Page 135 of The Fine Art of Faking It
“Agreed. We can’t let this fester until we have kids and they get arrested at a tee ball game for fighting.”
Eden handed the bottle back to him and Davis drank deeply. She ran a soothing hand down his back, the charcoal gray cashmere soft to the touch. “We’ve got this,” she promised.
“Listen, gorgeous. I know we talked about telling them. But I think we’re pressing our luck. It might push us over the edge into actual bloodshed.”
Eden handed the bottle back and nodded. “Agreed. I think telling our parents that we’re building a house together on the property line and turning your house into an annex for the inn would be asking for trouble.”
“It would be asking for nuclear war.”
She rested her head on his shoulder. “Honestly, I’m surprised they haven’t gone for each other’s throats yet.”
“Whatever retraining the Beautification Committee put them through seems to be working,” Davis observed. “Did you see my mom when she started to call yours a buttface?”
“Yeah, what was that rigid muscle spasm thing?”
“You don’t think the B.C. used electroshock, do you?” Davis mused.
“Whatever they used, it’s a Christmas miracle,” she said dryly.
“Do you still love me even though our parents are assholes?” Davis asked, putting the wine down on the counter and pulling her into his arms.
She dropped her head to his chest. “Davis, I’d love you even if our parents were serial killers. Are you sure it’s not too much?”
“You’re everything that I want in this life. And nothing, not even a group of middle-aged adults acting like cranky-ass toddlers, is going to change that.”
She sighed. “Okay. Just checking in.”
He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “What you and I have is bigger than anything they can dish out,” Davis promised. “Besides, if I could convince my father to retire into consultancy, I think we can keep them from murdering each other during the holidays.”
“I love the hell out of you, Davis Gates.”
He hadn’t let her down. Not when she’d been too scared and blind to admit that she loved him. Not when his father had held his position at the winery hostage for a week. Not when his mother threatened to have an aneurysm when he’d invited them to Christmas at the inn.
Davis was sticking.
Meanwhile, Eden’s parents had vacillated between a grumpy acceptance and overdramatic despair. Both were manageable.
“I love the hell out of you, Eden Moody,” Davis said, fondly brushing a curl off her forehead.
Eden brightened. “You know, the worse time they have here, the earlier they’ll leave.”
He caught her drift immediately. “And the sooner we can commence Naked Christmas Sex.” His hands slid down to cup her butt, pulling her flush against him.
“How are you already hard with World War III brewing in there?” she teased.
“We have a lot of time to make up for,” Davis insisted. “Fifteen long years. Wasted.”
There was a high-pitched shriek from the dining room.
Davis tensed. “Shit. Did someone just get stabbed?”
Eden snuggled closer, cuddling his erection with her hips. “Nope. That’s Atlantis’s kids starting their screaming contest.”
“You know, I sure could use a preview of coming attractions before we go back in there,” Davis suggested, backing her up against the kitchen island.
She met his mouth hungrily, feasting on what he offered her. The newness was still there, but so was the abiding belief thatthiswas what she’d been waiting for. This man, who saw her and loved her just the way she was. This commitment. This beautiful relationship.
She didn’t know if it was the Beautification Committee’s manipulations or just some kind of timely magic. But she’d unlocked herself from the shackles of her past, from a half-century of bad blood. And the next fifty years were looking pretty damn great. Even if both their families were certifiably insane.
