Page 76 of A Very Daddy Christmas

“Called it,” Sebastian says, then checks his watch again. “Four more hours.”

Four more hours until the escrow expires. It might as well be four more years at this point. Four more centuries. Until the deadline comes and goes, I cannot focus on anything else. And I have plenty to focus on.

Like the baby growing in my belly, for example. A baby I still need to tell my men about.

There’s also the issue of our relationship, of how we’re going to make it work with all these rumors going around and so much stacked against us. It’s only a matter of time before more nasty stories come out. Lord knows Hamilton and St. James aren’t done dragging our names through the mud.

“Do you think we’ll be safe?” I ask Sebastian.

“Safe? You mean, after midnight tonight? Yeah, most likely. St. James won’t be able to do anything else from a legal point of view. And I’m guessing Denaro already has a bone to pick with him. Both he and Hamilton will be too busy trying to survive Denaro’s wrath to waste any more time and resources on making you miserable.”

“Gosh, that sounds like a dreamy scenario. Not that I take pleasure in the suffering of others, but—”

“Oh, no, please, do take pleasure in the suffering of Orson St. James and George Hamilton. I will personally open a bottle of Veuve to celebrate their downfall. That, I can promise you.”

The living room suddenly becomes delightfully crowded as Waylan, Riggs, and Dario join us in front of the TV, one large bowl of salted caramel popcorn between us. As expected, Darioonly manages to nibble on a few kernels before he falls asleep in Waylan’s arms. It’s been a long day, the excitement of Christmas morning taking its toll.

“Out like a light,” Riggs chuckles as he looks over.

Waylan nods, lovingly gazing down at Dario, his hopefully soon-to-be adopted son. They’ve already filed the paperwork, and we’re breathlessly waiting for it to go through and for the judge to sign off on it. There’s still a chance of objection, especially if our relationship is made public.

Rumors don’t count, Waylan’s lawyer assured us. Facts, however, can poison the well.

Sebastian takes a deep breath, nervously glancing at the wrapped presents under the tree. “Why don’t we introduce Cora to our yearly Christmas tradition? It will take our minds off of the time, waiting for midnight to arrive,” he says.

“We’re just a couple of hours away,” Waylan replies. “Let me take the big boy upstairs first.”

“Don’t forget to turn the monitor on,” I lovingly remind him. “We want to hear him if he wakes up.”

Waylan smiles softly. “Will do. Though I don’t think he’ll be up until early morning.”

“He’ll be up early, for sure. He’s waiting for Santa,” Riggs says.

When Waylan gets back, we gather around the Christmas tree. For a moment, I allow the twinkling lights to mesmerize me, color dancing through the glass and porcelain ornaments while specks of gold catch my eyes from every angle. It’s so beautiful and majestic, like something out of a Christmas-themed movie.

“So, what we do every year on Christmas Eve,” Sebastian begins, “is open one present each and leave the rest for tomorrow morning.”

“Okay,” I reply.

He smiles and gives me one of the smaller boxes, wrapped in a luscious chocolate-brown paper tied with gold-brushed twine and white ribbons. My name is written on the tear-shaped paper tag with swirling black letters. “This one’s yours, from me.”

“Thank you,” I say and proceed to open it while the guys watch me with tenderness and quiet enthusiasm. Inside the box, I find a strange-looking bowl made of clay, covered in a turquoise glaze. Its edges are uneven, and there are deep streaks along the sides, where the glaze turns a deeper, darker shade. “It’s beautiful,” I say. “What… um, what is it supposed to be? Like, a catchall?”

Sebastian blinks a few times, slightly flustered. “It’s supposed to be a soup bowl.”

“Supposed to be?” Riggs holds back a hearty laugh.

“Don’t be mean. Remember whatyoumade for her,” Waylan cuts in.

“Made for me?” I gasp, then look at the bowl again. “Hold on, you made this, Sebastian?”

He nods slowly. “You’ve been droning on about how expensive the gifts are that we give you, so we figured we’d do something a little different for Christmas. We decided to give you things we made with our hands.”

“This is beautiful and so thoughtful. Thank you. I love it.”

“You do?” He sounds surprised.

“Of course,” I quip. “You took time and energy to make something for me. It means the world.”

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