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“That may be why. Mistletoe, Eve. And what is the tradition for under mistletoe?”
“How the hell do I know—that kissing thing? That’s the kissing deal, right?”
“So it is. And it appears to me she’s just given you a celebrational way of saying kiss my ass. It’s you, darling. Absolutely you.”
“She’s not supposed to—wait.” She twisted herself around again, narrowed her eyes in the mirror. “Kiss my ass? Huh. Maybe I won’t kick hers for doing it.” She untwisted, looked at him.
“You dressed me to match the decorations.”
“Precisely the opposite. The decorations were chosen to spotlight your dress. You.” He flicked a finger down the dent in her chin. “We should go up to the ballroom, be ready to greet guests—or we’ll both suffer Summerset’s wrath.”
“Okay.” Ordering her feet to suck it up, she put on the shoes. “If men had to wear heels, they’d be outlawed across the land.”
But she took his hand, walked with him.
• • •
It did look pretty great, Eve admitted, and looked even better really when people began to arrive. When they began to mingle around or gather in clutches. Servers wove through with offerings from the spectacular display of food or sparkling drinks from one of the bars.
Speaking of colorful, she spotted Peabody and McNab come in. He wore Christmas red tails with a silver shirt, a reindeer tie, and short silver boots. To complement, Eve supposed, Peabody’s frothy dress of holly green picked through with glittery silver. Since her partner’s hair was a mass of tiny curls with silver banding woven through, Eve felt less self-conscious about the hint of curls in her own.
“Peabody.” Roarke kissed her hand, then her cheek, then her lips. “You’re gorgeous.”
“Oh boy. I really worked on it.”
“You’re a vision. Ian, you’re a lucky man.”
“You got it.
Here you go, She-Body.” He plucked two glasses of champagne from a tray. “This is the iciest party of the year. We’re ready to cut the rug, kick the heels, shake the booty.”
“Look at the food. It’s so pretty. We have to dance asses off so I can eat the food. Is that a sugarplum tree? It’s a sugarplum tree. Oh my God.”
“Before you pick sugarplums,” Eve interrupted, “I need you a minute.”
Wanting to get this part over with, Eve started out—got waylaid twice by people who wanted to be sociable—and finally managed to get into the salon, shut the door behind Peabody.
“It’s going to be hours of that,” Eve realized. “Hours of people wanting to talk to me.”
“Here, you need this more than I do.” Peabody started to hand Eve the glass. “Wait, there’s more.” Instead, she walked over to the ice bucket, poured champagne into a glass on the tray nearby.
“Great. Good. Thanks. Listen.”
“I’m going to keep digging on Felicity Prinze tomorrow. I think she’s clear, like you do, but I can dig deeper, see if there’s anything there.”
“This isn’t about that.” She picked up a box from the table where Summerset had arranged her wrapped gifts. “It’s for you. Roarke has something for McNab.”
“Oh! We put yours under the tree downstairs. I can go get it.”
“No, we’ll get to it. Thanks in advance. I’m just—I’m giving these out tonight when I can, that’s all.”
“So I can open it now? I love when I can open it now. The paper’s so pretty.”
She picked at it delicately, carefully breaking seals.
“Jesus, Peabody, rip the damn thing open. I don’t have all night.”
“I can use it again. I haven’t wrapped everything yet.”
