Page 60 of Christmas With The Kings
“Careful or you’ll be on Santa’s naughty list,” I teased.
That was when Mama King swooped in. “Pictures later. In the stall, both of you,” Sophia ordered, tugging us toward a makeshift dressing tent. “You’re late, the line’s getting restless, and we can’t have Santa and Mrs. Claus looking half-finished.”
Christopher clapped a hand on Ivan’s shoulder with an amused grunt and immediately set about helping him secure the padded belly and wig.Meanwhile, she pushed me onto a little stool, fingers already buried in my hair.
“Tsk, these curls are gorgeous, I almost hate covering them up,” she said, fluffing the silver-white wig before settling it onto my head. “But look at you—our very own Mrs. Claus.”
I laughed, though my cheeks warmed under her fussing. “I don’t know about that. I’ve never worn this much fur trim in my life.”
“Well, you wear it beautifully. And don’t think I haven’t noticed,” she added, voice softening as she adjusted the cap under the wig. “You’re getting more and more comfortable with us, darling. I love seeing it. You bring so much light into this family.”
I blinked, my throat tightening even as she briskly tugged the wig straps into place like she hadn’t casually stabbed me in the heart with her love and affection.
“There. Perfect.” She stepped back, beaming at me as if she’d personally crafted me in her workshop. Then, clapping her hands sharply, she turned back to Christopher.
“Now—get those pictures. Then it’s smiles on, both of you! You’ve got a horde of children dying to see you, and Santa doesn’t keep anyone waiting.”
I caught Ivan’s eye across the small space, his father adjusting the last of his beard while he gave me that secret look of his. Beneath the ridiculous red suit and the fake white curls, he was still him—and my stomach flipped with the memory of how close I’d come to making us even later. He walked over and leaned down to kiss my head.
“Thank you, my beloved,” I whispered, my voice cracking.
“Anything for you, little love. Let’s knock their socks off, shall we?” He asked, taking my arm.
We stepped out of the tent and ran straight into the Caruso elves. Isabella shoved the clipboard toward Sebastian.
“No,” she said, her voice cold and flat. “Youget the clipboard.”
Sebastian leaned in with that boyish grin of his. “What’s wrong? All the practice you’ve done lately and now you can’t talk to people?”
“Correct.” Isabella crossed her arms, her stare daring him to keep arguing. “But I will happily listen to you call out names while I help hunt like a madwoman behind the scenes. There isn’t enough practice in the world—” she jabbed a finger at him, “—to have me playing Mrs. Congeniality to a crowd of sugar-hyped children and their parents.”
Bash tilted his head, grin sharpening.
Isabella’s lips curled, the rarest of smirks flashing across her face. “Think of it as your Christmas gift for me this year. Go on, there might be some single mum over there looking to get her rocks off with—” she chuckled as she eyed him in his costume. “Never mind, ‘Temu Buddy’.”
I pressed a fist to my mouth to keep from laughing. They were like two halves of a mismatched coin, constantly bickering, constantly balanced. Bash puffed up his chest like he was about to deliver a closing argument, but Isabella had already turned her shoulder, victory sealed.
Then Sophia’s voice boomed through the speakers, joyful and commanding all at once. “Alright, my Christmas elves! It’s showtime! The Kings’ Christmas Extravaganza is officially open! Bring me those wide-eyed children, and let Santa’s sleigh bells RING!”
The crowd outside cheered, a roar of applause and laughter. I grinned, swept up in the excitement—then nearly jumped out of my skin when a sudden jolt sizzled low and deep inside me.
I bit down hard on my lip, swallowing the gasp that threatened to betray me. My gaze shot instinctively to Ivan, and sure enough, he stood behind me, twirling the ring on his finger, with the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth.
Ivan
The line of children stretched farther than I expected. Mother hadn’t been exaggerating when she said the “King Christmas Extravaganza” was the event of the season.
Everywhere I looked, I saw grinning faces. It was chaos wrapped in ribbons and snowflakes—but standing beside me, Kinsley was luminous. Mrs. Claus incarnate.
She handed the first wrapped parcel to a little girl with braids, her smile so genuine it could have lit the Hyde Park lights all on its own. I watched her kneel, red skirts pooling at her knees, and thought—not for the first time—that I’d never stood beside someone who could slip into any world and own it the way she did.
I thumbed the ring against my palm. It was light, subtle.
Her shoulders jumped almost imperceptibly. A faint flush crept up her throat, but her voice didn’t waver as she asked the girl whether she’d been “naughty or nice.” The child squealed “nice!” before skipping off with her gift, oblivious.
“Ho-ho-ho,” I offered, playing into the role.
We kept working, a rhythm forming between us. Sebastian, to no one’s surprise, had already turned the lapel mic into a comedy routine. Every other announcement was punctuated with exaggerated flourishes, the crowd eating him up.
