CHAPTER 27—MADDIE
***
Mom: We're watching. Are you going to be singing? You got this. Also, did you really meet Grant Torre?
Dad: Becca and Rose are with us. They say hi.
"IS THAT A KARAOKE MACHINE ?" My eyes zero in on the monstrosity in the corner of the event room, now decked out like Santa's elves went on a tinsel bender. The scent of cinnamon and pine mingles with the unmistakable aroma of Aisling's famous gingerbread cookies.
Damian grunts, his arm snaking around my waist. "It's Christmas music only. Ten bucks says someone's going try to make us sing."
"My money's on Alessandro," I mutter, leaning into him. "He's been eyeing that thing like it's his long-lost love."
As I scan the room, my shoulders tense involuntarily. This has to work. And it's not my former need for perfection—even if it's still lurking there. It'll never completely disappear. It's that I know it's not me who always needs to be perfect. And I strive to do my best.
There's so much riding on this event - for the shelter, for the animals, for us.
"Hey," Damian says softly, his thumb tracing circles on my hip. "We've got this, Princess. Together."
I look up at him, feeling a warmth spread through my chest. It still amazes me sometimes, how easily we've fallen into this... us.
"I brought some extra wireless mics and that fancy light projector you mentioned," he continues, nodding towards a bag in the corner. "Just in case we need them."
"Look at you, being all prepared," I tease, but my voice comes out softer than I intended. "I'm impressed, Mack."
He shrugs, but I catch the hint of a smile. "Yeah, well, can't have anything screwing up our big night, can we?"
The way he says "our" makes my heart skip a beat. It's not just my event anymore, or even just the shelter's. It's ours. We're in this together.
Damian's eyes meet mine, and for a second, I see something there that makes my heart skip a beat. "Wouldn't want to be anywhere else, Princess," he says, his voice low.
I roll my eyes at the nickname, but I can feel my cheeks heating up. Because the scary thing is, I wouldn't want to be anywhere else either. And that feels more right than anything has in a long, long time.
"So, um, everything's definitely set then," I say, smoothing my hands over my dark red velvet Christmas dress. I catch Damian's gaze following the movement, his eyes trailing down my body. When he notices my heels, he shifts on his feet, and I swear I can hear his sharp intake of breath.
"You're going to be the death of me, Princess," he growls, his fingers tightening on his microphone.
"We're not live yet..." I start, but before I can finish, he's in my space, close enough that I can smell his cologne, close enough that I could count his eyelashes if I wanted to. Close enough that—
"Good," he rasps. "Because ever since I saw you walk in wearing that dress, I can't stop picturing you with it hiked up around your waist, riding me. Hell, you can call me Rudolph while you do it."
And there it is again, that bubble of laughter I can't seem to contain around him. "Why Rudolph and not Santa?"
When he barks out a laugh—a real, genuine laugh that doesn't sound forced or guarded—and leans his forehead against mine, it's more than desire pulsing through me. It's something else, too. Something warmer, brighter. Something that feels dangerously close to—nope. Not going there, Maddie.
But as I reach out to steady myself against his muscular chest, I can't help but wonder: when did Damian Mack start feeling like home?
Damian's lips brush mine, soft at first, then with growing hunger. His hand trails down my back, leaving a path of fire in its wake, while the other pulls me flush against him. I can feel every hard plane of his body, the heat of him seeping through my dress. My heart isn't stuttering—it's doing a full-on gymnastics routine in my chest.
I melt into him, letting myself be held, supported. The velvet of my dress catches on the rough fabric of his suit, creating a delicious friction. For once, having someone there for me isn't terrifying. It's Damian, and he feels like home.
"Just so we're clear," he growls, his breath hot against my ear, sending shivers down my spine, "there's no one else I'd rather do this Christmas-Adopt-hon with. Your idea was brilliant."
"Thanks," I manage to whisper, my voice embarrassingly breathy. His lips find my neck, and oh god, when did my neck become directly connected to my core? Each kiss sends jolts of electricity straight south.
"No, thank you," he murmurs against my skin, and I can feel his smile. It makes me want to trace it with my tongue.
"We—we should open the Christmas-a-thon," I stammer, though every cell in my body is screaming to drag him into the nearest closet and have my wicked way with him.
"Right. The animals are waiting," he agrees, but his hands tighten on my waist like he's not ready to let go either.
"Hm-hmm," is all I can manage. My brain has apparently short-circuited.
The door bursts open. We jump apart, both of us laughing a little at being caught like teenagers.
"Sorry to interrupt!" Aisling chirps, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "But we've got a bit of a technical hiccup with the live stream setup."
As if on cue, a flood of people pour into the room. Carlos is wrestling with cables, Sorcha's fiddling with camera settings, and Alessandro's cooing at a nervous-looking Chihuahua.
"Maddie, dear," Lady Grey calls out, "could you help me set up the phone bank? These old fingers aren't as nimble as they used to be."
I nod, shooting Damian an apologetic look. He winks, mouthing "Later" before turning to help Ryan with the sound system.
The next hour is a whirlwind of activity. We're troubleshooting, delegating, and somehow managing to wrangle both humans and animals into some semblance of order. It's chaos, but it's the good kind – the kind that makes me feel alive and purposeful.
Finally, we're ready to go live. Damian and I stand side by side, mics in hand, ready to kick off the Christmas-Adopt-thon. The energy in the room is electric, a mix of excitement and nerves.
"Ready?" Damian asks, his hand finding the small of my back.
I take a deep breath, nodding. "Let's do this."
But just as the red light on the camera blinks on, the screens behind us flicker. Instead of our carefully prepared intro video, a familiar face fills the screen. My stomach drops.
"Hello, Swans Cove," Damian's mother purrs, her smile sickly sweet. "We thought we'd join the festivities. After all, what's Christmas without family?"
Damian tenses beside me, his face a mask of shock and anger. The room falls silent, all eyes darting between the screen and us.
As I frantically signal to Carlos to cut the feed, one thought echoes in my mind: What the hell do we do now?