Page 62 of Stealing His Christmas Present

“I don’t celebrate Christmas.”

“Oh. Can I know why?”

“For as long as I remember, I was alone on Christmas. My mother sent me away, and my boss needed someone to watch the headquarters while everyone was with their families. They would go away for a week or two, and I had to alert them if something happened. When I was a prisoner, I obviously didn’t even know when Christmas was, and later—”

“Wait, what?” I gaped at him. “They left you alone? When you were a child? On Christmas?”

He nodded. “They taught me what to do. I could take care of myself. I had no choice but to learn. It wasn’t a big deal.”

“But it was Christmas! Did they at least leave you any presents?”

He shook his head.

I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him into a tight hug. “Well, you won’t be alone this Christmas. My family can get a little crazy. One time, when I was a kid, my dad mixed up the nametags on the presents. Tomasso got a dollhouse, and Stella got the fishing gear and decided to keep it. Tomasso was so pissed off, and it was hilarious. My mom still has a photo of his pouting face somewhere. My dad had to go find a new gift for him on Christmas day because he’d given the staff a day off, like always. Had to pay some guy a lot of money to open the store for him.”

“Your family loves you very much,” he said.

“And I love them. You’ll see how awesome Christmas can be. I promise.” I pressed my lips to his.

“It already is,” he murmured before his mouth crashed against mine again.

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