Grave Phantoms (Roaring Twenties #3)(72)

“You make it sound like I socked your best friend in the face.”

“Didn’t you?”

She tried to stifle a laugh and pinch his arm, but he grabbed her hand before she managed it. “I’ll throw you in this fire,” he teased. “Burn you right up. We’ll toast marshmallows over your hair.”

This time she laughed, loud and vibrant, but quickly covered her mouth.

“Tsk, tsk. You’ve had too much glögg, Miss Magnusson.”

“I’ve had no glögg whatsoever, Mr. Yeung. I’m the picture of tolerance tonight.”

He peered into her eyes—an excuse to lean closer to her face, really. “Why, you’re telling the truth. I think you and I might be the only sober people in the house. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone slipped akvavit into baby Karin’s cup.”

“Pfft. Winter hasn’t let go of her the entire night.”

He nodded slowly. “I asked him if he was going to start breast-feeding her, too, and came this close to being flayed like a fish.”

“Aida says he’s getting sentimental,” Astrid said. “Maybe he’d only paralyze you.”

“As long as it’s from the waist up.”

“Now that I’d drink to.”

He smiled down at her and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. “I’m worried I might accidently paralyze myself from all the self-abusing I’ve been doing the last couple of days.”

Her cheeks flushed. She furtively glanced over her shoulder and murmured, “Now that’s a picture.”

“I’ll give you a theater-worthy performance if I can just find a way to be alone with you for five minutes.”

“Is that all it would take?”

“Honestly, I wish I could say otherwise, but yes. Maybe even two.”

Mischievous eyes slanted sideways toward his. “We could race.”

He sucked in a quick breath and was thankful his suit jacket was buttoned over the front of his pants. “Christ, I need you,” he whispered.

“I need you, too,” she whispered back.

Upon realizing he was still holding on to her hand, he reluctantly let go and checked to see if anyone was watching them. Not a soul. People were too sozzled to notice, anyway, so he slipped a couple of fingers between Astrid’s wrist and the bracelet-like band of her watch and tugged her arm closer. He was just about to suggest they accidently bump into each other somewhere in the house where there were fewer people when Winter stepped in front of the Christmas tree and got everyone’s attention.

Bo heaved a dramatic sigh and released Astrid’s wrist.

“I wanted to take a moment to thank Lena and Julia for working so hard on the julbord,” Winter said in a booming voice. “It might be the best meal we’ve had all year, and it certainly was the most bountiful.”

Cheers and applause roared through the living room. When it died down, Jonte spoke up from the piano. “And that goes for the holiday bonus, too. Tack så mycket!”

More applause, and Bo clapped along with them. He was shocked when he’d opened up the red envelope from Winter. It was too much—more than he earned in two months’ time, and that made him feel grateful and guilty at the same time. If he only knew, a negative voice in his head chastised. He pushed it away.

“It was a good year,” Winter said. “Pappa always said, ‘Shared joy is a double joy.’ We are all part of this household, and we all share in its successes. And that’s why I wanted all of you to know that, God willing, we’ll become one member bigger next year. Little Karin’s going to have a baby brother or sister.”

A cascade of surprised noises, cheers, and whistles went around the room, and while Astrid hugged Aida, Bo shook Winter’s hand and slapped him on the shoulder. “Good job. Keep it up, and you two will have those five empty bedrooms filled in no time.”

“Smart aleck,” Winter murmured, but anyone could see he was pleased. And when Bo moved to congratulate Aida, her freckled arms swept him up in a hug as she whispered, “Thanks for keeping my secret. Road goes both ways.”

Flustered, he pulled back to see her face, and she smiled at him surreptitiously before the rest of the clan descended upon the fertile couple. As Bo sidled out of the crowd, Astrid caught his arm and said in his ear, “Meet me at the top of the turret in five minutes. I want to give you my Christmas present.”

—

Bo sneaked out of the merry crowd and climbed the back stairs to the upper story. No lights shone. Two of the low-ceilinged rooms were bare and closed off. He passed a powder room with a severely slanted ceiling and pushed open the door to the turret.

“It’s only me,” he said softly, in case she hadn’t heard him come upstairs. “I thought we agreed we weren’t giving each other presents this year, so—”

He stopped in the doorway and stared at the windows banding the rounded wall. She was waiting for him, perched upon the window seat of their hiding spot, wearing nothing but stockings and garters. Above her head, a stem of mistletoe hung from a ribbon.

“Merry Christmas,” she said.

“Buddha-Osiris-Jehovah,” he mumbled. He shut the door and leaned back against it for a moment to take it all in. The inky sky dotted by starlight. City lights like powdered sugar sifted over rows of streets that ended at the foggy Bay. The soft panes of moonlight spilling over her shoulders and lining the tops of her breasts. The red dress strewn on the floor by her feet. He took a mental photograph and filed it away under Things I’ll Never Forget as Long as I Live.