Page 66 of Christmas Mafia Prince
Damen raises his hands. “Okay, okay, whatever you need.”
He can probably smell something’s fishy, but at least now I have time to go and rummage through the kitchen. I’ve learned how to cook quite a few things now that I have time, money, and this grand space with black marble countertops. The private chef Damen hired to come over sometimes was very happy to teach me how to make fluffy pancakes, flip an omelette and not burn chicken.
It’s not entirely implausible that I put the gift in one of the pots at the back of a cupboard, since Damen doesn’t cook much.
I don’t have time to admire the view from the tall windows, which let in so much light while giving us a perfect view onNew York from high above. Soon, Aspen, his brother, and their cousin, Alecia, will arrive, as they are taking the private jet with us to Aspen where Damen will fly the helicopter. Damen told me it was Corvus who let him know about the danger last year, so I forgave him for perving on us and invited him to take the flight with us, but the loner said he’d make his own way. I think he’s still kinda embarrassed.
The doorbell rings as I dash out of the kitchen after checking a few of the smaller drawers. “Will you let them in?” I call out, on my way to the walk-in closet.
My presence here has transformed Damen’s apartment, because he insisted he and I agree on a new interior design project, and the collaboration resulted in a beautiful merging of Victorian antiques, black panels on the walls, and comfortable modern furnishings. We both enjoy art, so there are several paintings and sculptures we picked together too. I’m about to walk up the stairs, when the main door opens and Aspen pops his blond head in. He must have grown at least three inches since last year, and is that a new tattoo on his neck? If he keeps up the gym regimen he's been obsessed with, he will have no trouble handling the mafia business.
“Hello there, lovebirds!”
“I’ll be only a minute,” I shout his way, speeding to the second level of the apartment, to the door in the back, where I keep all my clothes and accessories. If I did not leave the gift there, I don’t know where else it could be.
I absentmindedly stroke the golden skull on a pedestal in the corridor. It’s a cast of Daryl’s. The original is, of course, in the trophy room at the Van der Horn mansion. Whenever I see it, I smile at the memory of how viciously Damen fought for me.
Sometimes when Damen has to leave without me for a few days, I take it into the bedroom and put it on my nightstand. It makes me feel closer to my husband.
I rush into the closet, which is bigger than my apartment used to be, and head for the shoes with new determination. I swear that’s where I hid it. I pass the beautifully arranged rows of clothes and have to smile. I’ve never been greedy, but it sure is nice to dress in such finery. Some are even made-to-measure or altered to add studs or other more aggressive elements. I still have a few of the T-shirts from before Damen turned my life upside down, and a pair of ripped jeans that fit too well to be thrown away.
I’m a little self-conscious about justhowrich we are, so I make it my business to support local charities. The biggest cause I donate to is a charity helping homeless gay youth as I know all too well what that’s it like to live their reality.
I dive right into the space for shoes and it takes going through three shelves of them but there it is. Still packed in a little box, the locket I had made for Damen.
I sigh in relief and marvel at its beauty. It’s no bigger than an inch, inscribed at the back withGood luck, my hunter, and inside, suspended forever in resin, is a lock of my hair. I plan to give it to him on Christmas day, before the annual hunt.
Side note: It’sinsanethat I can afford stuff like this.
Damen calls my name, because we are on a schedule, but now I am ready to go, so the box goes into the leather belt bag, and I dash down the stairs to greet our companions.
“Ain’t he handsome?” Aspen muses and places Whiskers on the side table. My poor cat is dressed in a green outfit with a big red and gold Gucci logo at the back. He doesn’t seem phased until Alecia takes off her sunglasses and holds them in front of his furry muzzle.
“Take the photo, now,” she squeaks to Aspen, who steps closer to where I’m standing and takes several pictures of Whiskers in the ridiculous getup.
Damen captures my gaze with a small smile. “All ready to go?” he asks and reaches his arm toward me. God, he’s handsome. And all mine.
“If I’m not, will you abduct me?” I wink at him in reference to last year.
Damen smirks and walks up to me, then picks me up as I laugh. “You’re so easy to abduct.”
Aspen’s older brother groans. “Can we go yet?”
I look around, knowingsomethingis still missing.
“Remo. Where’s Remo?” I panic, wide-eyed. Damen’sothercousin, and I swear he must have at least twenty of them, Remo is supposed to be cat sitting for us again this year. Even though we could have paid someone, I like the idea that Whiskers will stay with a person he knows.
Damen shakes his head. “He already has keys, we don’t need to wait for him.”
I sigh in relief and lean in to whisper. “Did you hide the sex toys?”
My man snorts. “Mon chéri, I hid my sexuality for thirty years. You think I would fail at keeping your favorite nipple clamps safe?” Then he goes on in French, without the vaguest idea that I’ve been studying the language all year.
{I also have lube to fuck you in the jet.}
Joke’s on him, because now he’s piqued my curiosity. The time to reveal my new skill has come.
{Really? Around our friends?}I answer with the shittiest accent, but it’s there. My French.
