Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 45332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
“Eat, Poppy. I can hear your stomach from here,” Vance demands, and her brows raise.
“Yes, sir.” She sounds like she’s army personnel, not using the words the way he intended. I raise my hand to cover my smirk.
“Such naughty fucking brats I have on my hands,” Vance grumbles, tearing some garlic bread then shoving it in his mouth. I moisten my lips, enjoying the way his mouth moves, the tic in his jaw, the undulation of his throat when he swallows.
“Why aren’t there any Christmas decorations up in here?” Poppy asks, steering my focus in her direction.
“Tristan doesn’t like Christmas,” Vance informs her matter-of-factly, pouring himself a whiskey.
Her dazzling green eyes shoot to me, widening like she’s surprised. “Really?”
Christmas reminds me of my parents. The Christmas tree my mother and I decorated when she was in one of her rare giving moods ended up being kindling to the fire that tore through the house while I watched through the window after being locked out for throwing up after a beating.
“It hasn’t been so bad this year,” I say, swallowing a bite of my food. The smile Poppy gifts me warms my chest, and real contentment seeps into my bones.
“What do Christmases look like for you when you're home, Poppy?” At Vance’s question, she sighs, taking a sip of her water before lifting one of her legs and hugging her arm around it.
“Usually, we take turns, spending Christmas with my parents one year and Josh’s the next.” Her gaze seems far away as she claws at her memories. “His parents host for his entire family, so it can get hectic. At my parents’, it’s a little more relaxed. Church then dinner.” She shrugs. “There’s not much I miss about home, but when I lived there, my mom let me put up star lights all over my bedroom for Christmas. I love Christmas lights.” She smiles wistfully. “And tinsel.” She raises her fork for emphasis. “No one has tinsel garlands these days.”
Vance snorts. “My mother fired one of her maids for using tinsel on her tree one year.”
Poppy’s fork clanks onto her plate as she drops it in horror. “Fired her?”
He bobs his head. “Made her cry. She’d worked for our family for years, it was awful.”
“I noticed the tattoo,” I announce, changing the subject because Vance’s mother and Christmas are subjects I hate. “On your hip,” I add, watching her.
She’s intoxicating, and not just the sexual side of her, this side too—just eating and talking about her life. Anyone else might’ve found it mundane, but to me, it’s everything.
I don’t want her to ever leave us.
“My family is religious and practically force it on me. The tattoo was more of a rebellious streak I had in college.” She looks down at her hip, lifting the hem of the shirt and grinning at the cross wrapped in rose vines inked there. “Josh hated it, and so would my parents.”
“I love it,” I reply, looking to Vance who nods in agreement, swiping a hand across his mouth to clean it.
“What about you? I didn’t notice any tattoos, Tristan.” She says it as a question. She must’ve noticed the scars on my thighs and back especially when she touched them earlier.
“None I chose.” I get to my feet and clear our plates.
“Let me help.” She jumps to her feet, grabbing our cups and helping me in the kitchen. Usually, our housekeeper would do the cleaning for us, but Vance gave her the week off. Christmas is in five days, and she likes to travel to be with her family.
After loading our dishes into the dishwasher, Poppy stands beside me, playing with the hem of the shirt she’s wearing. Vance has taken his bottle of whisky to the couch where he’s flicking through channels, the hue from the TV casting him in a blue glow that seems to have Poppy captivated.
“I wanted to thank you again,” she murmurs quietly.
“For making you come?” I pause my loading, dodging her when she swipes out a hand to hit me.
“Well, yes. But I was referring to you allowing me to stay for a few days. I’ll have to go back to the apartment soon to pack my things, plan my next step.” She looks down at her feet, flexing her toes that are painted cherry red like her fingernails. My heartbeat roars in my chest cavity at the thought of her going anywhere.
Clearing my throat, I will myself not to make my next words sound like a command. “We can go with you to collect your belongings. You’ll stay with us, spend Christmas here.”
She blinks up at me. “Are you sure?” Before I can respond, her head moves to look over at Vance. “I don’t want to ruin any plans you guys have. But if you’re sure you don’t mind, it’ll only be until I can get a flight back home.”