I snicker. “Or your brother just felt like none of those high school jocks were good enough for his little sister.”
She takes the ribbon from my hand and starts twirling it around her own finger. “Or he’s just a selfish asshole who’s trying to ruin my life by eating all my potential boyfriends alive.”
“I haven’t seen him chewing at Nicoli’s heels yet.”
“Shut up.” Mira shoots me a warning glare, and I merely smile, turning my focus back to the task at hand.
“How many presents have we wrapped already?”
Mira counts the stacks. “Thirty-one, which means we have fifty-nine more to go.”
“We’re going to need some help if we want these wrapped by tomorrow night.” I blow a strand of hair from my face. “A lot of help.”
“Let’s take a break,” she says, weaving her fingers through her hair and brushing it behind her ears. “I’ll ask some staff members to continue here while we finalize the Christmas dinner menu.”
I don’t object because I’m convinced I’ve developed an acute case of carpal tunnel by now.
We walk to the living room, where we find the chef waiting for us with some menu options. From baked brie bites, camembert wreath with crusty bread, and sweet potato soup with holly croutons as appetizers, to slow-roasted striploin in red wine and port with creamy mashed potato, maple-glazed ham, and traditional roasted Vermont turkey.
“The options are endless,” I say, reading through every menu numbered from one to eight. “I’m so grateful this decision isn’t solely mine to make.”
Mira leans her head to the side as she studies the menus. “Let’s go with two, three, and seven.”
My eyes widen. “Three? Are we going withthreemenus? What, do you plan on feeding a village?”
“On Christmas, the men in this house are a village.”
It’s hard for me to fathom that much food on one table. Not only didn’t we celebrate Christmas when I was a child, but I still ate my dry noodles instead of a meal prepared for a special occasion.
Nicoli and Caelian come sauntering in, both with a drink in hand, their sleeves rolled up to their elbows, and their collars loosened. “What are you two up to?” Caelian asks.
“We’re just finalizing the Christmas dinner menu,” Mira replies.
Caelian steps up behind Mira and looks over her shoulder at the menus. “Which did you choose?”
“You’ll just have to wait and see.” Mira hands the menus back to the chef and thanks him, her gaze drifting in Nicoli’s direction, and their eyes meet for only half a second, but it’s enough to make her cheeks blush with a shy glow.
Nicoli clears his throat. “What’s on the menu tonight? I’m starving.”
“I told the chef to surprise us. Leandra and I have been busy all day with the presents for the children’s home.”
“It’s ironic, don’t you think?” Caelian falls back on the couch, spreading his arm along the back. “Our family donating Christmas gifts to charity bought with money made from,” he lifts his shoulders, “doing what we do.”
Mira stares at him, deadpan, placing her hand on her hip. “Oh, you mean the money you make by running illegal casinos and sex clubs?”
“Not running, princess.” Caelian smirks, tipping his glass at her. “Owning.”
“Good God.” Mira rolls her eyes.
“Hey, I don’t see you complaining when you buy twenty pairs of those Louis Batone boots.”
“It’s Louis Vuitton, dumbass,” she corrects him with a sneer.
“Batone, Vuitton. Same thing.”
She slants her head to the side. “Not even close.”
Alexius strolls in, and my heart flutters as I watch him walk my way.