Page 29 of The Duke Who Saved Christmas
Hazel turned her head oh so very slowly until she was facing her fiancé. She stared daggers at him, and Julian stilled.
Something told me he saw that look a lot.
“Mariah Carey is extreme,” Hazel said. “Mariah Carey at Christmas is nauseatingly extreme. My hatred of her is not extreme. I want to plug my ears with superglue every time shemelts after Halloween. As soon as November first rolls around, I get twitchy.”
No.
Her hatred was not extreme at all.
“You love Christmas so much you insisted on getting married on Christmas Eve,” Julian pointed out. “She’s like… part Santa Claus at this point. How can you love Christmas and not like Mariah Carey?”
The distinct tinkle of a xylophone that could only be the opening to one particular song rang through the air, and we both peered at my sister to see what she’d do.
This really couldn’t be worse timing.
“She’s everywhere,” Hazel hissed, looking around the pub, baring her teeth, almost deranged. She smacked her hands against the table, sending my pen rolling off. “There’s no escaping her.”
Laughing, I shuffled across the bench seat and bent under the table to retrieve my runaway pen.
“You know you don’t have to hide under the table to avoid me.”
The sound of Thomas’ voice made me jolt, and I smacked my head on the underside of the table.
“Ow, shit, owww,” I said, looping around so I didn’t do it again. I rubbed the back of my head as I stared up at him. “What makes you think I care enough about you to hide under a table when you show up?”
“The fact you were just under the table when I showed up is rather convincing.” He quirked an eyebrow.
I held up my pen. “Just getting this. Sorry to disappoint.”
“Stop bickering,” Hazel said, still glaring at various spots around the pub as if her stare alone would make the music stop.
Thomas leant against the back of the bench and bent down towards me. “What’s she doing?”
“Silently declaring war on Mariah Carey.” I grimaced.
“That’s fair. I can’t bloody stand her either.”
Julian smirked. “You can’t stand anything to do with Christmas.”
“I’d rather gauge my eyeballs out than celebrate the stupid thing.” Thomas pointed at him. “With good reason.”
I looked up at him.
Right.
Beth had said that.
Three years ago, his father was diagnosed with cancer, the following year they found out it was terminal, his mystery fiancée broke up with him, and it wasn’t that long before Christmas last year that his dad passed away.
I could understand how that would make anyone hate Christmas.
“I hate this song.” My sister grabbed her fork and stabbed it against the table, gripping it tightly.
“I think you need therapy,” I told her, tapping the end of my pen against the notebook. “And to tell me what songs youdolike, so you have something to dance to at your wedding, or I’m going to instruct the DJ to make your first dance the Macarena.”
“Yes,” Julian said. “Please decide. Although the Macarena might have my vote.”
“Oh,” Thomas said, leaning over and tapping my notebook. “Write down the Cha Cha Slide, too.”
