Ugh. So gross.
I love my sister desperately, but her penchant for public displays of affection is troubling. Seeing her make out with her boyfriend at a bar in our village when we were teenagers was bad enough, and it’s not any better watching her suck face in front of people who will send pictures of the tongue-tangling to gossip sites all around the world.
“I doubt that. Every voice has its own unique beauty,” Nick says, so close that when I turn to face him, his breath warms my forehead.
Ignoring the way my nose prickles at his clove and cedar scent, I grunt, “I’m tone-deaf.”
He drives me crazy, but he really does smell incredible. More often than I’d like, I fantasize about resting my cheek on his chest and enjoying a long, lingering encounter with his Nick scent.
But I’m not that girl—never have been.
Those few months with Gerg, when snuggling was a thing I actually enjoyed, were an anomaly. One that ended in betrayal. And I don’t need to learn a hard lesson more than once.
From now on, my guard is staying up.
I’ll whisk a man back to my apartment for a quickie, but no spooning after. No reading the paper in bed together the next morning. No sitting on his lap after dinner, watching a movie while he rubs my back until my perpetually knotted muscles finally relax.
Relaxing is no longer on my agenda.
I shift my weight to my back foot, casually putting more distance between myself and this divine-smelling human, and add, “So, it’s in everyone’s best interest if I keep my song to myself.”
Nick smiles, a gentle curve of his full lips that emphasizes the symmetry of his features. Even his dimples match, for God’s sake. It’s obnoxious. “No way. I don’t believe it.”
“Believe it. I made my nanny’s parrot weep during music class.”
“I didn’t realize parrots could cry.”
“Only in the most horrific auditory circumstances.”
“Aw, you’re too hard on yourself, I bet.” He nudges my shoulder with his as we begin walking again. Lizzy and Jeffrey, thankfully, give the mistletoe lamp a wide berth, as do Nick and I. “I like your speaking voice. Quite a lot, actually.”
I frown up at him.
“I do,” he says, seeming sincere. “When you’re with someone you care for, it’s very sweet and gentle. Same with children. You were good with the kids this morning.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I was,” he says, still with that warm grin. “Pleasantly so. Probably a good thing we’re off in two days. If we spend much more time around your sisters and needy children, your secret will be out.”
I huff. “What secret is that? That I’m not a monster?”
“That you’re actually a kind and generous soul. And that you secretly wish people would hug you more often.”
My upper lip curls. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, yes, you do. I saw the way you melted when that little girl threw her arms around you today. And the twenty dollars you slipped into her pocket.”
“She was excited about a ninja throwing stars playset. We shared a common interest, that’s all,” I say, my wool scarf suddenly itchier than it was before. I tug it a few inches from my neck. “And I didn’t realize I was under surveillance.”
“You’re not. I’m just trying to get to know you, Zan.”
“Try less,” I mumble as our group comes to a stop in front of a two-story mansion with thick ropes of evergreen garland around every snow-dusted window.
The front door opens, revealing a posh family of five dressed in traditional Gallantian winter wear—thick knitted dresses decorated with embroidery for the mother and two little girls and crisp white shirts and similarly decorated vests for the father and son. Queen Felicity, Nick’s mother, lifts her hand to signal the start of the next carol.
This time, it’s “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.”
I just wish I were alone in my room with a cup of tea, a book, and no nosy princes.
I mouth the words while Nick shakes his head in subtle disapproval. I’m about to gouge him in the side with my elbow when my sister moans behind me.
I turn to see Lizzy turning green—literally. The pink drains from her face, leaving her a sickly chartreuse. She presses her fist to her lips, shooting a panicked gaze toward Jeffrey. He takes one look at her and, apparently reading her mind, launches into action.
Before I can ask what’s going on, Lizzy’s fiancé has swept her into his arms and made a dash for the patch of woods at the side of the family’s yard. There, he quickly sets Lizzy back on her feet and reaches for her hair, pulling it away from her face as she doubles over, offering up a second showing of our ham and sweet potato dinner.
There’s a disgusted sound from the photographer closest to the spectacle, but it’s quickly drowned out by a flurry of clicking cameras and excited murmuring from the Gallantian citizens who’ve followed our party down the street. The noise is enough to attract the attention of the caroling royal family, and one by one, their raised voices go quiet.