Page 109 of Christmas Magic

Fred was walking from the rear of the other float. He’d seen her and Lucian together, and misgiving had flashed on his face before he’d regained his composure.

Folding her arms, she stared at her ex. He had to have noticed how much better the Victorian costume looked on Lucian than when he’d worn it.

What could Lucian want to discuss with Fred? Lucian’s impassioned tone had told her it was a matter of the heart—meaning, since he was still under the spell, that it involved her.

How wonderful!

“We need to take away Lucian’s sword,” Roberta said.

“Why? I think it looks fine.”

“It’s not a real sword, is it?”

“How would I know? If it is, Lucian will have the proper paperwork for it.”

Roberta made a sound of distress. “Cora!”

“Oh, for goodness sake. You worry too much.”

“I worry because you won’t! One of us has to be sensible.”

With an irritated sigh, Cora ran a hand over her hair. Lucian and Fred were exchanging words. When Fred glanced in her direction, she pointedly averted her gaze.

“Stop being selfish. This is not a night to focus on you. Where’s the last-minute checklist the organizers gave us? Don’t you think we should go over it now?”

Cora rolled her eyes. Sometimes Roberta could be such a party pooper, but they did need to make sure Lucian knew the schedule and emergency procedures.

What would likely happen in the next few minutes played in her mind: With a saucy wiggle, she’d walk to the two Santas. While talking to them, she’d stroke Lucian’s back, to remind Fred she and the younger man were an item. Then, she’d—

Roberta grabbed her arm. “They’re going to fight.”

Cora blinked. They did indeed look on the verge of an altercation.

“We have to stop them, Cora!”

“Milord, I’d like to talk to you.”

Santa scowled. “Not you again.”

Lucian’s eyes narrowed on the two elf guards walking with Old Saint Nick. On initial glance, they appeared to pose no threat to him.

“I don’t have time to talk.” Santa flicked some garland—the same stuff draped on the Nutcracker figures on the float—off his sleeve. “The parade’s starting soon.”

“With respect, milord, you will speak with me.”

“You have a lot of nerve.”

“As did you, when you hurt Cora.”

Wariness etched Santa’s features. “Hold on.”

“Most ungallant of you, to have slighted her, especially with so many others around.”

“When, exactly, did I slight her?”

“The historical society’s Christmas party.”

Old Saint Nick shook his head and muttered under his breath.