Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“You’re a descendant of Santa Claus?”
I know he was a real person in history so now this makes sense. The relief I feel knowing that he’s not crazy and just an overly exuberant relative is mind boggling.
“Yes,” he says watching me closely. “But there’s more to it than that.”
“More?”
“Would you like a slow reveal, or do you prefer the band aid to be ripped off?” He asks slowly.
“Usually a slow reveal,” I answer honestly. “But in this case, let’s just rip it off.”
I brace myself as his look becomes more serious.
“The myth is real. There is a village in the North Pole. The dwarves you see on my boat are elves and helpers in training. And the Rudolph you saw is a descendant of the first Rudolph that Santa used.” Stetson says this with the straightest face you’ve ever seen in your life.
“Let me guess, Rudolph flies?” I laugh because I think he is one hundred percent joking with me.
“Unfortunately, Rudolph doesn’t fly,” he says.
“Well, that’s too bad.”
“It is,” he agrees. “But we have jets now so that makes things a lot easier.”
“I’m sure it does,” I down almost half my drink because what the heck is this conversation I’m having?
He walks to the center of the room and looks out the windows onto the fjord.
“You don’t believe me.”
Liquid courage is everything.
“I have to be honest, Stetson,” I say with as much respect as I can. “You lost me when you said Rudolph doesn’t fly. And Santa has a jet. And a mega yacht and buggy. Santa is obviously a billionaire, which feels too convenient. And then there’s the most obvious of all…”
“What’s that?” He asks.
I’m definitely buzzed. Good. Liquid courage.
I don’t know why he’s smiling at me. But he is. Like he finds everything I’m saying vastly amusing when he’s the one that has a questionable mental state going on right now.
“You don’t look like Santa Claus.”
He throws his head back and laughs. Like from his belly, like he thinks this is the funniest thing in the world. And when he laughs like this… it kind of feels like a Santa jolly laugh.
It takes him a good minute to stop laughing, but when he does and stares at me with that relaxed look on his handsome face my stomach drops through the floor. He’s so beautiful, he literally makes my mouth water.
“The family clause doesn’t go into place until you reach a certain age.”
“Certain age?” I cock a brow and play along with his game. “So like Santa Claus isn’t immortal?”
“No,” he shakes his head. “There have been seventeen Santa’s.”
Seventeen Santa’s.
Is this really a conversation I’m having right now? I thought we were going to have crazy wild sex. I thought the clause was some weird sexual fetish.
But no.
He’s telling me he’s the real-life heir to the Santa Claus empire— can you even call it that? This is a lot to process.
“You look like you don’t believe me.”
“Come on, bro,” the alcohol makes me less inhibited.
“Bro?” he enunciates the word like he detests every part of it.
“Stetson,” I correct myself quickly. “You’re seriously telling me that there’s really such thing as Santa Claus and that you’re… him?”
He takes his time before answering.
“In theory, yes.”
“In theory?”
“When I turn sixty-five, I’ll take over the role,” he explains like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Or unless something happens to my father and he’s unable to fulfill the duties as outlined in the family clause.”
“So for all intents and purposes—” I begin slowly.
“I’m Santa Claus.” He finishes.