Chapter 2
Kinsley
There comes a time in every young woman’s life when she needs to make hard decisions and choices. As I saw it, I had two at my disposal. Wait for the blind fools to open their eyes long enough to see or take matters into my own, soon to be glitter-stained, tree-sap-sticky hands.
I chose chaos because anything less would be an affront to who I was down to my core. A little chaos with a sprinkle of backup, of course.
“To thine own self be true,” I muttered as I gave myself a once-over in the mirror before grabbing my tote bag and heading down to the garage.
The sweater dress was red. Bright, unapologetically red. Alek would kill me if he saw me in it. He hated red, but you couldn’t very well do Christmas without it on some levels. It had three Christmas trees on the front and white faux-fur trim along the hem and neckline.
Truthfully, if he could set aside the color, and see beyond it, he’d see it hugged all the right places. The tights were green and sparkly, and I’d topped the entire ensemble off with a velvet ribbon in my hair and reindeer earrings that jingled with every step.
Was it a bit much for a tree-scouting mission? Isabella would say so. But she wasn’t who I had to schmooze. She was coming whether she wanted to or not.
No, this outfit was going to help me manipulate a highly trained former MI6 operative into driving me into the countryside to chop down a forest, for fuck’s sake.
He would absolutely help, and since my fantasy of the Blade chopping them down was destroyed last week in the dining room, Marcus was the next best bet.
I grabbed a cup of cocoa with extra marshmallows, because morale—and made my way down to the garage where he had his fancy, hyper-organized office tucked behind the rows of black vehicles.
If Isabella was my soul sister, Marcus was our deeply exasperated, emotionally repressed, endlessly tolerant older brother who cared—in all the best ways.
His door was ajar, and I knocked twice with my knuckles before pushing it open.
“Knock knock, Santa’s little helper is in need of a highly skilled individual such as yourself.”
He didn’t look up right away. In fact, he was bent over the desk, snapping Lego pieces into place while he consulted a blueprint that looked more impressive than a four-story, elaborate building.
His sleeves were rolled to the elbow, forearms tan and scarred in a way that told stories he’d never share.
“Kinsley,” he said flatly, finally looking my way. He tilted his head. “Should I be worried you’re dressed like a bottle of Christmas liquor?”
“I’m not dressed like a bottle of anything,” I said, stepping into the room. “I’m a vibe. A holiday mood board. A seasonal fantasy.”
He scoffed. “No, you’re dressed more like a department store went on a bender.”
“Ha ha. For a man who doesn’t drink, you sure are pouring out the alcohol puns today. But I will acquiesce to your assessment. It’s cute. Am I right?” I beamed and looked over my shoulder.
All the men were gone, but still, if one of them came home for something, they could derail my entire day.
“Now then, where was I? Oh yes, my friend. We have work to do.”
He set the Lego frame down with deliberate calm. “Do I even want to know?”
“Probably not,” I said sweetly, perching on the edge of the guest chair. “But since I will need your muscles…it’s happening anyway.”
He leaned back, arms folded. He gave me the patented Marcus slow stare. The one that said I’ve killed people for less, but somehow you get away with everything.
“What is it this time?” The corner of his mouth twitched as he shook his head.
“I need transportation.”
“Clearly,” he quirked.
“Yes, that and moral support. And as I said muscles to help carry heavy things and/or fight off squirrels. Oh, and do we have an axe?”
“Squirrels,” he sputtered. “And hold up, what the hell do we need an axe for?”
“Tree squirrels. It’s a whole thing. I did some reading on it, but the axe—well, that should be self-explanatory.”
He blinked again. “Is this about the tree you ordered last week?”
“Cancelled it.”
“Why?”
“Felt impersonal. Soulless. I want the experience. It’s been years since I’ve had a live tree. Owen…” my voice broke for a moment and tears stung my eyes.
“Go on,” he encouraged.
“I want to select them with care and reverence. That’s what we used to do. I miss the traditions mostly. Not to mention the entire house full of ‘intelligent’ men have ignored all of my attempts to spread the Christmas cheer.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Yeah, it’s been crushing. I need to take matters into my own hands, or the Grinch wins.” I sighed heavily.
He followed suit. The deep, full-bodied kind, with his full chest heaving. I bit back the laughter bubbling up inside me at how such a simple gesture could speak so loudly. It suggested that he would regret this by the end of the day.
“You do realize you have this thing called a mouth.”
I paused mid-festive strut. “Excuse me?”
He looked up, brows raised. “Yes, that thing on your face that you’re currently running.” He pointed at my lips.
I tilted my head, confused. “I do use it,” I said, slow and pointed, one brow arching. “Plenty. Not that those ungrateful men said anything other than they enjoyed the extra drool.”
There was a pause. He blinked and then squinted, clearly trying to follow. “Huh?”
I gave him a look and another sigh. “Yeah, I ordered the famous mints. You know, the ones that make things, you know—”
And just like that, he lost it. He didn’t even try to hide it. The first bark of laughter sounded and then a snort, which only made the second round come harder. His head tipped back, Lego scattered as he erupted into full-body laughter. It stole his breath and folded him over the desk.
“Of course you would go there,” he wheezed. “I meant your words, silly girl. Communication. Not your…mint weaponized mouth.”
“Oh,” I said as heat erupted across my cheeks. “Well, if you’ve ever wondered about them—I would recommend.”
He sobered, still grinning but with more weight behind his eyes now. “Good to know. But honestly, if you want them to acknowledge how important this is, maybe try saying something instead of scattering clues. This isn’t an escape room situation, you know.”
“But I’m working on my subtly here. Marcel says I need the practice,” I batted my eyelashes. “Hence, that is why I’m appealing to you. I fully believe that this one thing will do the trick. If not, maybe then I’ll consider your way.”
“A tree, then?”
“Actually…” I hesitated to complete the thought. Subtly might be on the inner work list, but baby steps. And just as I suspected—he was picking up what I was putting down.
“Are you saying you want more than one tree?”
I nodded as he groaned and ran a hand down his face. “How many?”
My nerves kicked in. Would he limit me? God, I hoped not. However, with him being the one doing the heavy lifting or, well, axe wielding, he had every right.
“Young lady?”
“Three?” I whispered and hesitantly met his eyes.
His jaw clenched. “Three.”
“It’s a big house!”
“Three live trees?”
“Yes, full-sized. Ideally symmetrical. And very, very green.”
“You’re going to pick them yourself?”
“No, I have help.”
“Mine?”
I offered him the world’s most radiant smile. “You and Isabella.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something in Italian, knowing that I didn’t speak it.
“What was that?”
“I said, I should have retired when I had the chance.”
I froze. “Wait—what? No,” I said, too loud, too fast. My cocoa sloshed dangerously close to the brim. “No, you can’t leave this family. Not ever.”
My voice cracked on the word ever, and I hated how fast the fear rose up in me. It was always waiting for me—under the surface, looking for an excuse to spill out. I stepped back, stamping my foot.
“I mean it, mister.”
He blinked, caught off guard.
“I’m serious,” I rushed on. “You think you’re just the guy with the car keys, and the dry commentary, but you’re not. You’re—” My throat tightened. “You’re one of us. You’re part of my safe.”
The room fell still for a second too long. Then, Marcus exhaled, his expression softening. The tension in his jaw eased. He stepped forward and reached up to fix the bow in my hair where it had gone crooked.
“Kinsley,” he said, low and steady. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I blinked fast.
“I was joking…bitching for the sake of it. You overwhelm me sometimes—but in a way that makes me feel like I still have a job to do. Like I matter.” He paused. “Which, for someone like me…is more than you realize.”
I swallowed hard. “You promise?”
“I promise.” His voice dropped just short of a whisper. “You’re safe. I’m here. End of story.”
I nodded once and swiped a stray tear before it could do something embarrassing like roll. Then I sniffed. “Still gonna need you to chop down a tree.”
“Three,” he corrected dryly.
I offered him a wobbly smile. “See? You do love me.”
“Unfortunately. I’m going to need coffee for this,” he said eventually.
“I brought cocoa,” I offered, holding mine out like a peace treaty.
He took one look at the marshmallow mountain and shook his head. “I don’t drink things that look like desserts exploded in them.”
“Your loss,” I chirped, standing and doing a slow twirl. “So you will do it?”
“Of course. But something tells me you knew I would.”
“I hoped, and I believed in the spirit of Christmas, that and my outfit.”
He gave a reluctant snort.
“You look like you mugged an elf,” Isabella said, startling me.
“Hey, don’t sneak up on me like that,” I admonished her. She stole the cup of cocoa from my hands. “And I’d never mug an elf.”
“You would,” Marcus retorted before standing and rolling his sleeves down.
Isabella snorted. “Exactly. Especially if one got too close to one of her Kings.”
“Let’s go. Before I change my mind and rat you out to the men, which, since you won’t let me retire…” He grabbed the keys to the truck as he teased me.