This scene takes place
after the events in French Kissed…
I woke late, the Paris sun shining through my bedroom
window. I reached across the bed and found cool silk rather than Max’s warm
body. I leaned over, glancing at the alarm clock, wincing slightly at the time.
In my defense, he’d wanted to ring in Christmas last night in his own unique
fashion, and I’d been more than happy to do my part. I figured I’d earned a
lazy morning in bed…I just wished I had someone to keep me company.
I threw on the cashmere robe at the
foot of my bed, tying it tightly around my waist, and went off in search of my
man. I reached the hallway and ran into Maggie.
She grinned. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” I repeated,
figuring I was going to have to start learning the American way of things.
Her eyes twinkled with mischief. “I
guess I don’t need to ask if you had a good night last night.”
I could actually feel my cheeks
flaming. It wasn’t lost on me that I could be…loud.
I groaned. “Tell me you guys didn’t
hear me having sex.”
“We didn’t hear you having sex.”
She grinned. “But if we did, then I
just have to say, well-done, Max.”
I fought to keep the smile off my
face. She didn’t know the half of it. We’d been apart for weeks and he’d taken
our reunion very seriously.
“Although, Samir might have
mentioned something about wanting to pour bleach in his ears.”
I made a face at that. I didn’t blame him. If the roles
had been reversed, I would have died if I’d heard my cousin having sex.
“Where is Samir?” I asked, trying
to change the subject.
“I don’t know. I, uh, slept in,
too.”
I stifled a snort. I had a feeling
I wasn’t the only one ringing in Christmas between the sheets.
We walked down the long, marble
hallway, headed toward the formal rooms. We froze at the sound in the entryway,
voices reaching us.
Max and Samir stood in front of the
giant Christmas tree Maggie had convinced us to put up, their arms full of
wrapped presents with giant bows. Some of the presents were beautiful—elegant
paper that definitely looked professionally packaged, with easily recognizable
paper in familiar store colors. Other presents had wrinkled edges, pockets of
wrapping bunched at the sides, images of snowmen and candy canes on the paper.
The sight of presents Max had so
obviously wrapped brought a lump to my throat.
I couldn’t remember the last time
I’d had a family Christmas. Usually my parents just deposited some money in my
account and called it my Christmas gift. But Max had clearly gone out—gone shopping—and then tried to wrap them
himself.
I loved him. So much.
“Did you remember to put the tags
from Santa on some of the gifts?” Max asked.
Samir made a noise and muttered
something in Arabic under his breath.
Maggie grinned.
“No.”
Max glared at him. “You need to do
some gifts from Santa. It’s tradition.”
Samir looked like he was about to
lose his patience. I had no clue how long they’d been up arranging gifts under
the tree, just that it definitely hadn’t looked like this when we went to bed
last night.
More Arabic from Samir.
My cousin had mellowed a lot since
he and Maggie had gotten together, but he was a whole other beast from Max, but
he didn’t do Christmas with his family, and the image of him celebrating a
holiday he clearly knew nothing about was hilarious. He looked frustrated, and
yet, by the impressive display of gifts that looked like they were for Maggie,
I figured he’d tried his best.
“How about the hot cocoa?” Max
asked, his tone sounding equally frustrated. “Is it ready?”
I snickered. Samir really looked like he was ready to lose
it. We’d both grown up with chefs. I’d bet my favorite Birkin bag that he’d
never made cocoa in his life.
I figured we had thirty seconds
before they noticed us standing there watching them because Maggie looked about
ready to burst out laughing.
“It’s ready,” Samir grumbled. “And
the cookies for Santa are on a tray.”
And just like that, Maggie’s eyes
went from laughter to complete and total adoration.
Yep. There was nothing he wouldn’t
do to make her happy. Even if it meant giving her a traditional American
Christmas when she was spending her holiday away from her family, with her half
French, half Lebanese boyfriend who had never celebrated Christmas like this in
his life, her best friend—and I’d totally own that up until Christmas Eve last
night when Max had surprised me and given me the best present ever, I’d never
been a big fan of the holidays—and her boyfriend’s best friend who seemed
determined to single-handedly bring Christmas cheer to us all.
And then the boys turned, and their
gazes landed on us, and I watched as the two most important guys in my life
gifted us with smiles that brought a lump to my throat.
Yep. I felt like the luckiest girl
in the world.
We went into their arms, Samir’s
gaze on Maggie, Max’s arms around me, and everything else fell away.
We spent the morning laughing,
drinking cocoa and eating cookies, opening gift after gift, and when it was all
said and done, and we all collapsed on the sofas, surrounded by crumpled
wrapping paper and discarded bows, my gaze connected with Maggie’s across the
room, and we both smiled and I knew—
Love was the greatest gift of all.
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