Page 84 of War on Christmas

She told me this morning while we were in the shower that the presents she ordered for me wouldn’t arrive until after the holidays, and I assured her it was fine. Given how tumultuous the past few days have been, I wasn’t honestly expecting anything. But Freya being Freya, she’s less than thrilled about not having theperfectgift for me on Christmas morning.

I look around us, desperate for the words to explain howwondrousthis all is to me. The brightly decorated tree, topped by a homemade tissue-paper angel who’s so abstract it resembles a creepy Salvador Dalí imitation. The laughter and shouts of Bethany’s kids. The affection between Mr. and Mrs. Nilsen as they hug each other tightly, watching Thad and Sam with misty eyes. Even my mom’s here, smiling quietly on the loveseat, hands clasped in her lap as she takes in all the happy chaos.

And, of course, there’s Freya, curled into my side like she belongs there. Because she does.

Nothing she ordered online could come close to this sense of belonging. Of family.

I open my mouth to tell her again that I’m not upset—that as far as I’m concerned, this is the best Christmas ever—but then I get an idea. I’m not going to talk Freya down from her disappointment. I know her well enough to knowthat.

But I can always distract her.

And nothing distracts Freya like getting riled up.

I bite back my smile as I drag Freya onto my lap so she’s facing me. She raises a sassy eyebrow, and I cup her heart-shaped face, smoothing my thumbs over the silken skin of her cheeks.

“Freya Estelle Nilsen.” I keep things chaste, dropping kisses to her nose, her cheeks, her forehead. We are surrounded by family, after all. “All I want for—”

“Don’t.” She pulls back and plasters a hand over my mouth, but I just talk around her fingers, my voice muffled.

“All I want for Chris—”

“Do not say it,” she orders, gray eyes flashing dangerously.

I love it. I love the little furrow between her brows. I love the way her nose scrunches up. I love the scary curl to her lips.

I loveher.

I pull her hand away and speak as quickly as I can, before she can cover my mouth again. “All I want for Christmas is you,” I finish with a grin.

“I hate you,” she whispers, but her hands are already behind my neck, pulling me in close.

“No you don’t,” I whisper back.

And then we kiss.

Epilogue

FREYA

Six months later…

“Nowthat,” Jeremy says, unbuttoning his shirt, “was a fun wedding.”

He’s right. The beachside ceremony. The seafood dinner. The private dance afterwards, with the stars and crescent moon shining overhead. It was perfection. Exactly what Sam and Thad had been hoping for.

But I don’t want to be too agreeable. Best to keep him on his toes.

“Don’t let it go to your head that he chose you as his best man,” I respond, kicking off my strappy sandals as the hotel room door swings shut behind me. The mai tais at the reception were free flowing, and they’ve left me feeling as light and airy as the tropical breeze outside. It’s a sexy drunk. The kind that makes my skin notice every swish of my silky dress across my thighs. “It was sexism. Pure and simple.”

Jeremy snorts, taking a moment to pull my back into his chest and drop a kiss to my bare shoulder.

“That decision was a hundred percent Sam,” he says. “I’m pretty sure they both wanted you, but Thad’s a sucker and always gives Sam what she wants. Hence, you ended up the maid of honor, and Thad was stuck with me.”

I smirk. He’s not wrong. The Good Twin is well and truly smitten, and it makes my heart happy to see it.

Besides, my grumbling to Jeremy about not being best man is all for show. I enjoyed being Sam’s maid of honor. I already liked her before the engagement, but our friendship leveled up with wedding planning. We exchanged daily text messages about what flowers she wanted in her bridal bouquet and whether she was obligated to invite her cousin who always hits on Thad. Then, when the cousin situation became a “whole thing” and Sam decided she’d prefer a small ceremony at a remote, tropical location, I was there to reassure her that, no, she wasn’t being selfish and, yes, it was her and Thad’s day and they should do what they wanted. Which meant cutting the guest list down to twenty, finding a resort, and handing over all the details to an onsite wedding planner.

Once the entire wedding was delegated, Sam and I switched to daily texts aboutChilling Adventures of Sabrina.

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