Page 28 of Starstruck with the Krampus

“Yes, that.” She nods resolutely, folding her hands in her lap. “He is like a sunflower, and you are the sun. Always, he is looking at you.”

My heart skips a beat at her words. She’s right, I know it. But I don’t want to admit this to Nonna, not yet. “When I brought Kaden to dinner, you told me he would break my heart if I wasn’t careful,” I remind her of my ex-boyfriend. “Now you’re planning my wedding?”

She snorts. “That boy wasn’t right for you.”

She’s right, of course. Kaden and I split up after several months of infrequent dates, and because I took Nonna’s advice, my heart was safe from any pain. This thing with Dominic is completely different.

“But Dominic is?” I ask. “Right for me, I mean.”

She shrugs, her bony shoulders lifting briefly. “I think so. But what do I know? I am just an old woman. You’ll make your own decision.” Then she sends me a sly look and adds, “But maybe I’ll call Father Roberto just in case, hmm? Spring wedding dates are hard to find.”

In the kitchen, Dominic lets out a cough that sounds suspiciously like suppressed laughter. I glance up to find him grinning at me, and he shrugs, as if to say, ‘Who are we to deny an old lady?’

I shake my head, but I can’t help the smile that stretches my lips. So maybe we’ll get married this spring. Or maybe we’ll wait. I only know that life with him will be a beautiful, sparkling adventure.

EPILOGUE

GIANNA

Christmas Eve, three years later

“Is she asleep?” I ask as Dominic appears in the doorway of the living room.

He nods, then joins me on the couch and picks up his glass of red wine, left over from dinner. I reach for my glass and take a sip of the sparkling water, grimacing at the taste. During my first pregnancy, I drank gallons of the stuff, but baby number two isn’t as partial to it as Noelle was.

My red lipstick leaves a faint imprint on the glass. I don’t wear it often, but Christmas is a special occasion in our house, and we had a candlelit dinner with Noelle earlier, the three of us dressed in our finest clothes. We’ll visit my mother’s house tomorrow morning, but for tonight, we wanted to have a small family celebration.

“She demanded another story,” Dominic tells me, relaxing back against the couch cushions, his big body sprawled wide. “Ipicked the shortest one I could find, but then she wanted me to do all the voices.”

He says it in an exasperated tone, but the golden twinkle of his eyes tells me he’s far from annoyed. He’s been buying stacks of children’s books for Noelle since the day she was born, and reading before bed has become our favorite nighttime ritual.

“Thank you for your service,” I tease. “By the way, we should go to bed early tonight. She’ll be up at the crack of dawn, hunting for presents.”

Our daughter has inherited her father’s love of Christmas, along with the cutest set of tiny horns, barely visible through her dark curls. She was born mostly human, though we’ve had a little charm bracelet made for her so she can pass for human in public. My mother has been brought in on the family secret, too, and it’s been so beautiful to watch her love her granddaughter regardless of her species.

Dominic takes another sip of the wine, then replaces his glass on the coffee table. “Speaking of presents…”

He gets up, walks to the bookshelf lining the back wall of the living room, and takes something from behind the books on the top shelf, where Noelle can’t reach. Then he comes to sit by my side again and hands me the gift.

“I thought you could open this one tonight, since it’s not exactly kid-appropriate,” he murmurs.

I set aside my glass. “What is it?”

He shrugs, a smile playing on his dark lips. Then he picks up my legs and draws them across his lap, rubbing his hands over my stockings while I work on unraveling the wrapping. A purple cardboard box comes into view, satiny-smooth and posh-looking, so I frown at him, thinking it’s another piece of jewelry. We’ve had to talk about him buying me ridiculously expensive things—not that he listens.

But he grins and runs his palms down to my ankles. He takes my left foot in his big hands and presses his thumbs into the arch of my sole. He’s gotten into the habit of clipping back his claws since he discovered how much I enjoy…certain things he does with his very long, talented fingers. I barely hold back a groan and focus instead on the present.

I pry open the lid of the box and let out a startled laugh. “You bought me a butt plug?”

I check the booklet that comes with it, a catalog of various options the shop offers. Then I take the velvet baggie in which the plug is stored and shake the toy out into my palm.

My first impression is that it’s heavy, much heavier than the silicone ones we’ve bought and tried already. The plug is made of glass, clear and polished, but it’s the ornament at its base that lets me know this isn’t some off-the-shelf toy he picked up at a random sex shop.

The end of the plug is a ruby-red snowflake, its edges rounded so it won’t hurt me, but the craftsmanship is incredible. Tiny golden veins spread out from the center of the flake, glittering whenever I turn them toward the light.

“It’s so pretty,” I whisper, then look up at him. “Thank you.”

He massages my foot, never wavering in his slow rhythm. “I want to put it inside you and lick your pussy until you come all over my tongue.”

---