“Come on, let’s get inside before your nose starts glowing. Cute as it is, I’d rather hang out with you than watch Santa hook you to his sleigh.”
“You still believe in Santa, huh?” I ask as Zack opens the front door for me and ushers me in. The delicate whisper of Christmas carols drifts from the kitchen, and Charlie’s loud snores reverberate down the hall. His snoring used to bug me, so much so that sometimes I’d sleep with ear plugs or put a pillow over my face. But now … I wish I could fall sleep to that bear-like grumble forever.
“Duh. Who doesn’t? You want to invite Krampus in to wreak havoc?” I head toward my room, but Zack pulls me into the kitchen instead. “Do you mind?” he asks, pointing at the fridge, and I nod, noticing that small but important difference between him and Windsor.
The prince just waltzes around like he owns the world. He opens cabinets and fridges without even thinking to ask. I like that about him, but I also like that Zack, at least, has learned some humility. Other people’s boundaries actually mean something to him now.
“Go right ahead.” I watch as Zack gathers ingredients from around the kitchen and lays them out on the counter. “You believe in Krampus, too, huh? Scary.”
“So scary. But not as scary as the epic fights between my dad and grandpa.” Zack pulls his phone out, looks up a recipe, and sets it aside before he moves to the sink to wash his big hands. Mm. Football player, rich boy, baking Christmas cookies in my house at midnight on Christmas Eve-Eve, that is, the day before Christmas Eve. Maybe I’m the only person in the world that calls it Eve-Eve?
“What were they fighting about this time?” I ask as Zack pulls me forward and puts an egg in my hand. There’s a bottle of molasses on the counter, so I’m guessing we’re recreating the same cookies he made with his family. None of the lamps are on in the house, just the colored strands of lights on the tree, and the single white strand wrapped in garland over the sink.
My house, my sink, I remind myself, my lips curving into a private smile. The last thing Dad needed was the stress of a move, or an overbearing landlord. Harper du Pont is going down, and going down hard. When I come at her, the whole world will know.
“All sorts of things. I mean, there was the usual stuff: politics, religion, whatever. They got into this heated verbal brawl over whether the sweet potato dish I made should have marshmallows on it or not. That’s when I knew things were getting bad.” Zack’s low, rumbling voice seems right at home in the tiny space. Although he looks a bit like a giant in a dwarf’s kitchen, he takes up the space admirably, like he belongs there regardless.
I crack my egg into the bowl and toss the shell in the trash. I’m not going to tell Dad about the house, not just yet. If I do, then I’ll have to explain why Windsor bought me a house without sounding like I’m living some teen version of Fifty Shades of Grey, like oh, Mr. Sexy Man, I love that you own the place I live in. Control me, dominant me. Bleh. I shiver as I think about the prince fucking me in the barn. Ugh. Yeah, no, it’s best if I just don’t tell Dad until he … until he gets healthy again.
“Did they fight about me and you, too?” I ask, and Zack doesn’t answer right away, stirring the dry ingredients together and then reaching up to rub his hand over his forehead, smearing it with a streak of flour.
“They both see me as their legacy, their pawn, some piece to move around a board.” Zack and I combine our bowls, and soon we’ve got a sweet-smelling, sticky dough that Zack puts in the freezer to firm up a bit. When I move over to the sink to wash my hands, he steps up behind me and curves his arms around me, helping me cleanse the dough from under my fingernails. “They want me to marry Kiara Xiao.”
“The girl Tristan—” I start, but that memory is too much right now. I can’t handle it. “No.”
“No,” Zack breathes, turning the sink off and pulling me against him. “She’s not right for me.”
“Yeah, because she’s a spoiled rotten brat who fits in so well with the Harpies I can’t tell her claws apart from the rest of them.” I turn around, so close to Zack that the swell of my breasts brush up against his chest. I bet I look pretty ridiculous in my outfit, but not him. He doesn’t look ridiculous at all, just … gorgeous, like the front cover of some sports magazine. It’s his lower lip that really does it for me, so full and ripe. My thumb comes up of its own accord and traces the shape of it. Zack shudders and sighs under my touch, like I’ve somehow managed to put him in a thrall.
