Page 181 of His Wicked Game
“Mornin’, boss.”
“Henry.” I clapped him on the shoulder. “Sleep okay?”
He shot me a look over his mug.
“Like a rock. Lucia snores, though.”
“I heard that!” Lucia bustled in behind him, tying a robe over her nightgown, her silver-streaked hair in a loose braid. She swatted Henry’s arm playfully before pulling me into a hug. “Buon Natale, Benjamin. The babies up yet?”
“Not yet. Chrissy’s still out too.”
“Good. Gives me time to get breakfast going.” She rolled up her sleeves and dove into the fridge, pulling out eggs, bacon, and the dough for cinnamon rolls she’d prepped last night. “We’ll have a proper feast before you head to Bayview.”
Henry set his mug down and started helping without a word — chopping fruit, setting the table — like they’d done this a hundred times. In a way, they had. Since the twins arrived, the staff quarters had turned into their second home, theshared room a quiet acknowledgment of what had been building between them for years. I didn’t pry; Henry would’ve shot me if I did. But seeing them like this, domestic and content, eased something in my chest.
The baby monitor crackled. A soft coo, then a fussier whimper. Alecia, always the early riser.
“I got it,” I said, already heading upstairs.
The nursery smelled like lavender and baby powder, the walls painted a soft blue with murals of stars Chrissy had insisted on. Alecia was kicking in her crib, big brown eyes — Chrissy’s eyes — wide and curious. I scooped her up, careful with her tiny frame, and she grabbed at my scarred cheek like it was her favorite toy. No fear. Never any fear from her.
“Morning, princess.” I kissed her forehead. “Ready for your first Christmas?”
Connor stirred in the next crib, his little face scrunching up. Blue eyes like mine blinked open, and he let out a demanding cry. I balanced Alecia on one hip and lifted him with my free arm, settling both against my chest. They were small, but holding them like this — warm, wriggling, alive — still felt like a miracle every damn time.
Downstairs, Chrissy had woken and joined the chaos in the kitchen. She looked sleep-rumpled and beautiful, her robe half-open over pajamas, hair a wild tangle. She lit up when she saw us, reaching for Connor.
“There’s my boy. Merry Christmas, everyone.”
Lucia cooed over the twins, stealing Alecia for a cuddle while Henry poured more coffee. We gathered around the tree, the firepopping cheerfully. Chrissy and I sat on the floor with the babies in our laps, helping them ‘open’ presents — mostly tearing paper for them while they gummed the ribbons. Lucia snapped photos on her phone, tears in her eyes. Henry pretended to grumble about the mess but handed out gifts with a soft smile: knitted booties from Lucia, a set of wooden blocks from him.
“Figured they’d need something to build with,” he said gruffly. “Like their dad.”
I swallowed hard.
“Thanks, old man.”
Breakfast was a spread with cinnamon rolls dripping icing, scrambled eggs, and fresh fruit. We ate at the big table, the twins in their bouncers nearby, babbling happily. Lucia told stories of Christmases in Italy, Henry shared a rare one from his special forces days, and Chrissy leaned her head on my shoulder, her hand in mine under the table.
“This is perfect,” she whispered.
“Yeah,” I murmured back, kissing her temple. “It is.”
After, we bundled up for Bayview. Lucia and Henry waved us off, promising to tidy up and have dinner ready when we returned.
“Go see Irene,” Lucia said, pressing a basket of baked goods into Chrissy’s hands. “Tell her we love her.”
The drive was short, the coastal air crisp with a rare chill. Bayview smelled like cinnamon too. Lucia’s deliveries had seen to that. We carried the twins inside, Connor in his car seat swinging from my hand, Alecia swaddled against Chrissy’s chest in a green blanket, today.
I leaned over and brushed a kiss against Chrissy’s temple.
“You ready to see what kind of day she’s having today?”
Chrissy nodded and offered me a smile that almost made my heart explode with the mix of emotions she held in it.
“Always. I’ll take all the days I can get, good or bad. Each one is a blessing.”
The End
