Mom laughs outright at that. The oven beeps and she gets up to take out the lasagna.
“We’re out of ornaments,” Audrey says.
“That means it’s done,” Willa says. “I’m out of wine.”
“I’ll get you some,” Greta says.
“Allow me,” Dad says, at the same time.
Audrey comes over and sits next to me. She’s glowing with happiness. “I’m having such a great time.”
“I’m glad,” I say. “I think my parents like you and Willa more than me and Greta.”
“Speak for yourself,” Greta says.
“Of course they do,” Willa says, taking a glass of wine from Greta. “We’re awesome, aren’t we, Audrey?”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Dinner’s ready,” Dad says.
I stand from the couch and hold my hand out to Audrey, whose gaze is raking over my body. When her eyes meet mine, her mouth has quirked into a sexy half-smile. She stands, puts her soft cheek against mine and whispers in my ear, “You are wearing too many clothes,” sending a shudder through my body.
She pulls away with a cocky, mischievous expression on her beautiful face.
“Tease.”
“One hundred percent,” she says, before turning and heading to the kitchen.
“The tree looks amazing,” I say to Dad.
“It hasn’t looked this good in years,” he agrees.
“I think that’s a thinly veiled insult directed at us, Greta,” I say.
Greta carries the lasagna to the table. “No, that insult was pretty direct.” She laughs.
“Oh my God that smells delicious,” Audrey says.
“It’s definitely not tuna casserole,” Willa says.
After a flurry of getting everything on the table, Mom directing everyone where to sit, and pouring wine, we all raise our glasses in a toast. My dad, the sentimental one, says, “To our wonderful new friends. Thank you for sharing the holidays with us. I know I speak for Ingrid, Greta, and Antonia when I say we hope that you come back soon and often.”
We all clink glasses and drink. I catch Audrey’s eyes over the rim of the glass and wink.
She smiles and raises her glass again. “To the Giordanis. Thank you for welcoming us into your home, and into your family. I can speak for Willa and me: this is the best holiday we’ve ever had.”
“So far,” Willa says.
“Who knows? It might all go downhill from here,” I tease, and everyone laughs.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
TONI
“I’d forgotten how insufferable you are when you’re drunk.”
It’s after midnight and Mom and Dad have gone to sleep. The four of us are sitting in front of the fireplace, in various states of sobriety, meaning Audrey and I are sober, and Willa and Greta are drunk.