Page 11 of Mistletoe Love Match
It could only be one kind of ring. With a single glittering diamond and the initialsALandCCengraved on the inside of the band, it had to be an engagement ring. The damn thing had taunted her from the second Alec handed her the bag and told her specifically not to open it. Who did the man think he was dealing with? She’d dived in with gusto, tossing red tissue paper like a kid on Christmas morning hopped up on caffeine and sugar. Oh, she understood she wasn’t supposed to look. She’d read the bloody text, too. But come on. After a jewelry store elf delivered a little shiny mistletoe bag with a ring-sized red velvet box nestled in a sea of scarlet tissue paper, there was no way she could stop herself from peeking inside.
Honestly, part of her wasn’t surprised. She’d be lying if she said Callista’s smile didn’t brighten every time Anders entered the room. Still, another part of her—the protective sister part—wanted to take Anders Lamb and roast his chestnuts over an open fire, and Alec’s, too, for that matter. Those damned Lamb brothers had thrown a wrench into her life.
And speaking of a damned Lamb brother, she and Alec had barely spoken a word to each other since she’d cracked open the box.
Alec huffed for what had to be the millionth time. He’d been acting like Dr. Stick-Up-His-Arse for the whole drive.
She held the tiny box a few inches from his ear and snapped it shut.
That got her another huff.
She slapped a smirk on her face. “Do you have something to say, Alec?”
He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “You’ve been mumbling for the better part of the last three hours. It’s infuriating. Not to mention, you can’t wish something away with a cheesy Christmas song. That’s not how reality works. And even if it did, I doubt the lyrics to ‘Frosty the Snowman’ would be the key to unlocking the ability to teleport matter.”
She felt her cheeks heat. “Was I singing aloud?”
“You’ve muttered that damned tune one hundred and sixty-nine times.”
Her jaw dropped. “With your crazy propensity to eat like a woodland badger, I knew you were a food psychopath, but blimey, you’re a Christmas-song-counting psychopath, too.”
“Do you know what woodland badgers eat? Do you even know what one looks like?” he shot back.
Bollocks!She had no bloody idea. She fidgeted in her seat. “I was trying to make a point.”
“And I was trying to keep my mind off . . .” Alec began, but he didn’t finish. A muscle twitched in his jaw. The guy looked like one of those Jack-in-the-Box toys, coiled and ready to explode. He kept his gaze on the road as the wipers squeaked a frantic rhythm against the windscreen, and the blitzing snow swirled in the headlamps. The beams of light cut through the empty darkness, and it was like they were the only two people on the planet.
Here’s the thing: She didn’t need him to finish his thought. She knew the answer, and there wasn’t enough spiked eggnog on the planet to numb the shock.
Anders would be proposing to Callista over the holidays. There was no other explanation. Still, a flurry of questions bombarded her mind.
Did Callista know Anders would be popping the question?
Had her sister and the bloke discussed marriage?
Those were pertinent questions and deserved answers, but they weren’t the questions that shattered her heart. What she wanted—no, what she needed—to know was why Callista hadn’t told her that things had gotten serious with Anders. Was she no longer her sister’s closest confidant? Had a man who happened to be the mirror image of Alec taken her place?
She slumped forward, feeling the weight of the red velvet box in her hands, then placed it into the bag at her feet. It was time to zone out. She let her vision blur as she stared into the darkness. Between towering evergreens lining the narrow road and the headlamps picking up the swirling snowflakes, it looked like they were watching one of those old tellies when the signal got interrupted and the screen became a mess of black and white static.
She looked over her shoulder. They hadn’t passed another car since they’d left the main highway to traverse the mountain road toward Rickety Rock.
“For the record,” Alec grumped, “we weren’t supposed to open the box. I handed it to you tohold.”
He did not get to play the part of the poor innocent bystander. “Bugger off, Dr. Wanker,” she chided. “You were practically sniffing the bag the second that elf of a jeweler pulled out of the lot.”
“It might not be what we think it is,” he offered.
She huffed her amusement. “What else could it be?”
He shrugged. “A friendship ring.”
“A friendship ring?” she exclaimed, shaking her head. “Are you completely off your rocker, Alec Lamb? It’s an engagement ring.”
Alec turned to her and parted his lips, most likely to continue arguing, when a flicker of movement in the great dark expanse caught her eye. She gasped as the beams illuminated a large form with giant horns.
“Alec, look out!” she cried.
“What is that?” he exclaimed.
