Page 68 of American Queen (New Camelot Trilogy 1)
“Bah humbug,” Ash says, leaning down to bite off the string with his teeth. He makes a knot at the end of the garland and then puts his needle on the table. “Are you going to help us hang these up or what?”
“What do you think?”
But then he heaves himself off the couch and helps us anyway, criticizing our garland placement before pushing us out of the way and doing it himself. Ash laughs and pulls me back, standing behind me and wrapping his arms around my stomach. He rests his chin on my shoulder. “This should be every Christmas.”
Embry scoffs, long fingers plucking at the garland to make it drape evenly along the boughs. “Shitty decorations and the three of us bickering?”
I feel Ash smile, feel the genuine longing in his voice when he answers. “Yes.”
That afternoon, as the snow lets up and the December sunlight begins to wane over the woods, Ash asks me to go on a walk. Embry is stretched out on the floor asleep after a lazy afternoon watching A Christmas Story and drinking scotch; there’s a white puff stuck in his hair from when I threw popcorn kernels at him to try and wake him up.
“He’ll be fine,” Ash says, handing me my coat. “He never gets to nap since I forced him to run for office with me. We should let him sleep.”
I pull the coat on and wind a scarf around my neck, which Ash uses to tug me close enough to kiss. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs. “Even all bundled up.”
I press my lips to his, letting him part my lips with his own. I taste him—all mint and scotch and a hint of popcorn—an
d sigh happily. But when we pull apart, there’s something resigned in his face.
“Ash?” I ask. “Is something wrong?”
He looks at me for a long moment, his brow creased and that gorgeous mouth turned down at the corners. He doesn’t answer my question. Instead, he says, “Let’s go on that walk.”
After a brief word to Luc, the lead agent on duty, we head out to the woods, following a narrow trail into the trees. The snow is deep and thick, untouched, and walking through it soon has our breath coming out in huge puffs of smoke. Ash looks like a model in his scarf and wool coat, belted jeans and boots. For a moment, I stop walking and just look at him as he continues ahead, long legs making easy work of the snow.
How is this my life? Stringing garlands with the President, watching the Vice President fall asleep like a teenaged boy on the floor? It feels so surreal, dreamlike, like I fell asleep in my office at Georgetown and conjured this new life for myself.
Ash notices I’m not with him and turns to me. “What is it, little princess?”
“Nothing.” I shake my head and smile. “Just thinking about how blessed I am.”
This should make Ash smile in return, make him happy, but instead there’s a new shadow in his eyes. He walks back to me and takes my hand, the leather of our gloves creaking together in the cold. “This way,” he says, pointing to an opening through the trees. “There’s a spot I like right through there.”
We move in that direction and come upon a sweet little rill, lined with ice but still running, tracing a babbling silver path through the woods. There’s a massive stump next to it, which Ash brushes the snow off of, and then we sit together, pink noses and frosty breath, listening to the narrow stream trickle past.
Ash doesn’t speak for a long time, and I don’t push him, even though his uncharacteristic unhappiness has me worried.
Is he going to end things between us?
The thought slams into me like a meteor, sending buried fears and insecurities flying like debris. Is this about Embry? About the glances we can’t help but exchange in the hallways or those mostly accidental brushes of the shoulder in the elevator?
Or was Morgan right? Is he sleeping with someone else?
Oh God, what if it’s her?
I knew this was too good to be true. I knew it. And I chose to believe anyway, because I wanted it so badly.
I’m curling my fingers against my palms, trying to control the panic racing through me, when Ash finally speaks. “Do you believe we’re responsible for the sins of our fathers?”
I’m startled by the unexpected topic. “No, not at all.”
“Original sin?”
“As much as I like St. Augustine, no.”
He smiles at me, small lines crinkling around his eyes. “You’re a bad Catholic.”
“I love the Church, but it’s hard to convince me that two words can sum up human nature. Especially since Jesus himself never mentioned it.”
