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“Oh my God,” she breathed. “Kai…”
Sitting in the box, nestled in a bed of tissue paper, was a vintage 1960s typewriter. The manufacturer went out of business decades ago, and there were less than a dozen of its products still circulating in auction rooms and antique shops. I’d paid a king’s ransom to refurbish and restore it to functionality before Christmas, but it was worth it.
“You said you keep deleting what you write, so I thought this would help.” I tapped the side of the box. “No delete option on a typewriter.”
“It’s gorgeous.” Isabella ran her fingers over the keys, her eyes suspiciously bright. “But I can’t accept it. It’s too much. I bought youdinosaur erotica, for God’s sake. This is in no way an equal trade.”
“It’s not a trade. It’s a gift.”
“But…”
“It’s rude to decline a host’s gift in his own house,” I said. “I can show you the exact reference page in my etiquette manual if you don’t believe me.”
“Do you really have…you know what? I don’t want to know.” She shook her head. “I believe you.” She leaned over and kissed me, her face soft with emotion. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I cupped her face with one hand and deepened the kiss, trying to ignore the inappropriate thoughts creeping through my brain. Like how natural waking up next to her was or how this was the most at peace I’d felt in months. Or like how I could spend every Christmas with her, just the two of us, and be happy.
They were thoughts I had no business entertaining. Not when I couldn’t promise anything more than what we had in the moment.
My stomach twisted. I pushed aside the bubble of unease and leaned back. “Before I forget, there’s something else.” I nodded at the box. “Check the sides.”
After some rustling, Isabella retrieved a smaller, slimmer box. It was roughly the size of a Kindle but twice as thick due to the attached keyboard.
“It’s a digital typewriter,” I explained. “Much easier to travel with.”
“Why am I not surprised you thought of everything?” she teased. She squeezed my hand, her face softening. “Thank you again. These are the best gifts I’ve ever received, except for maybe the Monty painting.”
“Understandable. It’s hard to beat an oil portrait of a nineteenth-century serpentine aristocrat.”
“Exactly.”
Our gazes caught and lingered. A thousand unspoken words crammed into the small space between us before we looked away at the same time.
We’d had sex multiple times over the past twenty-four hours, yet it was the small moments that felt the most achingly intimate.
A hand-drawn heart.
A simple thank you.
An intangible, pervasive sense that this was where we were meant to be.
“Let’s watch a movie,” Isabella said, breaking the tension. “It’s not really Christmas without a holiday movie marathon.”
“You choose.” I dropped a soft kiss on her forehead and stood, trying to ease the returning pressure in my lungs. “I’ll make popcorn. Butnomovies with royalty.” After the relentless news coverage of Queen Bridget and Prince Rhys of Eldorra’s fairytale love story the past few years, I was all royaled out.
“But that’s almost all of them!” Isabella protested. “Don’t give me that look…ugh, fine. I hope you don’t have anything against bakers, or we’rereallyout of luck.”
A smile tugged on my lips as I entered the kitchen and started the popcorn maker. It was easier to breathe when I wasn’t around her. It should’ve been a relief, but the rush of oxygen was almost disconcerting.
I’d just poured the popcorn into a bowl when my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I would’ve brushed it off as a telemarketer, but I’d paid an exorbitant sum to effectively block cold calls, and no one had my personal cell number except for a select few friends, family, and business associates.
“Hello?”
“Merry Christmas, Young.”
