Page 80 of Christmas With The Kings
“No,” Isabella huffed. “I’m not stupid, with that one there is enough context clues.”
Sebastian bent to kiss Isabella’s forehead before snagging one of the pre-baked cookies I’d made from the counter.
Pasha ambled over and pulled me into a long hug, his warmth grounding for a heartbeat before Bash shoved him aside with a muttered, “Move over, dancer boy.”
“You’d seriously leave me?” I turned to Isabella, doubt creeping in.
My voice was smaller than I meant it to be. Bash rocked me in his arms. The question came out raw, and anxiousness. My eyes darted toward Marcel’s.
His expression softened immediately. That man could read me better than anyone—the unspoken fears, the ghosts that lingered in the cracks of my smiles. He didn’t hesitate. He crossed the kitchen, pulled me from Bash’s embrace, and folded me into his chest.
“She’s teasing, Ms. Taylor,” he murmured against my hair before pressing a kiss to the top of my head. Then he drew back, palms cupping my cheeks, his eyes steady and sure. “She isn’t going anywhere. Trust me on this.”
The lump in my throat wobbled dangerously. He always said things with absolute conviction, like the universe would bend to his words. Isabella hopped down from her perch on the counter, earning a sharp inhale from Chef Bonfils somewhere behind her, and came over to me.
She slipped an arm around my waist and squeezed. “Hey,” she said, “don’t cry. You’re stuck with me, remember?”
“Oh, so she does have a nice bone in her body?” Pasha teased, voice low and smooth.
Isabella gasped and punched him square on the arm. “Why are you here again?”
That stubborn curl of his slipped over his brow as he ducked his head. He pressed a kiss onto her forehead. I don’t know who was more startled her or him.
“Because I’m in high demand around here. That’s why,” he said, covering it.
Isabella huffed and rolled her eyes. Mumbled words in Italian flowed, causing Bash to grin.
I fought back a giggle when Sophia muttered, “Verbal sparring, indeed.”
Pasha cleared his throat and spoke again. “And if you’d use those context clues you were boasting about earlier, you see, my boy the Crow needs a solid vote in his corner to make this whole thing fair,” he offered.
My freaking heart soared. He was becoming one of them, day by day. And there was something so sweet about him standing in the gap to even the playing field.
“Not to mention, you and I both know The Counselor’s gonna vote for the Blade.”
“He better bloody well vote for me,” Ivan called out from across the kitchen, voice low and edged with concentration.
His eyes flicked to mine, and one corner turned up in a half grin. The air shifted. My chest loosened. That warmth between us was still there. The memory of the woods lingered in the back of my mind like a whisper. I knew, like I knew my own face in a mirror, that he hadn’t shared the details in full with the others.
It was a tiny, special secret woven into the fabric of something larger for him and me. My pulse softened as I glanced at him, at the quiet reverence in his eyes when he looked back. For all the chaos, for all the noise and teasing and clatter around us…we were still tethered.
“Okay all jokes aside, you were supposed to be the ONLY one judging the contest, kitten,” Reaper said from his corner of the kitchen.
“That’s because you thought she’d automatically choose you, Brother,” Crow tossed back.
“Yeah, well for changing things up last minute, she’s liable to get my hand across her as—”
“Not in my kitchen,” Chef practically yelled, causing the entire room to roar with laughter. Even Mama King couldn’t help joining in.
Bash leaned in to take in the contents of Alek’s bowl. “Hold on. If the Dancer votes for the Crow, the Counselor votes for the Blade, and I’m obviously voting for the Reaper, then it’s a three-way tie,” He continued. “Which means there is no clear winner.”
“Pretty much,” Marcel added.
Chef Bonfils looked personally offended by that. “Mon dieu! You mean this disaster of a mess, putting up with the sharp tongue of that woman…” He paused and pointed at Mrs. Patterson, who smacked her wooden spoon against her palm. “was for nothing?!”
Pasha leaned against the counter, grinning. “Well, Kinsley could judge the cottage dates. Especially since onlysheknows which was the best.”
“Fucking brilliant,” Alek beamed. “I knew I liked you.”
