Page 57 of The Duke Who Saved Christmas
Except Bounties.
Bounties could fuck off.
Controversial, I know, but if you asked me, the only thing a coconut was good for was drinking cocktails out of.
It did not belong in my chocolate. A bit like pineapple on pizza.
The only kind of pineapple I wanted with pizza was a Pina Colada.
I liked cocktails. Sue me.
Still, of all the things I could change about Christmas, it would be my relationship status. Every movie I watched was filled with small towns and happy families and some big hotshot city girl coming home to fall in love with a small-town boy in this year’s variation of a checkered shirt.
It was all happy go-lucky, lovey-dovey nonsense that just made me sad about being alone.
Not that I was alone. Not really. At least not this year. I had my grandparents, my parents, my sister, and I was about to gain the brother I’d always wanted. I’d always assumed having a brother meant I’d have a sibling who wouldn’t steal my makeup, and that was much more preferable than having one who did.
In a way, it almost made it worse. I was happy for Hazel, of course. As much as we sniped at each other something, she was still my baby sister, and I wanted nothing more than complete happiness for her, but it was the reminder that I was two-and-a-half years older than her and… not all that happy.
I hadn’t been prepared for the realisation of just how much I’d missed Castleton. I’d never considered that coming back for this long would ignite such melancholy within me. It wasn’t just that I was spending more time with my family than I had in years, but that I was spending timehere.
In a place I hadn’t realised I’d loved so much.
The small, winding country lanes. The trees that reached one hundred feet into the sky but somehow never blocked out the sunlight. The warm, community spirit of the locals who were always happy to see you no matter how long it had been. The clearness of the sky at night that revealed endless twinkling stars.
The Christmas.
The wedding.
The reminder that I was so, so very alone, and didn’t even have any dating options. Not one.
Maybe it was time to open Tinder.
Jesus, no. I wasn’t that desperate.
I wanted a date, not existential trauma.
I blew out a long breath and reached for my laptop from the drawers, then pulled it onto my lap. I adjusted my pillows at the head of the bed and moved accordingly, getting comfortable before I opened the laptop lid and checked my emails.
Three. Hundred. Emails.
Where the bloody hell had they come from?
Ah, yes. It was Christmas. Time for thrice-daily emails screaming about twenty percent off on items that were forty percent more expensive than they were six months ago.
I went through the emails and deleted all the spammy messages that counted as sales tactics these days, then settled down with my much more reasonable twenty-eight legitimate emails.
I spent the next two hours working in a less than ergonomic position, slowly slinking down the bed until I was basically lying down with my knees bent, laptop resting on them, and my wrists screaming at me topleasesit up like the adult the birth date on my passport said I was.
“Sylvie!” My bedroom door slammed open as my sister screamed my name, and I jumped so hard I almost threw my laptop onto the floor.
“Oh, my God!” I shouted, gripping onto the computer to stop it going flying across the room. “Don’t you knock?”
“There’s anemergency!”
My heart thundered against my ribs right before it launched itself into my throat.
I tossed my laptop onto the quilt beside me and scrambled to sit upright. “What? What’s happened? Is it Nana? Gramps? Heck, the pig?”
