Page 18 of Christmas With The Kings
He deserved that. Everyone deserved that. And I…I was going to make it my personal mission to deliver.
“Love you, Bashy,” I whispered, shimmying my body into his.
“Love you too, tiny tot,” he said, chuckling.
Aleksandr
The little shit had pushed back this morning. We hadn’t had one of those episodes in a while. Not since she first moved in and tested every boundary to be sure it was real—to be surewewere real. But this morning?
Yeah, she’d drawn a line in the sand and dared me to cross it. She should have known better. I smirked because, truthfully, she did. And everything played out perfectly.
A little correction never hurt, and when it came to my little kitten, a proper spanking wasn’t about punishment—it was aboutcenteringher. She unraveled when she felt unseen, when her efforts were overlooked, and we’d been blind the past few weeks. All of us.
That was on me. So I approached my brothers, and we voted on it. Unanimously. It had worked too. From her responses—heard over the phone, it had the desired effect I knew it would. Course correction at its finest, followed by some tender aftercare and then pampering.
The beautiful thing about it was it would absolutely plop her into the proper headspace. And I fucking needed that today. Because the burning need to make things right had been festering all week while we were gone.
Marcus was en route now, ready to drop her off for a full spa treatment day. The works—hair, mani-pedi, a new outfit. I’d scheduled everything with very explicit instructions. While she was being pampered and coddled, the guys and I would be tearing through the family cottage like men on a mission.
The plan was airtight, the day mapped out down to the damn minute. And still, I couldn’t shake the weight in my chest. That gnawing sense that I’d already let her down so badly, this might not be enough.
But it had to be. Because she was my entire world.
“Everything all good?” Ivan asked, flicking open a storage bin with the toe of his boot.
“Yup, we’re on track. We’ve got about two hours before Marcus picks her back up from the salon.” I checked the time again, even though I already knew it down to the minute.
Nik arrived a few seconds later, arms full of tangled lights and a smug grin. Right behind him was our mother and Martina, Bash’s mother. They were bundled in coats, scarves knotted neatly at their throats, cheeks flushed with anticipation. Their excitement hit the air.
“Look at this place,” Martina breathed, her eyes already dancing as she stepped into the cottage. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen it dressed for anything other than storage.”
Mother followed behind her, taking it in with a slow, approving sweep of her gaze. “This is going to be magic,” she said with quiet certainty, then turned to me. “We’re proud of you, boys.”
I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling ten years old under that smile.
The cottage had belonged to Sebastian’s family for generations. A place passed down, worn soft by time. Updated with the right touch of money, but still rustic around the edges. It had wood-beamed ceilings, a stone fireplace, and a few creaky floorboards that groaned like they were telling stories.
And today, it was about to become a secret hideaway.
The idea…thegift,if you will, hadn’t been mine. It had been all Bash. The bastard could be infuriatingly smug when he wanted to be, but he was also absolutely brilliant.
He might not have a woman of his own, but he loved ours. Loved the little shit to pieces.In a complicated, protective and possessive way that only made sense if you lived inside our strange little world.
At heart, he was a romantic. A brutal one, yes—but still. The kind of man who remembered anniversaries no one else did. The kind of man who memorized the sound of a woman’s laugh, even if that woman wasn’t his. I swallowed hard, feeling a surge of guilt, like I always did when it came down to it.
My jaw tightened, the air shifting as that familiar grief crept in. I shoved it aside. There wasn’t room for it. Not today. Today was for Kinsley.
“Hand me that box, son,” Mother said, nudging my leg. Her voice cut through the fog, grounding me.
I passed her the crate of ornaments. Some were half-glass, half-handmade, all probably older than I was.
She smiled, soft and knowing. “She’s changed you boys.”
I didn’t answer because,yeah. She had.
We got to work. It was organized chaos at first—boxes being cracked open, pine needles flying, Nik swearing every five minutes about glitter being the devil’s confetti. But not a one of us complained.
Ivan had dragged a huge ass tree inside and was now on ladder duty, stringing lights with the precision of a sniper. He was muttering under his breath about how “this strand better not be half-dead or I’m calling bloody sabotage”, which only made Nik laugh harder as he tried to detangle ribbon with our mum.
