Page 77 of Host for the Holidays
So I don’t kiss her again like I want to. But I also don’t let go of her hand. Baby steps and all that.
I nod at her camera bag, forgotten at some point on the floor. Well, not forgotten, really. It takes up a significant portion of the space in here, which makes it hard to put more distance between us even if I wanted to. “What souvenirs did you find?”
Some of the anxiousness leaves her face, a glint of mischief twinkling in her eyes. She bends down—not an easy feat given the small space available—and pulls out the plastic bag from her camera bag. “Funny you should ask.”
She shows me a small Eiffel Tower model a little taller than her hand. It’s made of some type of faux-bronze metal, and she admires it with a tilted head. “They had one that lit up, but it was more of an Edward Cullen situation, so I went with the more classic look.” She puts it back in the bag and pulls out a few things she bought for her mom, her brother, and the Sheppards. “And last but not least . . .” She rifles through the bag for a second, then pulls out another Eiffel Tower.
It’s not like the first one. The top third is painted blue, the middle is white, and the bottom is red.
“It’s for you,” she says, handing it to me with a huge grin on her face and that same teasing glint in her eye that makes me feel simultaneously flattered and wary.
I take it hesitantly, twisting and turning the monstrosity in my hand. What exactly does she expect me to do with this?
“Don’t forget the best part.” She twists it in my hands, reaching underneath the base and fiddling with something. There’s a soft click, and the tower lights up like a strobe.
I blink and pull away from it.
Madi’s barely holding in her pride and amusement.
“So you saved Edward Cullen for me.”
She nods. “I thought of you immediately. It was just too perfect.”
“Mmhmm.”
She laughs. “Just look. It’s red, white, and blue.Andit has stars—the whole twinkling aspect—and stripes. A great representation of your American side.”
I cover my smile with a hand and hold the figurine slightly away from myself because the thing is flashing at me in a way that can’t be safe for my vision. “You realize that the French flag isalsored, white, and blue, right?”
“Yeah, but we did it better. We’re red, white, and blue 2.0.”
“The one who did something first is generally considered the best.”
“First the worst, second the same, last the best of all the game.”
I laugh, my brow furrowing. “What’s that?”
“It’s something we used to say in elementary school. Timeless wisdom.”
“Okay, but there are other countries who did red, white, and blueafteryou, which makes you second, which, according to your own cute little jingle, makes youalsothe worst.”
She glares at me teasingly. “The point is, we took your red, white, and blue, and we added pizzazz.” She puts out both hands and wiggles her fingers. “We bedazzled it.”
“Bedazzled?”
“It’s when you add a bunch of sequins and jewels to something.”
“So . . . you make it worse.”
She punches me in the arm, and pain has never hurt so good. “The bedazzling of our flag hasmeaning, Rémy. The stars represent the—you know what?” She yanks the Eiffel Tower out of my hands. “You don’t deserve this.”
I fight her for it, though, because I actuallydowant that ugly thing. She bought it thinking of me, and that’s a souvenir I can get behind. So I wrestle her, and since she has nowhere to hide in this small elevator, she doubles over, protecting the tower with her arms. I wrap mine around her from the back, tickling her until she surrenders.
My arms beg me to leave them around her, and I do. She doesn’t resist. Her hair is mussed from our struggle, and it smells like shampoo and a mixture of scents from the market. She turns in my arms so that she’s facing me, and, taking the collar of my sweater, she pulls me down to her.
My eyes close, but the flashing of that dumb Eiffel Tower lingers, acting like a warning. Even the souvenir knows this isn’t a smart move.
Mustering all my willpower, I pull back, rubbing my lips together in the hopes it’ll stop the way they’re insisting I let them have their way with Madi, with her lips, her neck. I press my eyes shut to get rid of that image and refocus myself. “Madi . . .”
