Page 38 of To Curse A Knight

Masculine pissing party over, Aaron and Kellan removed the takeout containers for the catering box, setting everything out on the table while I directed Lucky’s help in setting out the silverware. It was an odd dance of domestic activity, and yet we all played our parts like the cogs of a well-honed machine, moving in sync to the sound of clattering dishes and Lucky unapologetically humming “The Bad Touch” by theBloodhound Gang.

The meal was surprisingly hot, and I ate it with enthusiasm, realizing with every bite that despite sitting in an underground bunker beneath two tortured prisoners, despite spending it with three criminals with the most complicated web of connection we could have bargained for, and despite being estranged from the family who’d given me life, this was the most pleasant Christmas dinner I’d ever had.

Lucky ate four helpings of Yorkshire pudding. They’d been a favorite of my grandmother, so I always included them with a traditional meal, though Daddy ignored any form of carbs.

“Ma used to bake Yorkshire puddings for Christmas dinner before she came to America,” he mused before he bit into his third pastry. “Dreadful cook, though. They were hard as stone.” He popped it into his mouth in one bite, chewed and swallowed. “My compliments to the chef!” he declared.

They were a favorite of mine, too—one of the few English foods I enjoyed.

“Buñuelos,” Aaron murmured thoughtfully, a tiny smile taking hold of the corners of his lips as he took another Yorkshire pudding of his own. “Colombian fritters. Our cook made them when I was a boy. They are still my favorite.”

Kellan’s permanent scowl lifted and a rare warmth entered his cold eyes. “I lovebuñuelos. We madekanelbullerbefore Mamma was killed. It’s like a Swedish cinnamon bun,” he said, glancing around at our blank looks.

His mother had been killed. How had I never thought to ask where his mother was? There was nothing online about her—no trace at all. I’d tried to find out through my sources, but we had never broached the subject. I didn’t want to talk about mine, and surely, he’d know all about Helen Lane from his own stalking of me—but not once had I tried to ask him about it.

Shame flushed down my neck for a brief moment, flooding my insides with uncomfortable heat. If Kellan wanted to become something more than my would-be protector, I needed to know more about him. Would he share the darkness of his past with me, or would we be trapped in a stalemate of false dependence?

Lucky, thankfully, used his cheeky powers for good.

“I didn’t know that about you, Kell-Bell. You look like you’ve never eaten a cinnamon bun in your life.” He patted his equally flat stomach and grinned, turning his attention to me. “Happy to see you have taste buds after all, Blondie. I was afraid you’d make us eat tofu-turkey and unbuttered Brussel sprouts.”

Scoffing, I grabbed another Yorkshire pudding, smothered it in a heaping serving of gravy, and quirked a challenging brow in his direction.

“My body is a temple, Lucky. But unbuttered brussel sprouts? Yuck.”

We continued to eat in relatively comfortable silence until the meal was done. Pushing back from the table, I gathered the empty plates and brought them to the counter, pleased when all three men rose to help.

We settled to the living room couches with glasses of wine once everything was cleaned up. Aaron unceremoniously grabbed me and placed me in his lap; Kellan and Lucky sat opposite us on the giant sectional.

As unorthodox as this day was, I was determined to bring some sense of normalcy to our lives, even for the briefest of moments before everything in our sights devolved into chaos. Normalcy on Christmas day meant presents.

“Okay, since it's Christmas, I have a little something for you.”

Lucky’s head perked up. “Presents?”

Kellan’s semi-relaxed expression soured into a surly frown. “Killer—”

I held up two fingers to shush him.

“Fuck off, Kellan dearest,” I cooed, smiling sweetly. “Gifts are my love language, so you’ll take my present like a good boy.”

Aaron muffled a chuckle against my neck, and I didn’t miss Lucky’s sly smirk. Kellan’s cool gaze was unimpressed by my taunting, but he put his scowl back in his pocket for later.

Shifting in Aaron’s arms, I stood to grab the small wrapped presents in the deep pockets of my coat. Handing them each a package, I retook my position in my gorgeous Colombian’s lap.

“Okay, open!” I commanded, unable to stifle the wide grin creeping across my face. “Lucky, last,” I amended with a giggle, his crestfallen expression pulling an outright laugh out of me.

Giftsweremy love language. Money was a tool to be wielded most of the time. To build businesses, to build dreams, to build lifestyles and security; and to bring joy to those you loved.

I had more money than I’d ever be able to spend in twenty lifetimes. Much went to businesses building new, better products to improve people’s lives—some went to charity, and, admittedly, some went to the frivolous things that I enjoyed in life. Like Louboutin shoes, Jaguars, and gifts for the people I cared about.

In this case, that meant one for Lucky, too.

When nobody moved, I elbowed Aaron in the ribs. “All right, you first.”

He gently pulled me to the side, sitting me firmly on his thigh, holding me in place with one arm, while he reached around to unwrap the dainty black box in his other hand.

He untied the delicate lace bow with reverence and flicked open the lid with caressing fingers. His muscles tensed around me at the sight of my gift.

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