25. Crap. Crap. Crappity Crap.
25
CRAP. CRAP. CRAPPITY CRAP.
DAISY
“He’s Charles Hawthorne, Dad!” I hiss under my breath, as if that’ll prevent Charles’ bat-like hearing to make out my words. “You can’t smack his back. I’ve seen him ruin people’s lives for much less, like someone stepping inside his invisible personal space.”
“In this house, he’s your husband and my son-in-law. Right, Charlie?”
Charlie! I haven’t heard anyone except Charles’ family call him that.
I’m about to get between Dad and Charles to protect my lovely but stupid father, when Charles scowls —at me .
“Absolutely! Your daughter just enjoys imagining me as some sort of evil king.”
“See? Even when he’s evil, he has to be the king. Why can’t you be an evil soldier?”
“You both are too cute. Fighting like cats and dogs but also unable to stay apart for longer than a minute. Daisy’s mom and I were exactly the same, until this girl walked into our lives.” His eyes shine the way they did when I literally walked into this house.
He then turns toward Charles.
“I have everything ready for peanut butter pancakes, Charles. After the way you protected my Doodles yesterday, I want to pass down all our special family secrets to you before I forget.” He winks.
Probably for the first time since his diagnosis, Dad is smiling so wide and making a joke about his health.
“I’m ready to soak in all the secrets.” Charles removes his jacket and rolls up his sleeves, making my ovaries combust.
God, I’ve seen the man without a shirt on, but there’s something sexy and forbidden about him when he’s dressed in a tailored white shirt with an expensive tie hanging from his neck, the veins of his forearms popping out and making my deep-buried fantasies come to life.
“First lesson.” Dad leads my boss-husband to the kitchen. “You cannot make these pancakes for her every day or else they’ll lose their impact. Only when she’s upset or too angry to even listen to you.”
“Dad!” I squeal. “You’re my father. Instead of telling him that, you should be advising him never to do anything that would upset me.”
“He’s a man, Doodles, not God.” Dad laughs. “Men are designed to be stupid. The key to a successful marriage is for the man to keep his stupidity in check and for the woman to be patient enough to overlook it sometimes.”
My feminist brain screams at me to remind Dad that women, too, have the right to be stupid, and it’s not only their job to be patient. But I don’t want to ruin the perfect, dreamlike morning we’re having.
Throughout the cooking, Charles hangs on to Dad’s every word and instruction with the same focus that he carries in the boardroom. He even flashes a smile for the camera as Dad snaps selfies of the two of them for his social media. But when Charles slides the pancake onto a plate, his teeth grit in frustration. I can’t help but chuckle when I see the reason why—instead of a perfect circle, it’s turned into a soft triangle.
“You can always argue that you were going for a heart shape.”
His scowl is immediately swept clean and replaced by a grin.
A grin I’ve started to understand.
A grin that makes my toes curl and my heart race.
He drizzles some syrup onto it before picking up a slice on the fork. His eyes dance with mischief as he mouths, “Open up.”
Two simple, platonic words, yet they send heat shooting down my core.
My gaze darts toward Dad, fully engrossed on his phone with his back turned toward us. I lean forward and put the fork in my mouth, never taking my eyes off Charles. The moment my lips close around the cold steel, his nostrils flare.
“It’s so sweet that I probably need to change your name again. Charles Sweet Hawthorne,” I whisper.
“What can I do to stop your obsession with my middle name, Daisy Hazy Hawthorne?”
My legs go unsteady. “How did you—”
There’s only one person who knows my official middle name, because he’s the one who put it on the document.
“Dad! You told Charles my middle name! Didn’t you promise me years ago that it would never come out?”
“He’s your husband, Doodles. You’re not supposed to have secrets from each other.” He shrugs, returning to whatever he’s doing on his phone.
“You can’t call me that ever again.” I point a finger in the air, trying to channel my strictest persona before Charles, but his grin only grows.
“I can’t?” One of his eyebrows quirks up in that sexy way. “After all the heartache you’ve given me over the years, I think it’s only fair that I tease you a little.”
“No, please. I hate that name.” Every childhood trauma floods back to me, where my middle name was one more reason I was bullied at school. Something that seemed harmless when Dad suggested it in this very room several years ago, became the bane of my existence as I grew up. I hate it when my throat tightens and tears well up in my eyes.
“Hey,” Charles says, his thumb rubbing against my cheek. “Daisy, it’s just a name.”
“It was my nana’s middle name.” My throat chokes. “She had a blast with it with her friends. My parents wanted the same for me, but it turned into a nightmare at school. I didn’t share every story with my parents, but I shiver when called by that name. I know it’s silly and stupid, but—”
“I promise I’ll never call you that.” Charles leans forward and places a kiss on my forehead.
I nod just as Dad rejoins us. “Is it okay if I post a few of our pictures online, Charles?”
“Go ahead.” My husband grins.
Is he really the same man who made a rule against opening any social media website on the company network?
“Are you sure about your private pictures being online?” I tug on Charles’ sleeves when Dad is out of earshot.
“Those aren’t private. But if you ever decide to share anything about what we do in the bedroom, now that’s a different story.” His sexy and relaxed smile makes all the butterflies go crazy in my belly.
“If I knew sex was what you needed to lighten up your cranky mood, I’d have—”
“What would you have done, Daisy?” he asks in a low, husky voice.
I can’t believe it. My asshole boss, who would probably rather kill baby dolphins than learn how to make someone happy, has managed to figure out in a matter of hours how his low voice makes my heart skip a beat.
But I haven’t spent years working under him in vain. I take a calming breath and purse my lips.
His gaze drops from my eyes to my lips, and his nostrils flare.
Taste your own medicine, Hawthorne.
“I’d have gifted you a special kind of massager.” I wiggle my brows before motioning toward his body part a little south of his belt.
But when Charles throws his head back and laughs, I feel like I haven’t just won an argument but everything. Something hits me in the chest like Cupid’s arrow as I trace the column of his neck, moving up to his curled lips, and then to his eyes, which crinkle with laugh lines.
A feeling of possessiveness burns inside me, whispering softly that I’m somehow responsible for protecting his happiness.
If earlier, as his assistant, I wanted him to scowl less, now I want him to laugh more.
If earlier I missed his snarky comments when he was out for a meeting, now I just miss him.
If earlier I hated him when he was breathing down my neck, now I love having him around me.
I just love…
Crap. Crap. Crappity Crap.
Steve parks outside the Hawthorne mansion, and before we can step out of the car, Chloe rushes to the porch.
Watching her dressed casually in red pants and a white top for a change, I feel less self-conscious about my own clothes. If I knew we were going to come straight from my dad’s place to the Hawthorne mansion, I would have picked something more formal.
“Hey, Charlie. I thought we might not see you this holiday season.”
“And why would you think that?” Her brother raises an eyebrow in a way I’ve started to find sexy.
Oh, to hell with it. There’s absolutely nothing I don’t find sexy about Charles these days.
“Maybe because you’re always stuck to your new bride like extra strong superglue, playing her bodyguard.” She grins before throwing her arms around him.
Their relationship has always been a surprise to me. For someone who avoids any show of affection as if it’ll give him some communicable disease, Charles is completely different around his sister. It’s like she knows a secret button that can flip her brother’s mood from that of a person attending a funeral to that of a Swiftie at a Taylor Swift concert.
“But it seems you were able to pull yourself away from the task of threatening reporters, landing straight into Daisy’s dad’s kitchen to flip pancakes and looking so cute while doing so.” Chloe winks at me before pulling me into a tight hug.
“How do you know about the pancakes?” I ask as she squeezes the hell out of me.
“Charlie is all over social media.” She grins. “Did you know, until this morning, my brother hated cooking?”
“I never said that,” Charles replies causally, picking some invisible lint off the sleeve of his suit jacket.
“Oh really? Then it must have been your long-lost twin who hid in the laundry room whenever I baked cookies for a bake sale and everyone pitched in except you.” She pokes her tongue out.
“Weren’t you like six then? Your brain was no bigger than an egg, so of course your memories are messed up.”
“Please don’t let him anywhere near your kids.” Chloe mock groans. Completely oblivious to how her brother’s jaw clenches upon her words, she grabs our hands and leads us inside. “Now come on. Grandma wouldn’t let me open the presents until everyone was here.”
As I step into the living room, my feet pause at the sight of a tall Christmas tree nestled in the corner, its branches nearly brushing against the ceiling. Red, gold, and white ornaments hang in every corner, so beautiful that I fear I might ruin it with just a touch. Charles’ parents, grandmother, and great-gram are gathered around a grand fireplace that’s casting a warm orange glow across the space. The light dances off the chandelier suspended in the center of the room, adding to the ambiance.
“Here you are, my sweethearts.” GG’s face lights up. She’s dressed in a flowing red dress with a matching silk scarf on her hair and dangling earrings completing the ensemble. Every time I see her, I can’t help but envy her confidence and zest for life.
How can someone be so in love with everything ?
Maybe the answer lies in this room, which is plucked out of a movie set. It feels safe, warm, and happy.
“Come here, you lovebirds. It’s been too long since I last saw you.” GG grins, holding our faces and kissing our foreheads.
“You saw us only a few days ago, GG,” Charles replies as we settle on the couch beside Chloe and are immediately handed glasses of eggnog by the staff.
“When you reach my age, a few days feels like an eternity.”
“So, is it finally time for presents?” Chloe springs out of her seat, making me jerk in response. Charles’ hand curls around my waist to help me settle as I balance my drink.
How is it that in just a few weeks, touching each other has become so spontaneous that we don’t even think about it?
“You still behave like a kid, Chloe.” Irene Hawthorne shakes her head in light disapproval, but that doesn’t affect Chloe’s smile, and finally, she motions toward the gifts. “Go ahead, take your gifts.”
Chloe moves like an arrow, handing each of us a gift box beautifully wrapped with our names written on a white note card.
Crap!
“Why didn’t you tell me there was going to be a gift exchange?” I tug on Charles’ jacket. “I didn’t bring anyone anything!”
Way to make your new family hate you, Daisy.
“We got everyone something. You’ll see soon.” He smiles casually while my heart gallops.
Did he just say we?
“The gifts in your hands are from Grandma, so you can all guess they will be classy and elegant, exactly like her. We’ll all open them together on the count of three.” Chloe makes a big show of counting, waving her fingers in the air.
My shaky hands turn cold as I remove the silver gift wrap and stare down at a beautiful pearl necklace.
“This was my mother’s.”
My head flies up at Charles’ grandmother’s voice.
“Now that you are a Hawthorne, Daisy, you will be under scrutiny twenty-four seven. Your every step will be watched, and your every word will be judged. But in between all that, you’ll also have a chance to do wonderful things for this town and its people. An opportunity that comes to only a few. I hope you use your chance wisely. Consider this my blessing and best wishes.”
I’m surprised because Irene Hawthorne isn’t what someone would call soft-hearted. She’s famous for being ruthless and not mincing her words. And she soon proves that I’m not wrong about her.
“You were, of course, not the girl I always imagined as my grandson’s bride.”
Beside me, Charles stiffens, but I don’t take offense. How can I, when everything she just said is nothing but true?
I’m Charles’ imperfect match, after all.
“But Charles has given up so much for this family and the Hawthorne name that I’m happy he was able to find his own happiness along the way.” She leans back in her seat while guilt slithers inside me.
I close the box after thanking her and giving the necklace one last look, knowing I’m never going to wear it. Deceiving everyone is one thing, but taking something so precious that doesn’t rightfully belong to me is downright stealing.
After everyone has opened their presents, Chloe goes back to the tree and returns with a new set of gifts.
“These are from the very beloved, hottest couple of Cherrywood. We can’t wait to see what you both got us.” Chloe waves a few envelopes in the air, grinning like a kid while the eggnog turns to acid in my stomach, ready to crawl up my esophagus.
I feel like I’m sitting in some lab’s experimental chair instead of this comfy couch, where I’m bombarded with hard emotions one right after the other.
Given the envelopes and Charles’ love for gift cards, I have no doubt of what he bought for his family, yet I can’t help but make a tiny prayer in vain.
Oh God, please, please let it be something other than gift cards.
I really don’t want the Hawthornes to think I can’t carry my lazy ass to a store and buy everyone a nice present.
“What the heck is this?” Chloe’s hands rest over her hips as she squints at her brother.
And suddenly I wish the opposite—for the colorful paper in her hand to be a gift card instead of whatever it is that’s causing her temper to rise.
“It’s a Christmas gift,” Charles, on the other hand, replies calmly.
“Is this a joke? You know I’m scared of heights. I’m never going to skydive.”
“You have to get over your fears if you want something in life, sis.”
“I don’t want anything, especially if it comes from jumping out of a plane.” Chloe neatly tucks the paper back into the envelope and places it onto the table as if never wanting to touch it again.
“I have found the perfect trainer for you. You think I’d ask you to do anything that isn’t safe?”
“Forget it, Charlie! I’m not going to do it.” Chloe throws daggers her brother’s way.
This has to be the first time I’ve seen her upset or angry with her beloved brother, and I worry this might ruin everyone’s mood. I lean forward, about to tell Chloe that I’d be happy to get something more suited to her, when Charles places his hand over my thigh.
I glance at him and, still smiling, he shakes his head before once again turning to Chloe, who’s watching us closely with a narrowed stare.
“Oh, believe me, you will, especially when you see who else trains there.”
Something unspoken passes between the two, like a secret that only they share, until Chloe’s gaze drifts to my lap.
“And what about Daisy’s gift? Or were you so busy planning my murder that you forgot your new wife?”
Did he?
I turn around and my eyes snap to his. Charles’ lips curl as he leans forward.
What the heck is he doing?
My body is frozen in place when he places a soft kiss on my cheek. “I can never forget you. Your gift is waiting for you at home.”
Silence stretches in the room except for the song of crackling fire. Charles’ dad, Oscar, is the first one to break it, with a loud clap and a laugh.
“I’ve never been happier with a surprise. Way to go, Ace. Finally, you showed you didn’t just inherit my intelligence but also my charm.”
“Oh, Oscar. Our son has much more swoon than you.” Kristy leans forward, placing her hand over her husband’s. “You’re more of a king of secret love, but Charles is really the prince of claiming possessively in public. Didn’t you see him on the news yesterday? You never would have done that.”
“Is the gift by any chance dirty, and that’s why you couldn’t give it to Daisy in front of us?” Chloe’s eyes sparkle with mischief.
“That’s none of your concern, sis.” Charles chuckles while I place my palms over my burning cheeks, which must be all shades of pink and red right now.
I cannot believe we’re having this conversation in front of his family. But thankfully, dinner is soon announced, and we’re all led to the dining room. Delicious is too small of a word to describe the four-course meal, including the exemplary French dessert mille-feuille.
I’ve just stepped out of the bathroom, placing my lipstick back into my bag after a quick touch-up, when I find Charles leaning against the opposite wall.
I try to step aside, thinking he wants to go in, but instead, he crowds me, holding me captive between him and the door.
“What is it?” My voice quivers without trying.
Now, every time I see him, my heart does a little flip. As much as I want to go to the doctor and receive confirmation that I have a serious heart disease, I know that’s not the case. Instead, it’s my fake husband giving me all these stupid, crazy feels.
“What do you want, Charles?” I ask again, and he tips his head up to the ceiling and the innocent-looking mistletoe hanging above us.
Holy shit!
“Please tell me you’re not seriously suggesting what I think you are. What are you, twenty?”
That asshole in Armani continues to smile at me. Even though I hate that he’s taking me by surprise at every step with that smoldering grin, my chest warms thinking I have something to do with his newfound happiness.
“You are freaking serious?” I whisper under my breath.
“Have you ever seen me not serious?”
That might be true. But this Charles A. Hawthorne is so different from the man I work for.
I’m still struggling when he leans in.
His lips touch mine, and that feeling returns in my chest. This time, he isn’t rushed. No, tonight his tongue moves inside my mouth with a slow pace, like he’s savoring me.
His hand moves from my face to the back of my neck, and he tugs on my hair, making me look up, which only gives Charles better access to my mouth.
My hands grab his jacket, something I’ve started to do without trying whenever he’s kissing me, and Charles’ moan gets locked in my throat.
After what feels like forever, I finally register a voice calling my name. It slowly starts to grow stronger as I pull away from Charles. It might have been one of the hardest things I’ve ever done in my life, especially when Charles makes a disapproving groan.
“Chloe,” I whisper, licking my lips as his hot gaze traces the path of my tongue.
Chloe’s singsong voice calls my name once again as we step away from the fortuitous bathroom door, which has reserved for itself a permanent spot in my memories.
But before we can further walk into the living room, where everyone is waiting for us, Charles tugs on my arm. Turning me around in a flash, he places a chaste kiss on my lips before grinning and tipping his head up toward another mistletoe.
How many did they hang in there?
“Were you the one in charge of decorations tonight, smoochmister?”
I’m torn about these green things dangling from red ribbons all over the house—they’re adorable, yet potential heart-attack inducers. A part of my brain wants to just stand under them with Charles and let him do his magic, while the rational part of my brain pitter-patters and wants to run away and save me from future heartache. These moments feel riskier than actual sex.
“Finally, I found you two.” Chloe releases a heavy breath. “Dad’s waiting for you in his office, Charlie.” She holds my hand, leading me back into the living room. “And Mom wants to talk to you.”
I feel the warmth of Charles’ gaze on me until I’m sitting on the couch next to his mom, and only then do I see the back of his dark suit leaving the hallway.
“How are you doing, hon?” Kristy asks as I settle beside her. Since GG and Grandma Irene retired into their rooms and Chloe is away on a phone call, it’s just us.
“I’m good. Thank you.”
“I remember the days following my own wedding. Being a Hawthorne bride takes a hell of a lot of adjusting. Did you know, like Charlie and you, Oscar was also my boss before we got married?” Her grin is fun, and I feel a familiar comfort in her company, as if I’m around friends.
“I didn’t.” My shock is genuine.
“Oh yeah, and like you two, we had to hide the relationship from everyone, including my sister,” she says in a low conspiratorial voice. “For several reasons, but mostly because Oscar didn’t want Charlie to get attached to someone and later realize the relationship wasn’t working out.”
I feel a newfound appreciation for Charles’ dad. Every kid needs to have parents who are willing to sacrifice their own happiness for their little ones. I knew how lucky I was when I found mine.
“But it’s not just Oscar. All throughout his childhood, everyone around Charlie was so protective of him, and I think that safety net became a huge part of his identity, until it was pulled right out from under him. That day, our little Charlie became Charles Hawthorne. What I’m trying to say is, I’m so happy to see the long-lost carefree part of him back when he’s with you. It’s been years since I saw him smiling the way he is tonight.”
“I don’t understand. What do you mean by that day ?” I ask before I can clamp my mouth shut.
Is this something I should have known?
“He didn’t tell you?” Kristy’s eyebrows furrow, making me squirm.
I slowly shake my head.
“Charlie was thirteen when there was a shooting attempt at him.”
My jaw drops open, but no words make it out.
“In the end, we found out that it was the head of Hawthorne Security. That’s why Charles is so paranoid about his security team. Even with Steve and Dave, who are highly trained and have Charles’ complete trust, they have to undergo regular physical and psychological examinations.”
I knew Charles was neurotic about his safety, and I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve made a joke about it.
But he has a real freaking reason for it.
“Was he…hurt?” I ask, my heart thundering against my chest.
“Not physically,” Kristy replies. “But someone who’s close to our family was. And those months changed him forever. My sweet boy finally realized what it meant to be a Hawthorne. Until then, he had only seen the perks and benefits, but that day, he learned the darker side of being famous. And since then, he’s avoided crowds, public events, and closed himself off. I used to worry all the time that he would never open up his heart to anyone again. But now, when I see him with you, I’m so relieved.”
With a satisfied smile, Kristy holds my hands in between hers, but my mind is running a mile a minute.
How did I not know this?
During my initial months working for him, I did extensive research on Charles, scouring the internet, searching for anything and everything about him that would help me become the perfect assistant.
“Was this not covered by the news?” I ask, and Kristy shakes her head.
“Since it happened in London, we were able to keep it under wraps. We don’t talk about it, but I know Charles can never forget that time. And it’s why he’s so paranoid about the safety of the people he loves.”
My mind races back to the day Charles found me at Vincent’s construction site. His patient voice, his affectionate words, and his worried face.
He left one of the most important meetings that day without a thought because I was in danger.
But Kristy said he’s paranoid about the safety of the people he loves .
Does that mean he...?
No, Daisy. Don’t you dare fucking go there.
“Was everything okay tonight?” Charles asks as we step out of the car and take the stone sidewalk leading up to his house. “If you’re still upset about what Grandma said, I can—”
“Charles, no! Your family is amazing. And I’m not upset about anything.”
“Then why are you so quiet?”
“I’m just tired.” And confused. And guilty for every joke I cracked in the past about your security.
As we step into the elevator, I catch a glimpse of the lights shimmering on the giant swimming pool just before the doors slide shut. Tonight, I admire Charles’ estate in a different light. He’s made sure he never has to leave his sanctuary and has brought everything to him. The huge pool rivals a lake with its size. The best-in-class gym on the first floor. In addition to his living area on the second floor, he has a huge library upstairs. And let’s not forget the helipad on the estate grounds.
I slide the key card into the electronic lock, but before I can take another step in, Charles tugs on my arm.
My gaze moves from his face to the doorframe. “I don’t see a mistletoe here.”
A lazy smile spreads on his face, swiping away the furrow lines on his forehead. “If I knew you liked kissing me so much, I’d have asked Mrs. Kowalski to place one at every corner of the house.”
Oh, if only you knew, my dear husband.
“Very funny.” I turn to walk in, but he once again tugs me back.
“I have something for you. A surprise.” His words and the hesitation in his voice suddenly have my full attention.
“Like, a good surprise?”
“That’s for you to decide.” He takes out a silver silk tie from his jacket, and my eyes widen.
I gasp. “Are you going to tie me up, Charles?”
He throws his head back and laughs.
“I love the way your brain works, butterfly. I’ll remember it for the future. But today, I just want to blindfold you.”
I have no idea how he decides when to call me butterfly or my dear wife, but the surprise gets to me every time.
“Shall I?” Charles brings the tie forward and I nod. A second later, the soft silk fabric is covering my eyes.
“Comfortable?” he asks.
“Not as much as when I have my vision, but I guess I’ll survive for a while.”
His warmth is right behind me, surrounding me like a heavy cocoon. Charles gently pushes me forward, guiding me farther in. His hands are placed on my shoulders, protecting me from hurting myself.
“Careful,” he says, and I stop. He guides me to the right, and I know we’ve walked into the living room.
“Did you turn on the fireplace?” I can hear the sound of crackling fire. Until I moved here, I didn’t know I had such a love for fireplaces.
“Mrs. Kowalski did.”
“Can I remove my blindfold now?” I lick my lips, suddenly equal parts curious and nervous. There’s something about being blindfolded, especially when my hot husband has full control of all his faculties.
“Patience, my dear wife.” I can hear the grin in his voice as he guides me. “Sit.” The soft leather of the couch is at the back of my legs and the warmth of the fire on my front.
I perch down, and a second later, the low notes of soft instrumental music fill the room.
“Charles, please remove my blindfold now.” I wet my dry lips once again.
“Why? Are you scared?” His voice is so low that it gives me goose bumps in its wake.
“No, I’m not scared.” I grit my teeth.
What the heck, Daisy? It’s a simple blindfold, and it’s not that I don’t trust Charles.
“Then let’s keep it for a little while longer.” His hot breath skates over my skin, and a second later, I feel something cold against my lips. “Drink,” he whispers, pressing the glass on my quivering lips.
“Are you trying to poison me?”
He chuckles once again, and even with closed eyes, I can imagine his handsome face, his lips curling up and his eyes squinting.
“There’re a lot of things I want to do with you, but killing is definitely not one of them.”
Okay, then.
I take a sip and the whiskey burns my throat. Heat travels from my mouth down to my throat, and I feel it in my core.
He takes the glass away, then I’m hoisted into the air before he settles down right where I was and places me on his lap.
“I don’t think this room is lacking any sitting space.”
“It’s not, but this is my favorite spot.”
Um, okay. What can I say to that? Because truthfully, this is my favorite spot too. On his lap.
“Can I remove the blindfold now?” I’ve lost count of the times I’ve repeated this question.
But he replies with a tsking sound. “Not yet. I love having you like this. At my mercy.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re too cocky for your own good?”
“I’m sure my assistant has. Numerous times.” His warm chuckle, right behind my left ear, sends a shiver down my spine.
“She sounds like a wonderful, smart woman. You should consider giving her a raise for putting up with you.”
“I’ll think about the raise, but for now, will a gift suffice?” His voice takes on a more sincere tone.
“Do I get to see it, or will I just hear about it from you?”
He laughs softly. As much as I love the sound of his laughter, I’m eager to see his smile. Thankfully, Charles unties the knot, and the blindfold falls away. I barely have a moment to take in the room decorated with lights and the beautiful Christmas tree before he presents a small gift box.
“Here.”
My gaze shifts from the blue bow over the silver wrapping paper to the man before me. A few months ago, I would have laughed like a madwoman if anyone had suggested that I’d ever touch my boss with a ten-foot pole. Yet here I am, with no desire to be anywhere else.
“Did someone force you to get me a Christmas gift?” I ask cautiously.
“No one forces me to do anything. You know this better than anyone.” He meets my gaze, his expression serious.
But wasn’t he forced to marry me? The words hover on the tip of my tongue.
Shut up, Daisy. This isn’t the time to win an argument.
“What is it?” I eye the box as if there’s a bomb inside it, while my husband’s grin only grows.
“It’s something you’ll absolutely love,” he replies in that overly confident and cocky Charles Hawthorne style, and there’s no way I can stop myself now.
“So it’s a threatening device to keep asshole bosses in check?”
“Your mouth is going to get you into big trouble someday, my dear wife.”
I drop my gaze away from his smiling face and carefully start to peel off the wrapping paper.
I’m only saving it because it’s my first real Christmas gift from Charles, especially if we ignore the gift cards he sends every year to his close staff.
But my giant smile drops at the sight of a jewelry box.
Of course he got me jewelry.
After the furry slippers as the wedding gift, I was hoping for something similar. But this is Charles Hawthorne. In his world, Christmas gifts probably mean something expensive and classy.
Mustering the same excitement as before, I flip open the tiny gold latch and my heart stops.
Oh my God!
It’s so not just jewelry.
It’s a hair clip with rhinestone daisies.
Yes, it’s expensive and classy, but it’s so much more . It’s like someone made it only for me.
I know I won’t be able to stop my tears, so I don’t even try as they race down my cheeks.
“Hey, you don’t like it?” Charles’ panicked voice doesn’t help my cause.
“I love it, Charles. It’s perfect. I…I can’t believe you got me something so special.” My hand tightens around the box.
“It’s our first holiday together. I want to make it special.” He shrugs, and I wait, because if I’ve learned something these past weeks, it’s that there’s always more with Charles. And he proves me right the next second.
“You told me how your dad bought these rhinestone hair clips for your mom.” His fingers graze the pearl hair clip in my hair tonight. “I liked the tradition, and you definitely like wearing them, so…” He shrugs again before hesitantly looking up at me. “Why can’t we continue the same tradition?”
I’m speechless. He raises his eyebrows in real confusion at my tears, and I throw my arms around him.
“Oh my God. Who knew you could be so considerate?” I say between hiccups, and I feel his chest shaking in suppressed laughter.
After a beat, he pulls me back and wipes my tears with the pads of his thumbs. His blue eyes shine with happiness as I lean forward and place a small kiss on the tip of his nose. My heart’s so full and emotional right now.
“In this very moment, if there was a competition for the perfect husband, you would win it fair and square, Charles.”
“So where’s the Christmas gift for your perfect, extraordinary husband?”
While his smile couldn’t be wider, I’ve lost all my happy hormones, as I’m busy panicking. My gaze moves from him to the side cupboard where, covered in gaudy yellow packaging, sits a stupid coffee mug.
It’d have been better if you didn’t get him anything.
But how would I know that Charles was going to break our unspoken Christmas gift tradition this year?
He has always given me a gift card of a ridiculous amount—does it matter that I negotiated it during my first year working for him?—and I’ve always bought him a funny, snarky coffee mug.
A smile on his face in return for money in my bank account. This was the only way I could afford the expensive prices of last-minute holiday shopping, since I don’t get any time off before that.
Win-win for all, if you ask me.
But right now, there’s no room for that stupid mug next to this hair clip. This man sitting before me is not my jerk boss, but someone plucked out of every girl’s dream.
Forget the white horse. Charles Hawthorne in his white Porsche is rewriting all the fairy tales.
But what Cinderella would I be if I gave him a cup that says, “You are a jerk, my dear boss-prince.”
Mustering up all the courage I have, I glance up at Charles. “It’s your turn to close your eyes.”
“Why?” He raises an eyebrow.
“Did I ask so many questions when you blindfolded me?” I grab the tie from the front pocket of his jacket and tie it securely.