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“Does he know who my daddy is?”
I freeze and shoot panicked looks at the others. No. No. Not today, please.
“Nix. Do you think Santa delivered my presents here? Or am I on the naughty list?” Baxter asks, coming to my rescue.
“You’re on the nice list,” Nix giggles. “You don’t say bad words like Rebel.”
“Let’s go check shall we?” He holds out his hand for her.
“Yeah!” She races over to take it and I can breathe again.
Shaking my head, I follow everyone out of the room, praying Nix is distracted enough to get through the day without any more awkward questions.
The lounge looks like a treasure trove of jewelled colours. It’s so beautiful, even if Rebel has gone completely over the top with the gifts. There’s emerald, purple, magenta, turquoise, burnt orange, royal blue and crimson.
“These are just our gifts.” He catches me staring and grins. “Yours are all pink. Nix’s are purple to match her cast.”
I already feel overwhelmed.
“But Nix’s presents are also in the conservatory. And her main present from me is outside. Your present is also outside.”
My head’s spinning.
“Too much…” I mumble as he drags me outside even though I’m in a shirt and robe with nothing on my feet.
Parked outside the house is a brand-new shiny Mercedes monstrosity.
“It has seven seats,” Rebel tells me proudly.
The all-black beast is stylish and sexy, and looks like it could take on a double decker bus and win. It’s gorgeous.
“Rebel, this is too much! I already have a car. We have more cars between us than a forecourt.”
“Just say—
“Thank you, yes. But it’s too much.”
“The front seats massage.”
“Give me the damn keys!”
“I’ll let you ride me in it later.” He laughs, winks, and kisses me. Then he tugs me back inside to unveil Nix’s presents.
“Mummy!” Nix cries when she sees me. “Did you see this?”
The doorway has been taped up with wrapping paper which is a really nice touch.
“Wow baby! No I didn’t! Do you think Santa did it?”
“Yeah! Can I open it?”
“Why don’t you just run through it, Nix,” Rebel suggests. She screams in delight and charges full pelt at the door. I pray it’s open behind the paper, not that I think Rebel would intentionally smash my kid’s face in on Christmas Day.
She bursts through the paper and screams with excitement. I rush forward to see what has her so worked up but it’s ‘just’ a mountain of gifts.
“This is amazing Mummy!”
“It is baby. I think these presents are from the guys.”
