never enough.”

  Saint grunted his disagreement, and she tugged him around the corner.

  “So?” she whispered.

  “So what?” he whispered back, tucking her hair behind her ear.

  “So what did Olly say?” She was biting her thumbnail. “I heard what you asked, but not what he said.”

  He pulled her hand away from her mouth and kissed her, pressing her lightly against the wall, grinning. “Why, are you nervous?”

  “Of course I am!”

  Saint chuckled. “He said he hopes it’s a shotgun wedding; he requests a brother.”

  “Low blow, Captain.”

  “Sorry.” He grinned. “He was fine with it. The kid loves me.”

  “Yes, he does. That’s what scares me.”

  “Brooke,” he said, frustrated, “stop worrying for five seconds and just enjoy this moment. It’s your favorite day with your favorite people.”

  “Hmm.” She looked up at him. “You’re good at enjoying the moment.”

  “Yes. I excel at it. You have an opportunity to learn from the best. You’d best take notes.” Despite her doe-eyed innocence, he could see her vixen side coming out again.

  “If today’s about favorites, does that mean we get to do my favorite activity too?”

  “That depends,” he breathed, not daring to hope, but relishing the banter. “What’s your favorite activity? And don’t you dare say cleaning.” She was the sneaky kind of sexy, he’d decided; she hid it under casual clothes, but underneath the disguise, she was more enticing than any woman he’d ever encountered in any club. He had no idea how he was going to keep his hands to himself, now that he had the green light to get closer to her.

  “Put your hands on the wall,” she instructed, and he complied immediately. “Close your eyes.” Even if she hadn’t ordered him, they would’ve fluttered shut on their own when he felt her cool hands slip under his sweatshirt, caressing his chest, smoothing up and down his sides, tracing his ribs. He shivered, and he could feel her smile against his neck as her hands moved to his back.

  “This is your favorite activity?” He murmured, angling his head to kiss whatever he could reach.

  “Well, it’s a tough call, but—” She suddenly pushed away from the wall, and his arms fell around her shoulders. “Thank you for the hug, Captain Saint. I really needed a good hug.”

  He turned his head to see Olly peering up at them, tablet still in hand. “I’m hungry. Can we eat cinnamon buns now?”

  “Sure, kiddo,” she chirped, her light tone obviously forced. She froze until Olly disappeared back around the corner, then sighed and slumped against Saint’s shoulder, and he laughed.

  “Smooth, Everleigh.” She pinched his nipples hard in retaliation, and he jumped. “Hey! Easy, I’m just kidding.” He wrapped her in a real hug and pressed a soft kiss to her temple. “Let’s go eat.”

  The cinnamon buns had been shaped like a Christmas tree, decorated with green icing and colorful sprinkles for the ornaments. It was adorable, and he greedily packed away two while he watched her try to make bacon and eggs before he took over. They played both the new games, he wore his scarf, stealing kisses when Olly’s attention was elsewhere. He was genuinely surprised when he looked up to see that five hours had passed. He left when her mom arrived, even though they assured him he didn’t have to; he needed to make an appearance with his own family, too.

  Fuyumi greeted him at the door. “You spent the morning with Brooke and Olly?” she asked in Imaharan.

  “Yes.”

  “And did you enjoy yourself?”

  “Very much.”

  He knew she was trying to bite back a smile, but she failed. “I am glad.”

  “It’s nothing serious yet . . .” Her opinion was more important than he’d let himself admit, and he hated it when he let her down.

  “Yes, so you have both said. And yet, I too have eyes.”

  He gave her a flat smile and switched to Common Tongue. “What’s that supposed to mean, Mum?”

  She hugged him around his chest, patting his back, continuing in Imaharan. “I know what I see, son. A man looked at me that way once. I married him.”

  “Dad still looks at you that way.”

  “What way is that?” she asked. “I thought you didn’t know what I was talking about.”

  “Is there eggnog?” Saint asked, gently guiding her further into the house, and she laughed at him, reaching up to pat his cheek affectionately.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  THE ATMOSPHERE AT BLUFFTON was jovial, celebratory, as they walked in. Dukes, duchesses, ambassadors, governors, and other government employees were mingling, laughing. Champagne was flowing, and everyone was sparkly and polished in their tuxedoes and long evening gowns. Brooke had to admit that Rachel had pulled it off; her cousin had lent her a silver sequined dress with a low back that cinched up her waist, and she felt amazing. Saint was in a black tuxedo, and while she loved his normal blue uniform, the tuxedo was making her feel a little . . . swoony. Brooke squeezed Saint’s hand, and he squeezed hers back, giving her a tender look.

  “You look amazing, did I tell you that?” he asked.

  “Twice,” she said, smiling coyly.

  But the atmosphere shifted immediately when Edward saw her. The glacial look on the king’s face told her exactly what he was thinking.

  “You didn’t ask him if I could come?” she whispered.

  “It’s fine,” Saint said. “You’re with me.” But he didn’t disguise the edge in his voice well enough.

  The crowd around Edward suddenly scattered in all directions.

  “Game room. Now,” Edward bit out, leading the way out of the ballroom back into the hall. They followed him, and she noticed the grand duchess and Saint’s friend Sam, who’d taken her to the police station after the break-in, followed as well.

  “We discussed this, Captain,” Edward said, pacing in front of him.

  Saint nodded. “We did. But I’m reopening the discussion, because compared to what I feel for her now, she might as well have meant nothing to me then.”

 

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