The man’s more perceptive than he realizes.
I study him for a second. “What did you do before you retired?” I ask in a casual, shooting-the-breeze tone.
“Spent my whole life in the Navy.”
That would explain it.
“We’ll be right back with your meals, gentlemen,” Chloe says in what seems like an attempt to rescue me from the interrogation.
Not that I mind. The fact that they are interrogating me means they’re buying my cover. It also means they care for Chloe the same way she cares about them.
“Sorry about that,” she tells me as we return to the kitchen. Around us, the chatter of conversations from the tables drowns out our own from prying ears. “They’re super protective of me.”
“In that case, I like them already. It’s nice that you have so many people looking out for you.” Unlike her family.
Although in the case of her family, that’s probably a good thing.
My mouth curls to one side. “I don’t suppose if I smuggle in a bottle of the finest scotch, they’d give me their blessing when it comes to being your boyfriend?”
“You mean my fake boyfriend.” She laughs—and the sweet sound of it causes something deep inside me to stir awake. A something that I don’t want to examine too carefully. “But that might work. They can’t say you’re not worthy enough after that.”
We return to the table a few minutes later with dinner plates filled with turkey and all the fixings.
After we finish serving all the other tables, we return to the one with Chloe’s pseudo grandfathers, to see if they need anything else.
Other than alcohol.
Before I realize what I’m doing, my hand migrates to her lower back. The move isn’t missed by the six men. All wear smug smiles.
“You do realize, if you hurt her,” Frank says between mouthfuls of mashed potatoes, “we will go after you.”
“Of course, you won’t have to worry too much about that.” Samuel stabs a piece of turkey into the cranberry sauce on his plate. “Not unless Frank here takes out your kneecaps with his walker first.”
He might have been joking, but there’s no missing the way Chloe’s stiffens under my hand. Unwittingly, he’s come too close to what her mobster grandfather, Vadik Orlov, might have done if he was still in the picture.
Fortunately for me, he’s facing jail for the rest of his life.
Unfortunately for me, his grandson Nikolai isn’t.
I have a feeling if Nikolai ever discovers I’ve been lying to Chloe, Frank taking out my kneecaps with his walker will be the least of my problems.
Agatha waves Chloe and me over to her table. “My granddaughter sent me pictures of my eight-month-old great-granddaughter. Would you like to see them?”
“I’d love to,” Chloe says, smiling.
Agatha passes her several print photos. In the first one, a baby is sitting on a pink blanket, smiling. Her hands are pressed down on her teddy bear’s belly, and her pale-blonde hair sticks up in all directions.
Chloe’s smile widens. “She’s adorable.” She moves the photo to the bottom of the pile, revealing a picture of the baby in a bathtub filled with bubbles. She’s clearly having fun splashing and squishing them.
“What about you two?” Agatha asks. “Do you want to have kids one day?”
Chloe is still studying the photos when she answers. “I would love to have kids.” Her voice sounds distant, as if she’s daydreaming about something and not really here.
Her answer also surprises me, considering she’s been adamant about remaining single.
Agatha looks at me, her expression expectant. I’m not sure what to say.
Agatha’s question must have suddenly sunk in because Chloe’s head shoots upright. “I mean, we’ve only started dating.” Chloe fires me a panicked look. “We’re not thinking about those kinds of things yet.”
“But you both want kids, right? Now’s probably the time to discuss it. You don’t want to waste time dating a man who doesn’t want kids. My granddaughter did that and didn’t find out until a week before the wedding that her fiancé wasn’t interested in starting a family. It caused quite the scandal.” Agatha chuckles.
Chloe looks at the photo again of the baby in the bathtub, confusion creasing her brow.
“The best part,” Agatha says, “was that Beckie still went on their honeymoon, just minus the groom—because why waste a perfectly good plane ticket to Hawaii?—and met the man who is now her husband, and the father of my adorable granddaughter.”
“I guess she didn’t wait quite as long to ask him about his stance on kids, huh?” I ask.
Agatha laughs. “You got that right. The topic came up about five minutes after they first met on a dinner cruise his ex-girlfriend had booked—prior to deciding an affair with her boyfriend’s personal assistant was a great idea. Beckie got a little tipsy on mai tais and blurted the entire I-was-such-an-idiot-for-not-asking-sooner story to the man.
“She asked him if he wanted kids—although I don’t think at the time she was planning to marry him. But things worked out great in the end.” Beaming, Agatha points to the stack of baby photos in Chloe’s hands. “So, Landon, do you want to have kids one day?”
I open my mouth to answer, not exactly sure what to say. I guess, yes, if Sarah and I had been able to marry, we would’ve had kids.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Agatha. Looks like Mathilda needs us.” Chloe grabs my wrist before I can answer, and drags me away from the table, toward the kitchen. Mathilda’s nowhere to be seen.
I’m not letting Chloe get away so easily. “Is what you said to her true?”
“About what?”
“That you want to have kids one day?”
She shrugs, the movement drawn-out. “Just because I want to remain single doesn’t mean I don’t want to have kids. But whether I’ll have kids is a whole different topic.” She flashes me a glance that warns me she doesn’t want to talk about it.
Fair enough.
17
Chloe
After Landon and I finish helping at the seniors’ home, we swing by Landon’s town house to shower and change before heading to Sausalito.
Several vehicles are already parked on the driveway by the time we arrive.
We’re not precisely fashionably late. Things ran later at the Thanksgiving lunch than expected. So between that and having to clean up afterward, we’re well beyond the fashionable part of the equation.
We climb out of the jeep. Landon takes my hand, and we walk to the front door. Even though we’re playing make-believe when it comes to our relationship, that doesn’t stop the zing humming through me at the feel of my hand in his.
Clearly, we’re doing a great job. We’ve even fooled my body into believing this fake relationship is real.
This time when he rings the doorbell, the sound of Jingle Bells greets us. A moment later, Juanita lets us into the grand house. She takes our coats and directs us to the living room.
Isabelle and Jayden are standing next to the massive Christmas tree, talking to Henri and an elderly woman I don’t know. Several other groups of people are mingling around the room, drinks in hand. Isabelle’s wearing a gorgeous royal-blue cocktail dress. Landon and Jayden are wearing black suits. Both men look incredibly handsome.
“What can I get you to drink?” a man in his early twenties asks, a silver tray in his hand.
“I’ll have white wine, please,” I tell him. Landon requests a red wine.
“I’m so glad you made it, darlings,” Josephine says, shuffling toward us. Even her shuffle is elegant. The black-and-silver ball gown might have something to do with that. “You look absolutely stunning, my dear,” she says to me. “Don’t you agree, Landon?” Her gaze roams down my black sleeveless dress. It’s dressy but nothing like her gown.
“She does.” He smiles at me, and my breath hitches. I’ve seen him smile a number of times since he first landed in my life. But this is the first time it’s ca
used my breath to catch this way, this unexpectedly.
Heat spreads across my cheeks. I duck my head, hoping he doesn’t notice.
“I love your hair,” Josephine adds. “It’s such a beautiful color.”
I look up and thank her, my face still heated.
“Did your principal tell you my volunteer status has been approved? As has Andrew’s.”
“She did.” And I couldn’t have been more relieved than when Principal Woodnut called to tell me that.
“We’re both looking forward to working with the children next week,” she says. “Nothing makes you feel younger than working with kids.”
A papery chuckle comes from behind me. “Don’t you mean they remind you how old you are?” Henri’s standing in a tux, grinning with an easy gleam in his eyes and holding a cane with fleurs-de-lis etched in the bronze handle. “Just last week, one little guy asked me what dinosaurs were like. He honestly thought I was alive when they roamed the earth.”
Josephine bursts out laughing.
“What did you tell him?” I ask.
“That most of them were mean and conniving, but I was smarter than them”—he taps his temple—“which is why they’ve long since vanished, and I’m still walking the earth.”
That has us all laughing.
“So tell us about your Thanksgiving lunch,” Josephine says. And for the next few minutes, Landon and I tell them all about our afternoon with the seniors and how they’re so excited to see the show.
Juanita approaches Josephine and says something to her. Josephine smiles broadly at the woman, who isn’t much younger than her. From what Landon told me, Juanita is more like Josephine’s companion than a housekeeper.
“May I have your attention?” Josephine calls out to everyone in the room.
Despite her voice being nowhere near as loud as when she was younger, the room goes quiet. The woman has a presence about her you can’t ignore.
“Dinner is ready,” she announces. “As per tradition, mistletoe is hanging in the doorway to the dining room. All of you with a special someone in your life who’s here tonight must kiss under the mistletoe before entering the room. And as you know, I’m a real stickler for that rule.”
A wave of soft laughter spreads through the room.
“And this year, I’m excited that my granddaughter, Isabelle, will finally be granting me the wish of seeing her and her handsome fiancé kiss under the mistletoe.” She lifts her wineglass to the couple in question. “I was beginning to think you two would never get your act together and notice what was right in front of you.”
There’s a sprinkling of “Hear, hears” from several individuals, most notably Henri and Liza. Beaming like proud parents, the pair raise their glasses at Isabelle and Jayden.
Jayden apparently can’t wait until it’s their turn under the mistletoe. He gives his fiancée a kiss that has me mentally fanning myself.
I can’t remember the last time a man kissed me that way.
Landon and I join the end of the line into the dining room. My palms grow damp at the thought of kissing him. At no point during our discussion about me being his fake girlfriend did we talk about being intimate that way.
When it came to convincing everyone that our fake relationship was real, holding hands in public had seemed like enough.
Jayden and Isabelle kiss again, but not quite as enthusiastically as last time. Isabelle glances over at me, and I give her a thumbs-up. I’m not really sure why. Something in her expression had me wanting to reassure her that everything’s fine.
And it is fine. The kiss is part of Landon’s and my cover.
Well, his cover. I’m just the person he’s protecting at the request of my cousin.
Landon and I step under the mistletoe, and I glance up at him and his highly kissable-looking lips.
Lips that I might’ve wondered how they would feel, how they would taste.
I sense that he wants to ask me if I’m okay with this, but Josephine’s standing near us, waiting for us to kiss.
I don’t want her to think I’ve been lying to her, that I’m a deceitful person. She’s been so amazing with her offer to help me with the Christmas show. So I smile reassuringly at him, telling him without words that I’m more than okay with him kissing me.
Landon lowers his mouth to mine. He lingers there for a heartbeat; then he lightly presses his mouth against mine.
The instant our lips touch, it’s like all the air in the room has been sucked out, leaving me breathless.
Our lips don’t touch for long before he pulls away. But it’s enough to tilt my world in a way I don’t ever remember experiencing.
The moment ends, but the tingling of my skin where he touched me remains. I lift two fingers to my mouth as if that will lock the memory of his lips against mine for longer than a few seconds.
The kiss might be over, but neither of us makes a move to step into the room. We stare at each other for several rapid heartbeats, searching each other’s eyes.
A polite cough from the living room jerks me back to the here and now.
I glance at Andrew, who’s grinning at us. “Unless you’re planning to kiss me,” he says to me, “you might want to move along so I can kiss our delightful host.”
My face heats up, my insides melt, and I smile to the point where my cheeks ache. “I’m sorry.”
We step into the dining room, and I peek over my shoulder in time to catch Andrew kissing Josephine.
And if the kiss is anything to go by, those two are more than just friends.
Oh, that’s so sweet.
“What’s so sweet?” Landon asks, turning around to see what I’m looking at.
“Did I say that out loud?”
He nods. “Are you going to tell me what’s sweet?”
“Those two. Josephine and Andrew. Are they married?” I didn’t notice a wedding ring on her finger.
“No. Josephine’s husband—Isabelle’s grandfather—died about six or so years ago.”
“Then I believe they’re dating. I know this sounds silly, but I didn’t think people in their eighties dated.” She’s definitely doing better in the romance department compared to me. Maybe she can give me some pointers.
Not that I’m looking for a relationship. But maybe I can share her wisdom with someone looking for love that lasts the ages.
Landon and I sit together at the dining room table. After we’re served and Josephine says Grace, we begin eating and drinking, sharing stories, and laughing. The food is delicious, and the company even better.
I can’t remember the last time I spent Thanksgiving or Christmas like this.
I’m not referring to the fancy dresses or the suits or even the waitstaff. I’m referring to what it was like when I was a kid. Mom and I would go to Granddad’s house—the grandfather who’ll be spending the rest of his life in prison—every Thanksgiving and Christmas.
All my extended family had been there.
My cousins.
My uncles and aunts.
I later learned that some of those “uncles” were really his associates. A number of them are currently living out their final days in various penitentiaries around the country.
Before I understood what my grandfather did for a living, family gatherings had been a lot of fun.
It was also when Nikolai and I would sneak off and talk without worrying about our parents or his nosy siblings or our equally nosy cousins overhearing us.
“My teacher wanted my class to write about what we want to be when we grow up,” Nikolai tells me one night.
We’re sitting in the treehouse that my father and Uncle Aleksi had built. Both Dimetric and Nadia declared a few years ago that they were too grown-up for such a childish thing, so Nikolai and I are the only ones who ever use it.
“What did you write about?” I ask.
“How I want to be a cop. Then I get to lock up the bad guys.”
“I think you’ll make a great cop. My friend’s father is a cop
. He came to school one day to talk about his job. He told us how he’d been given an award for being a hero.”
Nikolai puffs out his skinny chest, as if proud that one day he, too, will be a hero. “What did he do?”
“He helped pull a woman and her baby from a burning car. Like a superhero.”
“Well, that’s what I wanted to do.”
“Wanted? You mean you changed your mind after you wrote about it for your teacher?” I pick up the brown leaf that had blown in through the glassless window and crinkle it between my fingers. It disintegrates at my touch, the pieces scattering on the floor around my feet.
“My father saw the report and got mad. Told me I couldn’t be a cop. Not if I wanted to be part of the family.”
I can almost hear Uncle Aleksi saying that, his Russian accent shaping his consonants in a way I could never replicate.
Pretty much the same way all my attempts at Russian had gone. I might have Russian blood pumping in my veins, but I inherited my daddy’s inability to speak the language.
At least that wasn’t why my father left Mamma and me last year. He’s actually proud that I can’t speak the language.
He and my grandfather didn’t get on very well together. It made Mamma sad.
“Why can’t you be part of the family if you’re a cop?” I ask Nikolai.
It wasn’t a problem for Bethany’s family. Why should it be any different for Nikolai’s?
He shrugs.
“Don’t they want you to be a hero one day?”
Now that I think about it, that was the first time I got the inkling that my family wasn’t like the typical family—beyond the obvious part where I didn’t have a father anymore.
“Are you okay?” Landon settles his hand on my knee. There’s something grounding about his touch.
I smile softly at him, threading my fingers with his. “I’m fine. It’s been a while since I’ve been part of a holiday celebration. I’d forgotten how much fun it can be.”
“More fun than having those men at the seniors’ home grill me about why I think I’m worthy enough to be your boyfriend?”
I laugh, a little drunk on my overwhelming happiness and the momentary wistful nostalgia. “I’ll admit that was one highlight of this afternoon.”
Spying Under the Mistletoe (Love Undercover Book 2) Page 13