Page 39 of Terms and Traditions

“We’re competitive, not sadistic, Nash.” That wasn’t an affirmative. But the cue words popped up on the screen, a dark green background with a Christmassy border. How festive. When the music started, I easily picked out the tune of Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas is You.”

Hailey moaned from the front row and covered her ears. Clearly not a Mariah fan since I hadn’t even opened my mouth yet. But Eden laughed in Hailey’s lap, bouncing to the beat.

Tough crowd.

Stephanie swayed rhythmically to the music and began to sing. Her voice was soft and soothing. Not cultured like Hailey’s but breezy and light. I was so busy watching her, I nearly missed my cue, and it probably would have been a good thing because the minute I opened my mouth, a muffled snort erupted from the audience—my money was on Gabe since he was recording my public humiliation. Stephanie didn’t miss a beat, but as she met my gaze, the mirth danced in her eyes. I could make a joyful noise unto the Lord all right because no one was mistaking what came out of my mouth for music. Did that stop me from belting out the bridge like I was Mariah herself? Absolutely not. I clutched my pearls to make a Southern grandma proud and let the music pound out of me.

Halfway through, Stephanie stopped singing, doubled over at the waist with laughter. I wasn’t used to being the brunt of the joke—that was more Ryan’s style—but I loved her laugh. And if horrible karaoke was the way to coax that rare sound out… bring it on.

We finished the last verse strong, hitting our stride. But at the final chorus, Stephanie’s face paled, and the words died on her lips.

The unnatural ashen shade of her skin made me quickly step towards her, gripping her arm. Was this another POTS attack? I had done some reading after she had told me about it the night of the office party—in between researching the pros and cons of fake dating—and I racked my brain trying to figure out if karaoke was somehow a trigger. Lack of oxygen caused dizziness, but did it lower blood pressure? I’d seen her take her meds in the car, but did she need more? The music cut out.

“What a mercy,” Veronica muttered. “I think my ears are bleeding.”

A single clap of applause came from the back of the room.

That’s when I focused on my surroundings. And I saw exactly why Stephanie suddenly resembled a sickly Victorian child in need of a seaside vacation.

Hiram Addams was in the house.

Chapter eighteen

Stephanie

I was pretty sure deathly paleness wasn’t a symptom most adult children experienced when in the presence of their father figure. But after those light moments of singing karaoke with Nash, seeing that smooth face (thanks, plastic surgery), more pepper-than-salt hair (thanks, Turkish “vacation”), twisted smile, and a blonde bombshell on his arm (wife number seven to be exact), I remembered I hadn’t prepared Nash for this exact moment of an Addams family nightmare… er, Christmas.

I’d brought him into enemy territory and thrown him to the literal sharks. If he thought Great-Aunt Edith was bad, Hiram Addams was another story.

Oh, they had met before. On opposite sides of the board room and a marketing war. And as of two years ago, I’d been caught in the middle.

I’d stopped taking Hiram’s calls, but passive-aggressive texts still pinged my phone occasionally. Like at that crazy office party. We hadn't had a face-to-face meeting in over two years, and now we were doing it with Nash present. Lovely.

“What do we have here?” Hiram tilted his head thoughtfully, but with a dark, cunning gleam in his hazel eyes as they darted between Nash and me. Hazel eyes… The one predominant feature we shared. Everything else I inherited from the mother I could barely remember.

Nash’s hand gently squeezed my arm. Right, he was still holding onto me. He bent his head to my ear. “You okay?”

Blood whooshed in my ears, but I nodded and flashed him a small smile, hoping he read the apology in my face. “Dad.” The word felt rusty on my tongue since I never used it. “Nice to see you.” I glanced at the young blonde woman beside him. She didn’t look more than thirty-five, but between the make up and the… lifts I couldn’t be certain. She was young. That much was obvious. Could even be Zoe’s age. He’s old enough to be her father. Ugh. “And you must be…”

“Zara!” the woman cried enthusiastically. “We were married just last month. Hiram, what a cute little family you have!”

Zara—who ironically shared a name with one of my nieces—didn’t talk, she gushed. And this family was anything but small. As for cute… Sure, the kids were. Everyone else was a piranha. Mostly. And currently watching the showdown in smug intrigue.

“Prescott,” Hiram growled, ignoring Zara’s trilling voice and grip on his arm with her clawlike hot pink nails. “What are you doing in my home?”

My heart thundered in my ribcage, begging to take flight, and I sucked in a raspy breath. “He’s here with me,” I said with a firmness that surprised even me, taking a step closer. “Nash is my boyfriend.” Every nerve and muscle was taut with strain, ready to go to battle. I felt like one of those early medieval rulers granting sanctuary to an enemy. Claiming him as my business.

Hiram’s eyes sharpened, followed by an ugly curse. “It’s not enough that you humiliated us by agreeing to work with him, but now you sully our name further by sleeping with him of all people?”

Embarrassment burned my cheeks. “That’s not… We’re not—”

Hiram flicked a hand, silencing me. “You told me you were bringing a suitable guest. He is not welcome in my home. You’re a little—”

“Don’t insult her,” Nash interrupted in his commanding boardroom voice, making half of my siblings gawk at his audacity. He shifted protectively beside me. “I know I’m not worthy of your daughter, and whatever choice words you have for me, fine. But leave her out of it. She’s a fine woman—one to be proud of. I know I am.”

Um… swoon. I gaped at him. Fake. This is fake. But when Nash met my gaze and kissed my forehead, it sure didn’t feel like it.

“Leave them alone, Hiram,” Nana snapped, smacking her clipboard for emphasis and cutting into my short-circuiting spiral of emotions. “She brought a date, as you asked. They’re your guests. If he goes, so does she.”