Page 23 of Go Luck Yourself
Coal cringes. “Ah. You mean it wouldn’t be convincing to show up in Ireland all, ‘Trust me, Prince What’s-His-Butt, Kris is torn up about the whole tinsel attack. He’s so sorry he sent hisbrotherto apologize for him.’ Yeah.” He clears his throat. “Not the best move.”
Severity falls over him so quickly that my face relaxes.
“But Iris is right,” he says. “You—”
“What?” She frowns at Coal.
He frowns right back. “What? I said you’re right.”
“I’m sorry, still didn’t hear you.” She cups her ear. “One more time?”
He catches on. “I said Iris is the pinnacle of humility and we should all aspire to emulate her poise.”
She folds her arms with a satisfied nod. “Continue.”
Coal, smirking, refocuses on me, and that smile helps temper the way he says, “I do think you’ll be good at this. Being our ambassador. Getting to the bottom of our stolen joy.”
“Sucking it up and apologizing to a jackass,” I grumble.
“I believe he’s a jackass. I also believe that you’re incredibly capable of figuring out what’s going on.” Coal’s vicious grin returns. “And send me that video. I’m going to put it in one of those digital photo frames and set it above my fireplace.”
“Piss off.”
“And I’ll engrave it to sayBaby’s First Political Incident.”
Hex laughs, and Coal whips an adoring look at him that’s so love-laden it forces me to turn away. God, they’re freakishly good at creating immediate intimacy in public.
Turning angles me at Iris.
I never stared at her that way. The way Coal looks at Hex.
She deserves someone who will.
Her smile is timid. “It’s nice to see you. Even under the circumstances.”
“It is?”
Her head tips, braids falling over her shoulder. “Yes. You idiot. You’re my Claus boys. When it’s just Coal, all I get are jokes and his messy nonsense.”
“Excuse you,” he pipes in, one thumb hooked in Hex’s belt. “There is nothing nonsensical about my mess.”
Iris rolls her eyes as if to say,See?
I try to smile, but end up dropping my chin and scratching the back of my neck.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “You deserved better than—”
She punches me in the chest.
I jerk away. “What the—”
“Stop apologizing. Don’t take care of me. I don’t need you to take care of me. What doyouwant, Kris?”
My gaze swings to Coal and Hex, heads close, talking quietly and smiling like fools in love.
What do I want?
Coal asked me that a few weeks back. What I wanted to do, really do, like I had any other choice than to be a Prince of Christmas. And yeah, sure, at one point I’d dreamed of going to school to learn more about books, but that was a pipe dream; and yeah, sure, at one point I’d been neck-deep in my writings about happy ever after, but Cambridge crushed any time for frivolous art, and I’ve broken myself out of longing for that happy ending.
