Page 60 of The Holidays with Mr. Mitchell
“You didn’t go through with that nonsense, did you?”
“I did. They made me feel heartless if I didn’t.”
Nat gave me a slow, sly smile. “Then he deserves every ounce of this backfiring on his ass. If Spence turned our daughter against me to parade a brown tree in front of all of Malibu, I wouldn’t speak to him until he begged for forgiveness.”
“Well, I just?—”
“No, honey.” She cut me off. “You did nothing wrong. Jim asked for this attention—one, for stalling you and Cat, and two, for using the girls to manipulate his bullshit.”
“I just don’t want it to hurt his business,” I said, deflated.
“You’ve gotten too soft in your motherhood years,” she teased. “Let the stories run and watch him eat his words.”
“I did have Cat arrange to swap his tree for the real one I’d pranked him with,” I admitted. “Maybe he’ll get that the games are over.”
“You broke first?”
“I didn’t break. I just don’t want to fight with my husband over holiday bullshit.”
“Sweetie, that’s literally the point of the holidays, families fighting over stupid bullshit.”
“We don’t.”
“Then you’re not normal.” She returned to her salad. “Spencer and I fight all the time, and the makeup sex is stroke-level amazing. Sometimes I start the fight just to get it.”
“You’re insane,” I said, finally laughing for the first time in days.
“No.” She pointed at my phone. “A man rescuing dead trees while trying to cheap out on his employees with champagne and cheese boards, all while scrapping bonuses—that’sinsane.”
“Yes, but we were fixing that with our parties.”
“And in the end, it’ll all work out,” she said, smiling. “Your husband is the biggest softie of them all. He can’t stay mad at you longer than a day.”
“It’s been three.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Three days? Shit.”
My chest tightened. “I know.”
“No, you don’t.” Her lethal gaze flicked past me, then back. “Jim’s doing this on purpose.”
“Doing what on purpose?”
“Acting upset. It’s how he ends the pranking. As long as you’re falling apart, he’s going to use it to hand you your ass on the party planning. You don’t really think a couple of viral tweetsis going to ruin your husband’s empire, do you? Be serious, darling.”
She had a point. “Okay. So, what do I do? My anxiety’s already soaring.”
“Let Cat handle everything for your party. That girl brings magic without you having to hover. And we,” she smirked, “are going to get these bastards back.”
“I’m done with games,” I said, exhausted.
“Jim’s not. I guarantee he’s got all our husbands in on something.”
“What do you think they’re planning?”
“God knows,” she said. “But I’ll wring it out of Spencer tonight.”
I half smiled. “I hope you’re right.”
