Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 153268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 766(@200wpm)___ 613(@250wpm)___ 511(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 766(@200wpm)___ 613(@250wpm)___ 511(@300wpm)
“This is very wholesome.” Taylor drained the dregs of his beer, surveying the place nonchalantly, one hand tucked into his front pocket. “I’m wondering when Row’s forehead vein is going to pop from sugar overload.”
“Soon. Let’s go to the living room to start the gift-opening portion of the night.” Row stood up with Grav tucked under his arm, like she was a football. “I’m ready to give my wife her present.”
What more could he give me that he hadn’t already? I loved our life.
Rhyland made a face. “Please don’t give it to her in front of a full audience. There’s a child here.”
“Shut up,” Row said flatly. “Let’s go.”
“Okay, eager much?” Dylan looked around but slowly rose to her feet. We all ambled to the living room, ignoring our plates and half-full wineglasses in the dining area. The Christmas tree stood tall in front of the window overlooking King’s Road.
“Mine first.” Zeta shoved a gift into Row’s hands as soon as he put Grav down on the carpet. He opened it.
“Nicotine patches? How…useful.”
Row had quit smoking four months ago out of the blue. We had walked hand-in-hand along the Thames on a lazy Saturday stroll and he had seen a couple pushing a stroller and smiling down at the baby. Wordlessly, he’d tossed his pack of smokes into a bin and never bought another one again. He didn’t say a word about it to people, though. He hated it when people fussed over him.
Mamushka made everyone kick-ass mittens.
Dylan got everyone thrift-shop finds that were wonderfully and uniquely suited to their individual personalities.
Kieran got Dylan a whole-ass diamond necklace that looked like it had cost the same as a luxury car. Dylan stared at it for an entire minute before smiling at him. “Thank you, it’ll look great with my finest Walmart frocks.”
Kieran chortled, undeterred. “It’s a statement piece, darling. No need to wear anything but the necklace.”
“Tsk.” Row shook his head. “I see you’re not too attached to your teeth, Carmichael. Dot?” He turned to me.
“Hubs?” I batted my eyelashes at him. I couldn’t wait to give him my gift.
“Follow me for your gift.”
“Thank you.” Rhyland pretended to wipe invisible sweat off his forehead. “From the bottom of my heart. Nobody needs to see that.”
Even though I had just gotten comfortable in the recliner by the fire, I followed Row’s broad back as he waltzed through the corridor of our apartment. How big was it that he’d had to hide it in his office?
He stopped by the door to said office and turned to look at me sheepishly. “I’m going to be honest with you…”
My face fell, and I immediately went on guard. “There’s not a dead body in there, is there, Row? Shit. I mean, you know I’m your girl for making it disappear, but you could’ve waited until everyone went back to their hotel.”
He stared at me blankly. “How much of a shitbag do you think I am?”
“What is it?” I conveniently changed the subject. Row was definitely not a shitbag to me. But I couldn’t say everyone had the same experience.
“I was going to say—I’m going to be honest with you, no gift you can give me is going to top mine.” He arched an eyebrow, one hand slung on the door handle behind him as he blocked the way to his office.
“Don’t be so cocksure, Mr. Casablancas.”
To my surprise, he didn’t offer a sexual innuendo. Just drew a quick, nervous breath and said, “Hot Girl Bummer is the best thing to happen to people’s ears since Pearl Jam. I’m totally not biased either, because I’m screwing the host. I don’t even need an office. My office is the kitchen. So…”
He slowly opened the door. I peered inside owlishly. My breath hitched.
It was a recording room. All four walls thickly padded. A round, gorgeously curved desk took over the center of the room. State-of-the-art equipment adorned it. Microphones, keyboards, huge Mac screens, and a lit tripod were erected in front of it. The wall was covered in graffiti art that said Hot Girl Bummer. It had a total nineties feel to it. I was going to cry. A big cry. Not like the small one I’d had this morning when I’d woken up and felt happy because everyone was here and Christmas was my favorite holiday. Or the teeny tiny one at breakfast when Row had made me smiley pancakes with raspberries. Or in the afternoon, when Mamushka and I had gone for tea at the Savoy and they’d accidentally poured me the wrong flavor.
Man, I was a mess.
“Row…this is…insane.”
“Good insane, I hope.” He stood next to me, scanning the place like it was the first time he’d seen it too. “It was a bitch to work on, by the way,” Row admitted. “I had to wait for when you were out recording your podcast.”