Page 59 of A Very Daddy Christmas

“Cora, we’ve got you,” I say softly. “Let’s go back to our suite. We’ll take a hot bath, clean our scratches, put some ice on any bruises, and then enjoy a nice meal in each other’s company. How does that sound?”

She softens a bit. “Well, I have to admit, a hot bath does sound amazing right now.”

Whatever St. James and Hamilton are up to, whatever Denaro’s role in all of this may be, I know we will not rest until the threat is gone. Until Cora and Eva have their building and their future secured. Today’s incident made everything all the more personal for Sebastian, Waylan, and me.

We promised we’d refrain from getting involved any deeper, but clearly we have no choice now.

18

Waylan

The rest of our stay at the resort was only subtly marred by the tension the hitmen left behind. They didn’t ruin our holiday, we refused to let their attack get to us. We made love, we ate fancy meals, we enjoyed each other’s company, and we allowed ourselves to be who we are. It was liberating and soothing.

However, it’s time to get back to reality. It’s been a long time since I’ve had to look over my shoulder the way I’ve had to since we got back from the mountains.

I’m reanalyzing our relationship with Cora and its chances of actually working out. It was nice and cozy up in the mountains, but in the real world, tension and uncertainty has reared their ugly heads once again. We keep telling her we’ll be careful, that we’ll protect her and our relationship, and we have every intention of doing precisely that, but nothing is certain.

My feelings for her have only grown stronger. It worries me. It also clouds my judgment.

I need to be sure of her, of us, before I go all in.

“Dario, can you pass me the yellow crayon, please?” Aylin, Cora’s youngest niece, asks my boy.

Teresa is flipping through the TV channels, nowhere near as interested in drawing, but Aylin and Dario have taken over the living room floor, hundreds of crayons spread all over, as they let their imagination run wild. Cora and I lounge on the sofa, watching the kids play and trying to enjoy the rest of what’s left of Saturday afternoon.

“Which yellow?” Dario replies, staring in confusion at a bunch of different shades of the same color. “Garbage yellow?”

“Garbage yellow?” Cora chuckles softly, now invested in the conversation.

Dario holds up a crayon. “This one.”

“That’s mustard yellow,” Aylin politely corrects him.

“Mustard yellow,” he repeats after her. “So, this one?”

“No, the sunflower,” she says, prompting Cora to smile.

I give her a curious look. “What’s up?”

“He likes Aylin,” she whispers. “I think Dario is crushing on my niece.”

“He’s three. He crushes a lot. It’s cute,” I reply.

Cora shakes her head slowly, a flicker of grief lingering in her soft gaze. “He’s opening up a lot more, have you noticed? He’s letting himself become attached to people.”

“You did the same after your parents passed away?” I ask her.

She lets a heavy sigh roll from her chest. “More or less. It took some time, but eventually I started talking to people again. Participating in class. Socializing with folks other than my sister. I think that’s what is happening with Dario now.”

I watch the kids go about their color dispute, constantly surprised by Dario’s talent. Cora was right. His drawings have become increasingly complex—and it’s not just his sense of color, but the way in which he’s able to interpret light and shadow, along with the three-dimensional shape of any object. He has an eye for depth, and for his age, it’s quite impressive.

Cora rests her head on my shoulder. “I could get used to this,” she mutters.

“Get used to what, exactly?” I reply, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. I pull her close, reveling in her apple and cinnamon scent— she spent most of the morning baking us one hell of a pie. We’re all waiting for it to cool down. “The comfort and the peace?”

“The not-doing-anything part of the comfort and the peace. The lazy Saturday afternoons, to be specific. I’m always up and about, running errands. It seems there’s always something to do.”

“Perhaps it’s time to do more of this,” I suggest. “It’s good for the soul.”

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