Epilogue
Yuletide dawns cold and silver-white this year, and my mother insists on hosting all the festivities—though to her, of course, we’re simply celebrating Christmas three days early. “You missed a spot, young man,” she says now to Reid, pointing her sharp finger at the very top of the tree. “Just there.”
With a pained glance in my direction, Reid stretches to his tiptoes to untangle the tinsel. It drips from the boughs—from the mantel, from the windows, from everything —like melting icicles, interspersed with shining baubles and golden bells. Poinsettias. Garlands of dried oranges and velvet ribbons and white berries, candles, and enough mistletoe to make the town house a veritable tinderbox of awkwardness.
Filippa and I might’ve gotten a little carried away.
Still, exhilaration tingles from the top of my head to the tips of my toes as I gaze around at them—my loved ones, my family—all gathered in my childhood sitting room. Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined such a happily ever after for us: humans, witches, and a vampire queen celebrating together on a perfect winter evening.
I hasten to distribute their gifts: one present for every person in attendance, each chosen anonymously and placed under the tree in secret.
When I stumble on the edge of our festive scarlet rug—a gift from Odessa—Michal catches the wrapped packages that spill from my arms. Whereas I’ve lost my immortal grace, he seems to have retained his entirely, and I am not at all sure that’s fair. To Reid, he says in a wry voice, “If you can’t reach the top, I’d be happy to offer my assistance.”
Reid scowls at him, but in his eyes, a glimmer of mischief sparks. With a snap of his fingers, the tinsel winds around the last branch before twining upward, past the boughs, and twisting around the chandelier where it glitters in the candlelight. Reid smirks at my mother’s delighted gasp. “Thanks for your concern,” he says dryly, “but I think I can handle it.”
Lou cackles, sitting cross-legged by the hearth and braiding Coco’s hair while Beau attempts to light the ceremonial log. He shoots them an aggrieved glance. “Either one of you could do this with a wave of your hands, you know.”
“Oh, we know.” With a serene smile, Lou weaves a strand of tinsel through Coco’s braids too. “But it’s much more entertaining to watch the king do it.”
“Ingrates,” Beau mutters. “I didn’t escape the castle this evening to put up with this kind of harassment—”
“That is exactly why you escaped the castle this evening,” Coco says sweetly. She plucks a marshmallow from her mug of hot cocoa and flicks it at him. He dodges at the last second, and it soars into the hearth. “Would it help if I say you look extra dashing tonight?”
A grin tugs on his lips as he straightens his brocade vest. “It would, actually.”
“Are we sure Beau should be in charge of lighting anything?” Reid drops to the floor beside Lou, stretching out his long legs and stealing a sip of her cocoa. “He nearly burned down the city the last time he played with fire.”
Beau shoots him a narrow look. “By played , I assume you mean attempted to save your ungrateful lives —”
“Is that what you were doing?”
Coco leans forward to press a kiss to Beau’s cheek before he can retort. “And we’re all very appreciative.” Slightly mollified, Beau closes his mouth once more, and his dark eyes burn with fervor as he watches Coco settle back upon the rug. No. They burn with love . If I’m any judge of character, I know exactly what he intends to give Coco for Yule this year.
The only question is when .
Unable to contain my giddy smile—shooting them both covert glances every few seconds, just in case—I do my best to distribute the rest of the gifts without giving his secret away. When I extend a brightly wrapped present to Odessa, she inspects it with keen interest, turning it round and round before shaking it abruptly.
“Stop that!” I snatch it away from her, clutching it to my chest indignantly. “It’s supposed to be a surprise .”
“I am not trying to learn what it is .” Odessa leans forward in my mother’s favorite high-back chair, clad in an opulent gown of crimson and emerald silk with an enormous crown of poinsettias atop her sable hair. The entire ensemble should look completely ridiculous, but instead, she looks like some sort of Christmas angel thanks to her preternatural beauty—or she would, if not for the goblet of blood in her hand. “I am trying to learn who it’s from .”
“Which is also against the rules.” Whirling, I hide her gift under a pillow across the room—safe from her prying eyes—and offer Michal the last remaining present, this one wrapped in silver foil with deep emerald stars. Odessa peers at it for the briefest of seconds before swirling her goblet in smug satisfaction.
“ That one is from Reid.” When I scowl at her, she shrugs delicately. “Look at those corners—they’re sharper than a Balisarda. I am not entirely sure he didn’t steam the paper before wrapping it.”
“He did.” With a chortle, Lou ties a ribbon around the end of Coco’s braid. “I watched him do it. And it took him weeks to pick out your gift,” she adds to Michal, who laughs and sinks into the settee, completely at ease as he spreads a broad arm across its back. Heat infuses my cheeks at the sight, at the memory of him on a very different settee, and when his black eyes cut to mine—darkening slightly, his lips curling into a smirk—I know he remembers it too.
A different sort of heat spreads through my belly as I hold his gaze. So similar, yet so different from the vampire I knew. Once, I would’ve attributed the softness in his eyes to becoming human, but now I know I would’ve been wrong; that softness has always been there when Michal looks at me.
Somehow, this beautiful and breathtaking man—this man who held true power in his hands, who wielded it, who might’ve lived forever on an unbreakable throne—has chosen to be here instead. Here. In my mother’s threadbare sitting room, surrounded by tinsel and mistletoe and cats.
Toulouse darts across Lou’s lap, and Reid grimaces as Melisandre pounces after the kitten, her claws catching on his trousers. “It didn’t take weeks —”
“The game, as you all remember, is called le secret du Père No?l.” I plant my hands on my hips, glaring at everyone despite the brilliant smile on my face. I cannot help it. Not with Michal watching me like this—like he is seconds away from pouncing, from dragging me into a dark corner to have his wicked way with me. His rapt attention makes my smile all the brighter as I pretend to ignore him. “Emphasis on secret . Are you all trying to ruin Christmas?”
“Yule,” Coco and Lou say simultaneously.
“ Christmas. ” Voice tart, my mother strides back into the room carrying a tray of rich, chocolaty b?che de No?l, along with sugarplum pudding and spiced pear pies. My stomach rumbles at the decadent scents. “Though if anyone else is trying to ruin this holy day, I fear you have competition.”
As if on cue, Filippa’s and Dimitri’s voices rise from the kitchen, where they sound like they’re doing their best to kill each other. “That is salt , not sugar!” Filippa snarls, and an ominous crash follows, rather like Filippa just launched the saltcellar at Dimitri’s head. He curses viciously.
“Salt enhances the flavors of the dish!”
“Not four spoonfuls of it—”
Beau eyes the food on my mother’s tray dubiously. “While I, er—admire Dimitri’s newfound interest in the culinary arts, I shall allow everyone else to sample these delicacies first—”
My mother thrusts the tray under his nose with quiet menace. “Nonsense, Your Majesty. Monsieur Petrov made the pudding especially for you.”
Together, our gazes fall to said pudding, which looks a bit—
Congealed.
My stomach churns as Beau swallows hard, accepting the knife from my mother and moving to scoop up a piece.
“Wait.” Sighing heavily, Reid climbs to his feet and nudges his brother aside before choosing a pie instead. These, at least, appear fully baked, and when Reid takes a tentative bite, he manages to swallow with little to no chewing. A blessing. I lift a hand to take one too—for Dimitri’s sake. Since turning human and moving to Cesarine, he has truly cultivated a passion for food. Pastries, meats, and last week, even a vaguely edible herring soup.
To his credit, he has only poisoned us once.
As if remembering that miserable night, Michal places light fingers upon my wrist, shaking his head slightly when I move to take a bite. “Don’t eat that.”
My mother scowls at him.
Filippa and Dimitri burst from the kitchen in the next moment, however, and Michal uses the distraction to flick the pie into the fire. “Oh my heavens .” My mother’s eyes widen at the flour dusting Filippa’s entire face, at her murderous expression, and Dimitri’s self-satisfied grin. His velvet collar is sticky and stained with the jam still on Filippa’s fingers. “What in God’s name just happened?”
“When I took the salt from him,” Filippa says through clenched teeth, “he threw flour at me. Flour— ”
Dimitri bristles instantly. “You knocked the salt from my hands and proceeded to attack me with a jar of apricot jam. A terrible flavor, by the way—”
“You are lucky it was just jam—”
“It’s true, Dima.” Lou nods cheerfully from the floor. “There is a set of carving knives on the table.”
“And a frying pan,” Odessa adds.
“Flinging food.” Mouth pursed in exasperation, my mother drops the tray of desserts onto the sideboard with a ringing clang . “Honestly, if I must separate the two of you, I will—”
“ Please. ” Filippa stalks across the room to the foyer entrance—away from everyone—and leans against the threshold, crossing her arms tightly, while Dimitri strolls over to sit next to Michal. When he opens his mouth to goad my sister further, I step between them, just like I always do. My lips twitch as I clap my hands together.
“Presents! Who wants to go first?”
To my surprise, it isn’t Lou or Coco or even Michal who answers, but my sister. Still scowling, she reaches into the darkened hall behind her to pluck a present I must’ve missed from the entry table. Sturdy and square, wrapped in paper of palest pink, the package shines incandescent in the candlelight as she extends it to me. “For you,” she says simply, not quite meeting my gaze.
My hands reach for it of their own volition. “You drew my name? I never even suspected.”
“Le secret du Père No?l, remember?” She crosses her arms as if unsure what else to do with them. “We all took great pains to ensure you didn’t suspect.”
“And it was quite difficult too,” Dimitri adds, though not unkindly, “as you’re a bit of a busybody, Célie.”
Rolling his eyes, Michal pushes him to the end of the settee. “Pot, meet kettle.”
Before Filippa can protest, I seize her hand and drag her toward them, pushing her into the seat between Michal and Dimitri. The latter laughs out loud at the sour expression on her face. And perhaps I should apologize, yet I cannot possibly sit in her place; I’m much too excited. Though I did in fact suspect my sister drew my name—there’d been far too many clandestine conversations between her and Lou for anything else, as my sister doesn’t even like Lou—my hands still practically vibrate in anticipation as I shred the beautiful paper, mourning its loss for only a second before inspecting the simple wooden case beneath.
My breath hitches as I open the latch.
Inside the case sits my perfectly repaired, perfectly beautiful music box. As if sensing my elation, Michal reaches for the case before I hastily discard it, his fingers gentle as he helps shimmy the painted fairies into view. I lift the music box into the air to examine it from every angle, my chest tightening as my mother gasps behind us. “I thought it was broken,” she whispers, drawing closer to examine it too. Even the cracks from my childhood have somehow vanished, as if they never existed at all, as if Filippa and I never touched this music box. Never loved it. The thought leaves me unexpectedly breathless. Indeed, as I gaze into the pristine faces of its fairy dancers, my chest constricts further with... not regret, perhaps, but sorrow.
When my mother reaches for it in the next second, I hand the box over reluctantly, and she murmurs, “How extraordinary. I saw the pieces myself when I came to Yew Lane—I thought the damage irreparable.”
My eyes snap to my sister, who looks deeply uncomfortable but forces herself to meet my gaze at last. Her green eyes gleam overly bright in the candlelight, even tense, as I fix her with a curious look. “When Louise mentioned the music box,” she says, “I asked her to let me have it. I couldn’t stand to see the pieces in the bin, but if you don’t want it—”
“I want it.”
“You do?”
Green eyes flick to mine as I nod, and something hopeful shifts within them. Something vulnerable—there and gone again before anyone else can see. Moving forward to clasp her hands, I kiss her cheek and whisper, “Thank you. Truly. I’ve always loved this music box.”
She pulls away awkwardly, pink creeping up her throat. “I know.”
The rest of the exchange passes in a dreamlike haze, my friends’ grins and sparkling eyes softened somehow, almost magical, in the golden glow of the candlelight. Odessa unwraps the mechanical puzzle I bought her while Michal carefully lifts his own gift—a blown-glass oil lamp from Reid—to examine its silver trim. “A housewarming present,” Reid says from the carpet, resting easily against the leg of Odessa’s chair. “Célie gave us a tour of your town house last week. The renovations are impressive.”
“And right across the street too.” Leaning back against Reid’s chest, Lou arches an impish brow at Michal and me before—incredibly— winking at Filippa and Dimitri, who both pretend not to see. “Such close proximity must be incredibly convenient for all parties involved.”
Michal ignores her, his brow furrowing as he considers the glass lamp. “You have... unexpectedly good taste, huntsman.”
“Of course he does.” Lou beams down at the slip of parchment in her hand. Apparently, she drew her own name in our secret exchange, and she gifted herself the deed to a local tavern, Les Pêches—a tavern rumored to have been owned by a very well-endowed barmaid named Lydia. “Just look at me.”
Though Michal shakes his head, his chest rumbles with suppressed laughter as Dimitri opens an envelope containing a certificate for baking lessons with Johann Pan, courtesy of Coco, and Reid unwraps a leather journal from my mother, who stares down at the jewelry box in her lap with a stricken expression.
A gift from Michal.
His laughter fades as she turns wide eyes toward him. “Open it,” he says softly. And if the box itself weren’t enough—gilt and ornate, its carved roses set with rubies—the pieces within seem to render my mother speechless. Not because of their fabulous cost—though the diamonds, pearls, and emeralds once fetched a small fortune—but because she recognizes them. I recognize them too, as does Filippa, who goes very still beside me.
Maman trails trembling fingers across a pearl-encrusted hairpin. The same hairpin my grandmother gave her for her eighteenth birthday.
The same hairpin she sold five years ago to disguise our father’s crippling debt.
Swallowing hard, our mother tears her gaze away from it. “But how—?”
Michal leans forward in his seat, and I don’t think I’ve ever loved him more than in this moment. Though he told me about her gift weeks ago—even asked for my help in confirming the pieces—it is quite different to know than to see , and the sight of my mother gaping down at her old jewelry, her eyes filling with tears, nearly causes my heart to burst. Abruptly desperate to touch him, to hold him, I seize his hand, and Michal squeezes my fingers gently before saying, “You’ll notice one or two pieces are still missing from the collection. I’m hoping to procure them by the end of the month.”
Maman still seems unable to speak, opening her mouth before closing it again in helpless defeat. At last, she straightens her shoulders and pretends to push back her hair, wiping her eyes discreetly in the process. “This is— Young man, I cannot—cannot possibly accept such a gift. Really, Monsieur Vasiliev, the expense alone—”
“Joyeux No?l, Satine,” Michal says firmly. “You deserve a bit of happiness.”
Odessa skewers Beau with an odd, pointed look at that. “And in the spirit of pursuing happiness, I would get on with it if I were you.” She lifts her chin toward the bottle of absinthe in his hand, toward the note she attached around its neck written in bold script: For courage. Beau has been staring down at it for the last ten minutes, his thumb sweeping reflexively across the green fairy on the label. His throat working as if unable to remember how to breathe.
“What is she talking about?” Coco asks curiously, still lounging on the rug beside him, Lou, and Reid. Discarded paper litters the floor around them, and lilac ribbons glint in Coco’s long plaits as she turns to grin at Beau, the firelight casting her in a warm and lovely glow. Indeed, when Beau finally glances up at her, it looks like someone has clubbed him over the head. She raises her eyebrows at his dumbfounded expression. “Beau...?” she asks slowly. “Does she mean my gift? Did you draw my name?”
Though Beau coughs to clear his throat, his voice still comes out hoarse. “Yes.”
Coco’s smile falters slightly as she sits up. “What is it? Are you all right?”
He gives a strangled laugh in response, refusing to look at anyone, and I resist the urge to leap forward and drag the ring from his pocket myself. Honestly. Lou and I exchange a long-suffering glance, her turquoise eyes bright with anticipation. Because if Beauregard Lyon still thinks there is even a possibility Cosette Monvoisin will reject him, he is clearly the most oblivious man alive.
“What is this?” Coco’s gaze narrows as it sweeps from Beau to the room at large, all of us waiting with bated breath for him to do it. To ask her. As if to bolster his brother’s nerve, Reid surreptitiously flicks a finger, and the candlelight dims; the pianoforte in the corner begins to play a soft, crooning melody the next second. Coco stares at everyone, bemused. “You’re all acting very odd , and if someone doesn’t tell me why in the next three seconds, I’m going to— Oh .”
Her threat ends on a sharp exhalation—her mouth falling open—as the explanation becomes clear the instant she turns back to Beau, who has climbed up to one knee. Face pale yet determined, he holds a small velvet box in one hand.
“I prepared a speech,” he whispers in the abrupt silence of the room. “I mean, I’ve spent the last year dreaming up this exact moment, rehearsing it in the mirror—”
“Of course you did,” Lou says with a delighted cackle.
Reid claps an impatient hand over her mouth, his attention fixed on Beau and Coco.
“—whispering it to myself in quiet moments, on long walks around the castle,” Beau continues determinedly, ignoring them both. “Typically, in my head, it included your name written in the stars, and also lots of se —that is—” He coughs and glances hastily at my mother before turning back to Coco, who snickers despite the tears filling her eyes. His face softens. “I can’t remember any of it now. All I know is that, once upon a time, I met a beautiful healer named Brie Perrot who enchanted me from that very first minute. Truly, she shouldn’t have paid me any mind. Everyone said so—”
“I didn’t,” Odessa points out.
Beau flashes her an appreciative glance before reaching out to clasp Coco’s hand. “I was a boy when I met you, Coco. An arrogant, stupid—albeit rather dashing—boy. And through you, through my time with everyone here, I’ve grown into someone I hope can make you proud and happy and...” His voice trails away as he releases her hand to flick open the latch of the box, revealing a golden ring with a magnificent ruby centerpiece. Tears spill down Coco’s cheeks now, but she does nothing to wipe them away. Instead she simply stares at Beau, and in her eyes, it is clear he need never write her name in the stars.
To Coco, he is the stars, and the sun, and the moon; he is her entire universe.
Just like Michal is mine.
As if sharing the thought, he laces his fingers tighter through my own, and together we watch as Beau says, “I want to spend every day with you, Coco. I want your lovely face to be the first thing I see in the morning. I want your laugh to be the last thing I hear every night. I want the big moments with you—a wedding, a coronation—but I want the quiet moments too. I want us to curl up near the fireplace while you work on your tinctures, and I read my ledgers. I want to shop at the markets, to bicker about the best kind of cheese for a soufflé. More than anything, I want you . Just you.” His hands begin to tremble now around the ring box. “I would be honored for you to take my last name, or for me to take your last name. The logistics don’t matter. I just... I want to spend my life with you, Cosette Aurélie Monvoisin. My whole life. Every single moment. Because you make it better—you make me better, and I love you. I never thought I could feel this way, but I love you so much it feels like I might die without you. You are my other half.”
In the brief, tentative silence that follows, Coco laughs and leans forward to wrap her arms around his neck. “And that wasn’t the speech you’ve been preparing?”
His entire body relaxes as he presses his forehead against hers. “What can I say? You inspire me.” Then, quieter still, his voice a breath against her lips, “Every day you inspire me, Coco. Would you marry me?”
Coco hesitates for not even a second.
“Yes. Of course, yes .” With an incandescent smile, she pulls him into a fierce embrace, the strength of it knocking the ring from his hands. Though it soars through the air, Odessa catches it before it hits the floor. “This was perfect.” Coco kisses his cheek as the room breaks into applause, into raucous cheers and congratulations. “More than perfect,” she manages, kissing his other cheek too, kissing every inch of his face in between. “You have”—his nose, his forehead, his eyelids—“always undone me, Beauregard Lyon. You have always been the one for me. I love you too.”
Odessa passes Beau the ring surreptitiously, and he untangles from Coco long enough to place it on her finger. And then he kisses it. He kisses every finger, every knuckle on each of her hands as she clings to him even tighter. The moment is beautiful, intimate, and I cannot help but throw myself at the two of them along with Lou, Reid, even Odessa, who begins to offer floral suggestions for Coco’s bridal bouquet.
“This ruby could chip several teeth,” Lou announces, seizing Coco’s hand and inspecting it in the light. She winks at Beau. “Fantastic job, brother mine.”
Coco beams with unbridled joy, and even my mother comes over to congratulate them. When they kiss again, I shoot her an expectant look—anticipating disapproval—but she simply arches a superior brow. “They’re getting married , Célie. How else do you expect grandchildren are conceived?”
I gape at her. “They won’t be your grandchildren—”
She lifts her chin. “Says who?”
Shaking my head incredulously, I turn to make a face at Filippa, but she is no longer sitting on the settee. Indeed—I sweep the room quickly—she seems to have vanished altogether, slipping out during the celebrations without notice.
Dimitri has vanished with her.
“Where are they?” I ask Michal in a low voice, and he tilts his head toward the window beside us. Curiosity burns through all decorum at that; the temperature has been steadily dropping for the last week, and on my walk to Michal’s town house this morning, my toes nearly froze from the snow. When he offers no further explanation, merely smirks, I attempt to part the drapes as furtively as possible to see where they’ve gone. A fool’s errand. Nothing escapes my mother’s notice for long, and especially not inside her own house.
“What are you doing?” Her sharp voice cuts through the room, startling everyone from their revelry. Even Coco and Beau look back at us, intrigued. “Is there someone outside? Is it the carolers again? I did not hear them knock.” She exhales a harsh, irritated breath through her nose at the last. Then—
“I loathe carolers,” she and Michal say in unison.
Lou snorts as they glance at each other, startled. “Do you also loathe grandchildren?” she asks my mother politely. “Because based on what’s happening outside, you might be well on your way.”
The room explodes with movement at that, everyone hastening toward the window to eavesdrop. “You owe me twenty couronnes,” Coco says to Odessa, who elbows Michal aside to peel back the curtains.
“Absolutely not.” Her eyes narrow as she peers outside into the shadows of a—garden? My lips pull down in a frown. There shouldn’t be a garden beyond this window, yet sure enough, the earth looks freshly dug, inexplicably green amidst the snow. Two silhouettes stand stiff and awkward beside it. Filippa and Dimitri. He must’ve drawn her name, and this— this must be his gift , I realize in dawning comprehension. Even Odessa cannot disguise her interest. “You said Filippa and Dima would be kissing by Christmas, yes, but there must be an explicit exchange of saliva—”
Beau protests at once. “We never specified tongue!”
“You watch your tone, Your Majesty.” My mother pushes through everyone, craning her neck to see through the clouded glass. “I cannot hear them! I cannot even see them—”
Before Lou can react, Reid flicks his wrist, and quiet voices drift through the windowpanes. Everyone stills to listen. To watch . The bitter wind lifts a tendril of Filippa’s hair as she stares at the white flowers carpeting the ground at her feet. “Snowdrops,” I whisper in awe. Michal and Lou exchange conspiratorial grins, and I point an accusatory finger between them. “Did you two know about this?”
“Perhaps,” Michal says.
“And you didn’t tell me?”
Looping her arm through the crook of my elbow, Lou bumps my hip. “Le secret du Père No?l, right? Emphasis on secret .”
“Quiet, all of you,” my mother hisses, practically pressing her nose against the glass now. “I’m trying to listen.” When Dimitri steps forward outside, lifting a hand as if to tuck a strand of Filippa’s hair behind her ear, we all obey instantly, the entire room holding its breath.
He drops his hand at the last second, however, his fingers curling into his palm. “For your daughter.” At Filippa’s stricken expression, he adds gently, “They’ll bloom each winter in honor of Frostine.”
Though Filippa stiffens slightly at the name, she does not snap at Dimitri. She does not flee either, or fold into herself as she so often does. Instead, she slowly bends to trail her fingers over the nearest buds, as if checking to ensure they’re real, before staring up at him in equal parts disbelief and accusation. “But they—” She swallows. “Snowdrops have always been my favorite.”
His dimples flash. “So you’ve mentioned.”
“And you remembered?”
“I remember everything you say, Filippa.”
She flinches unexpectedly at that, staggering back a step as if his kindness is somehow a weapon, as if it hurts . “I—I don’t understand. I killed you.”
Dimitri chuckles low, sliding his hands into his pockets and matching her step for step. Refusing to give her an inch. “Strangely enough, I remember that too. Stranger still is that I’ve chosen to forgive you.” A meaningful pause. “Everyone has.”
Her face crumples, and all at once, she stops trying to escape, instead turning away to hide her face. “Thank you, Dimitri,” she breathes after another long, painful moment. “They’re... beautiful.”
He touches her shoulder before gesturing toward an upstairs window, and we all duck swiftly before peering back over the windowsill, unable to help ourselves. Fortunately, their attention has already returned to each other, and we shamelessly and simultaneously rise; even Odessa, with all her vampiric grace, flattens her ear against the glass.
“You’ll be able to see them from your window as you write,” Dimitri says softly. Hopefully. And now he does tuck that errant strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering for just a second too long. She almost leans into the touch— almost —and his gaze falls to her lips.
“It’s happening,” Coco whispers gleefully, bouncing on her toes behind me.
Odessa shakes her head, opening her mouth to argue, but I hardly hear her—not as Michal slips his hand through mine, bending low to murmur in my ear, “We should give them some privacy.”
Gooseflesh erupts down my spine.
“An excellent idea!” Before anyone can protest, my mother snaps the curtains closed, and a moment later, Filippa returns to the sitting room with a snowdrop tucked behind her ear, her cheeks flushed from the cold. When Dimitri follows, the entire room hurries to feign disinterest—Lou opens the bottle of absinthe with a cheery pop , Beau drags Coco into his lap on a nearby chair, and Reid joins my mother in hastily collecting the discarded wrapping paper. Only Odessa notices, her smile wry, as Michal pulls me away from the flurry of activity, slipping into the quiet of the kitchen. At last.
He lifts me onto the counter without a word, stepping between my legs as I drape my arms around his neck. Unable to help it, I glance back at the door through which we just came. “Dimitri could be good for her, I think. She seems to... like him, which is a small miracle because my sister doesn’t like anyone.”
Michal brushes his lips against my throat. “And what about you, pet?”
Arching my neck to ease his access, I shiver as his hands skim up my thighs, parting my legs farther. “What about me?” I ask breathlessly, forgetting all about my sister. As his fingers dance across my skin, I can hardly remember my own name—and in this moment, it doesn’t matter. Nothing else ever matters when I’m with Michal. I’ll want him always. I’ll love him always. And today—with the holiday festivities and our closest friends exchanging tender promises—it feels like it should be a dream. It feels beyond what I could have ever hoped, what I could have ever imagined. My head tips back as Michal continues his languorous perusal of my throat, and above us—
Mistletoe.
Michal must feel my slow grin.
“Who do you like?” Voice purring at my ear, he flicks his tongue against a sensitive spot, and I tip forward again, stifling a moan against his broad shoulder. Those fingers continue their wicked taunt, and I would give anything— anything— to be back in Michal’s town house. Behind the closed door of his blackened room, atop his silk sheets, with the moonlight spilling onto his bare chest.
“This is cruel.” My own hands slide through his hair before curling into the collar of his sweater. I knitted it for him last month, and it looks like a woolen bladder. “You’re torturing me.”
“Perhaps.” His mouth captures mine then, and he kisses me with all the fierceness of an immortal king, a groan building hot and heavy in the back of his throat. Against my lips, he murmurs, “Is this making it better?” His tongue plunges inside then, tasting of cinnamon and apples and spice, and my legs hook instinctively around his waist before tightening and drawing him closer still. It isn’t enough. Never enough.
“My mother could walk in,” I remind him with a gasp.
“Your mother is cleaning.”
I clench his shirt in my hands, unable to stop myself from kissing him again and again and again. “What about the others?”
“Busy,” he says, and I swallow the word. I savor it.
I savor him.
“Michal,” I whisper, shuddering, and he pulls back with a groan. “We cannot have— relations on my mother’s kitchen counter.”
He chuckles darkly, and I feel that rumble in his chest through to the tips of my toes. “You didn’t seem to have a problem having them in the library this morning.” Memories flash through my mind’s eye at his words: the gilt of a sliding ladder, the scent of fresh paint, the sharp edges of brand-new bookshelves pressed into my spine—and Michal.
Michal against me, on top of me, all over me as we christened his gift to me. Twice.
“We’ll finish this later,” I say against his lips, and he seals the promise with another scorching kiss. When he pulls away, however, his thumb lingers on my empty ring finger, and my entire body goes still.
When he finally looks up again, his eyes burn with fiercer promise still. “Expect more than a library for Yule next year.”
Next year. We stare at each other, the words lingering in the air between us, and nothing has ever sounded so sweet. An entire year of courtship with Michal—of stolen kisses and midnight promenades and library trysts. “Next year,” I whisper, kissing him softly. “And then forever.”