I roll my eyes, but I’m laughing as I give his shoulder a shove. “Thanks, but I think I’ll leave that to someone else. I don’t want to rule the world.”
“What do you want, Darling?” he murmurs.
You,I think.Just you.
Aloud, I say, “Another shower, I think. I’m dirty again, Featherswallow.”
“Yes, you are,” he agrees, tugging me up from the couch. “And so am I.’
We strip on the way to his room, leaving a breadcrumb trail of clothing across the flat. He proves how dirty—and wonderful—he is, and I prove I wasn’t kidding about that driving need to wreck him with my mouth.
And as we head to bed at a reasonable hour, teeth flossed and brushed, and my hair in my curl bonnet to protect it from frizz, he proves that even a normal bedtime is fun with him around.
Falling asleep beside him, I think this might be what it feels like when everything finally comes together.
When Fate mixes with Christmas magic and suddenly, all the obstacles melt like snow on a sunny morning.
I should have remembered that Fate has a twisted sense of humor.
And that magic often comes at a price…
Chapter Seventeen
EMILY
Monday morning dawns bright, but freezing cold, with the temperature barely scraping 1 degree Celsius, which is pretty darned cold in Fahrenheit.
I think…
Itfeelscold, anyway.
“Note to self: New Year’s Resolution, learn Celsius,” I mutter as Oliver and I head up the stairs to the Fletchers’ administrative offices on the fifth floor of a gorgeous Georgian building. He’s meeting his brother for coffee at a café nearby and insisted on walking me “for luck,” and to protect my cream pants from the London muck.
He walked on the “mucky” side all the way from his flat, hustling me out of the way of lorry splashes, proving he’s the best fake boyfriend ever.
Except that maybe he’s myrealboyfriend now?
Maybe?
We haven’t nailed that part down just yet, but we will. Soon. Once this presentation is over, I’ll have the bandwidth to tackle other big discussions, and I’ve already started work on a “Why We Should Give Long Distance a Shot” PowerPoint, with multiple lists to accompany the presentation.
Partly because list-making is in my soul.
Partly because I know it will make Olly laugh, and I love to make him laugh.
I just…love him. Period. I don’t care that we’ve been an item for barely a week and half of that was spent faking it. I’m not here to second-guess a holiday gift from the romance gods. I’m here to rock this presentation, go last-minute holiday shopping with my hot British boyfriend, and dance the night away at his office holiday party tonight.
And tomorrow, we’re doing Christmas Eve dinner at his brother’s house, then Christmas day luncheon and White Elephant presents at his mother’s, and then—assuming my luggage is still lost in the Twilight Zone—we’re going to hit the Boxing Day sales to buy a party dress for New Year’s Eve.
Oliver is already insisting that it must be sparkly, with a very naughty, very cheeky skirt…
I sneak a peek his way at the top of the stairs, still unable to believe this gorgeous, funny, fantastic man is mine.
Or about to be mine.
Mostly mine?
“Don’t be nervous, you’ve got this,” Oliver says, clearly misunderstanding the reason for my anxious expression.
