Page 97 of The Most Wonderful Crime of the Year
It was actually quite nice on the second floor with the heat rising from the still-glowing fire downstairs. It might have been romantic if it hadn’t been for all the almost dying. They could have stayed there all night, her head on his shoulder, alternating between talking and laughing and making out like teenagers. It would have been the best Christmas ever. But then Ethan looked at the woman beside him, and a little voice saidit already is.
They only needed one thing, and they were so, so close to finding it.
“Okay. The safe.” Maggie studied the book that lay betweenthem with a focus that could only be described as unrelenting, and Ethan knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life losing board games to this woman. “I think we should rule out all the usual places—behind paintings and mirrors—stuff like that. Because the duke and dukette—”
“Duchess.” This time he was the one doing the correcting.
“—would have looked there already, and...”
She trailed off, and Ethan watched her gaze go a little hazy as she looked out over the library beneath them. They’d been in that room a dozen times. It was the heart of the house. The place someone like Eleanor—someone likethem—would have felt most at home.
But Ethan had never really seen it until he looked at it in the dark. Until he watched Maggie’s finger start to move—to point.
He had never—not once—given a second thought to the rug on the floor below. He remembered the corner being turned up that first night and Maggie almost tripping—the way she’d fallen into his arms. But he had never paid attention to the pattern of green leaves and purple flowers that looked like—
“Nightshade.” Her voice sounded like victory.
It’s a miracle neither of them fell in their race down the spiral stairs, but a few seconds later they were standing beside the overturned rug, looking down at the library floor—the old wooden planks and new state-of-the-art safe.
“So do you want to do the honors or should I?” Maggie wiggled the book with the code for good measure, but Ethan didn’t reach for it. He couldn’t do anything but look at her. It wasn’t the dash down the stairs that had his heart racing—not the clues or the mystery or the chase. It was her—it had always been her.
“Just so you know, whatever’s in there... it doesn’t change anything.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean...” He inched toward her, closer and closer. And closer. “Nothing in there matters more than you.”
“Oh.” She tucked her hair behindher ear and bit back a smile. “So, what you’re saying is, I’m what you want for Christmas?” She was turning red. She was trying to tease.
“No.”Oh.“You’re what I want for always.” He kissed her—slow and sweet and sure. Then he dropped to the floor and reached for the safe. “Now read me off those numbers.”
Chapter Sixty-Three
Christmas
Maggie
There is a myth to Christmas mornings. Snowy lawns and garland-wrapped banisters. Trees and presents and the sound of feet running down staircases, little voices crying out, “He came! He came!”
So Maggie couldn’t help but feel a little giddy as she stood in the dim hallway that led to the kitchen, watching the kids race down the stairs, then through the library doors. She heard their squeals and shouts and she felt her eyes go misty but she didn’t know why. Then a hand slipped into hers and she remembered.
She didn’t even mind that he’d made her put on a new matching sweater. (She was Rudolph; he was Vixen.) But somehow—looking up at Ethan, feeling the warmth of his hand in hers and seeing the clear, bright light reflecting off the snow outside—the sounds of “What the hell is all of this?” and “Rupert! Language!” Maggie couldn’t help but shiver.
It wasn’t the Christmas she would have written, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t the one she needed.
“You ready?” Ethan asked, and together they walked toward the library doors.
“This is bloody brilliant!”
“RJ! Language!” Kitty said. “Watch out for the—”
Too late. RJ had already knocked over a lamp with his bicycle. The train made a sound as it raced, fully assembled, around the room. There were streamers and wrapping paper and a room full of flabbergasted faces as Maggie and Ethan stood inthe doorway and shouted, “Merry Christmas!”
The children were still playing and screaming, and James was laying out a tray with tea and scones, and the whole group looked at Maggie and Ethan as if they didn’t understand what the fuss was about.
“Surprise!” Ethan tried again. “Look who isn’t dead!”
“Why would we think you were dead?” Freddy Banes shoved a scone in his mouth, and Ethan cut a look at Maggie.
