Page 67 of Bought By Santa

I take the blade from the table where Marco left it. As I wipe the blade clean, feeling the weight of my father’s gaze, I remind myself why I shouldn’t just outright banish or kill him. “That’s none of your concern,” I reply, refusing to give him more than that. “And this isn’t the time to discuss her.”

“Are you testing her endurance? Her ability to adapt to our way of life?” He persists, his tone demanding.

“She’s more than capable,” I say, sliding the blade back into its sheath. “She’ll bear my heir and that’s the end of that.”

“Make sure of it,” Caspian presses, his eyes hard as flint. “We can’t afford weakness in our lineage.”

“Carolina isn’t weak,” I snap, the thought of her soft curves and fiery spirit igniting a possessive fire within me. “She’s stronger than you know.”

He snorts. “She’s a woman, son. Of course she’s weak.” Dad’s voice is clipped. “Especially with the way you’re catering to her every whim—”

“What did you just say?” I snarl, interrupting him. “Are you keeping tabs on me?”

Dad shrugs as though the accusation is neither here nor there. “Not at all. But I have friends who were at that party. They all noticed that you were too busy with your toy to conduct business.”

As Marco exits with the grisly parcel and barks at some of his men to come get the corpse, I do my best to keep my cool. But the more I feel my dad’s eyes bore into me, the more I want to remind him who’s in charge. And maybe I should, but respect can’t and shouldn’t be demanded—it has to be earned.

I glare at my father, the warning in my eyes as sharp as the blade I just cleaned. “Don’t even think about Carolina,” I say with a growl. “She’s off limits to you.”

“Off limits?” he scoffs. “She’s your—”

“Mine,” I cut him off, feeling a surge of possessiveness I’ve never known before I met her. My chest tightens. This woman has become my obsession, my every waking thought, and I’ll be damned if anyone, even my own dad, tries to tell me what to do about her. “She’s not your concern, and she’s not your responsibility. So the next time you mention her name better be to greet her, or I’ll take your tongue.”

I’m aware that everyone is looking between us like a twisted ping-pong match, but I don’t care. Backing down isn’t even in my fucking vocabulary, and I refuse to do it just because he’s my dad. I scoff because calling him ‘Dad’ is generous. He didn’ttake an interest in any of his kids until we were old enough to be introduced to the family biz.

That happened when I was thirteen, and from that day, he took over raising me—or as he called it; training me.

“Not. Another. Word,” I warn him, and when he opens his mouth to argue, I wave him off. “Or I’ll have Marco remove you. The only reason you’re allowed at this table is because of my grace.”

“Bullshit!” he sputters.

I make a show at looking at the men around the table. “No,” I calmly reply. “It’s not bullshit. Everyone here would happily volunteer to slit your throat. My ruling is the one thing keeping you alive. Remember that because the only thing keeping me happy is Carolina.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sighing, I roll my hand in the air in an ‘are you stupid’ motion. “It means that as long as I’m happy, I’m less likely to give into the constant pleas for you to be put out of your misery.”

I don’t know why it’s taken me this long to stand up to him. I mean, I do know. Years of conditioning isn’t to be scoffed at. He’s succeeded in making me see him as the god of my world. But no more. Because I no longer need a god; not when I daily worship a goddess.

As if summoned by my thoughts alone, said goddess bursts through the door. She looks like a vision against the starkness of this bloodstained room. I rise, my chair scraping back, tension coils in my gut. Every muscle primed for action.

“Nicklas, I thought—”

“No women are allowed here. Leave!” Dad barks at her.

Instead of flinching at his harsh tone, she holds her ground, those wide eyes scanning the room, landing on me. In that split second, something primal within me snaps. I cross the spacebetween us in two long strides, grabbing Carolina by the arm and pulling her close.

“Never speak to her like that again,” I snarl at my dad, the menace in my voice unmistakable.

“Son—” Dad starts, but he’s talking to my back.

Carolina’s pulse flutters beneath my fingers. I can feel the heat of her skin through the thin fabric of her robe. With a firm tug, I draw her to my side, settling her onto my lap once I retake my seat. Her soft curves press against my hardened body, an intimate fit that sends a jolt straight to my cock.

“Everyone,” I command, my tone leaving no room for debate, “this is Carolina. My future wife, my fiancée.” The words roll off my tongue with an unwavering certainty. She’s mine, and I want these men to know it.

The room reacts immediately. Heads bow, murmurs of respect circle among them—all but Caspian, who stands rigid, his jaw set.

“Congratulations,” Marco says, breaking the tense silence as he returns. Obviously, he already knew, so his reaction is more to get the ball rolling.

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