Page 153 of Hard to Judge

“Of course again.” My smile cannot be contained to only my lips. Nope, my eyes are wide and my teeth are all in on the action.

“Not a chance.” Hota rushes to Nat’s side. “You’ve already had a turn.”

“Two,” Arlo reminds him while swirling the bourbon in his glass and smirking. Plink is curled on his lap in a near liquid heap. A far cry from his hissing and hiding a few hours ago. Mr. Judge better be glad he’s sitting at a safe distance on the loveseat he and Hota had been sharing.

I clear my throat with far more exaggeration than necessary. “Excuse you! The two of you are supposed to be on my side in all things.” I shake my ring finger at them.

“We’re on your side until you get greedy.” Hota scoops the ball of fluff from my aunt’s lap. The little pup’s tail wags so forcefully, the rest of its body wiggles in turn.

“Last I recall, you like it when I get greedy.” I grin.

Arlo groans and shifts in his seat, causing Plink to meow so loudly, the puppy yips several times. The racket sends my little boy back to his favorite perch tonight, high on the shelves where no one can reach him.

Hota covers the puppy’s ears with one hand. “Shhh. Not in front of the baby.”

Nat’s Frenchman laughs. “He’s already seen more than he should have.”

“Eeew!” I wave away his comment but can’t wipe the smile off my face. I rise from the club chair, walk over, and plop myself between my aunt and her lover. “Fine, I guess I’ll settle for this.”

I grab my aunt’s hand. The ever elegant five fingers aren’t ten times heavier. Judging by the size of the emerald-cut sapphire on her ring finger, they should be.

“Settle?” My aunt’s now fiancé scoffs. “That thing is twelve carats, was worn through seventy-six years of marriage by my great-grandmother, and I spent months designing the new setting that would suit ma reine.”

“Damn, my queen.” Hota shakes his head. “You sure are laying it on thick. She already said yes, right?”

Hota and Laurent love to antagonize each other. They start a passionate ribbing match in French.

“Have you given any thought to the wedding?” I ask Nat while turning the truly stunning ring this way and that, gaping as it catches the lights from the Christmas trees. Yes, multiple.

Arlo only thought I went overboard last year. I fully committed to it this year. It’s our first Christmas in our home as a married throuple. As a family.

We had our big Christmas party last week with Astor and the guys and everyone’s dates. Yikes for the second year in a row in that department. Then Nat surprised us all by showing up with a puppy and an engagement ring a couple of days ago.

“You know, I never thought about getting married. It was never in the cards for me. Never something I wanted until Laurent. And until you showed me what is possible.” Nat’s fingers hold tight to mine. She lifts them and kisses the back of my hand just above my three simple platinum bands.

Arlo sets his empty tumbler to the side and stands. He walks to Hota, steals the puppy from his arms, and heads for me. The poor guy doesn’t have a name yet, since my aunt and her fiancé continue to argue between Dior and Alain, fashion and Formula One. How very Parisian of them.

“Hey!” Hota has to stop arguing with Laurent to grimace after his husband.

“I have something better for you.” Arlo looks over his shoulder at Hota. “If you’re patient.”

Hota’s gaze drags down to Arlo’s perfectly-formed ass. “I’d say I’m immensely patient.”

“Not anymore.” Nat chuckles.

Arlo hands me the puppy, name to be determined. He kisses my forehead and then heads to the buffet. My heart stops for a moment, but he opens the cabinet door on the left, not the right, and pulls out a large box.

I put my hand over my heart and feel it kick over and over again, as he heads to our husband. “This isn’t under the tree because it’s not a Christmas gift.” He pulls Hota back to the loveseat with him and hands over the box. “It is a small token of our love for you that has been a long time coming.”

Hota’s gorgeous dark eyes shift from Arlo to me and back several times.

“Open it,” I encourage.

He tugs the lid off the long but shallow box. There’s a rustling of paper, and then Hota gasps. His mouth falls open. He blinks several times, and his head begins a slow back and forth.

“What is it?” Nat whispers in my ear, but I can’t tear my gaze or thoughts away from Hota to begin to answer.

I shove the puppy into her arms and rush over to my husbands. I kneel between them and shift back onto my heels.