“Is hung,” Santo says, his voice a rumble against my back. “Everything’s done.”
I twist in his arms to face him. “What do you mean‘done’?”
His eyes are tired, shadows beneath them that weren’t there yesterday.
He’s been up all night.
“The garland, the wreaths, the foyer tree,” he lists, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my hip. “Everything is exactly where you wanted it.”
I narrow my eyes. “How would you know where I wanted things?”
A small, satisfied smile crosses his lips. “Luna helped.”
“Luna was here? When?”
“Last night,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “After you fell asleep.”
I push against his chest, sitting up despite his attempt to keep me in bed. “I need to see.”
“Dea, it’s early—”
“It’s Christmas Eve,” I counter, already sliding my feet to the floor. “And I need to make sure everything is perfect.”
Santo sighs but doesn’t try to stop me as I grab my robe and cinch it around my waist. I pause at the bedroom door, looking back at him sprawled across our bed, his dark hair mussed from sleep, eyes tracking my every movement.
“Are you coming?” I ask.
“I’ll be right there,” he promises. “Just give me a minute.”
I don’t wait. I’m too anxious to see what they’ve done to my vision. I hurry down the hallway and stop at the top of the stairs, my breath catching in my throat.
It’s...magical.
Garland swoops elegantly along the banister, woven with twinkling lights and velvet ribbon exactly the shade I wanted. The foyer tree stands proud and perfect, each ornament placed with care, not a single branch left bare. Wreaths adorn every door, and soft light glows from lanterns placed strategically throughout.
“Do you like it?”
Santo’s voice comes from behind me, and I turn to find him watching me with an intensity that makes my heart skip.
“It’s perfect,” I whisper, my eyes filling with tears. “How did you do all this?”
He shrugs, as if sending his men on a garland rescue mission and orchestrating a midnight decorating operation is nothing unusual. “I had help.”
I launch myself into his arms, and he catches me easily, his hands steady on my waist. “Thank you,” I breathe against his neck. “It’s everything I wanted.”
“You deserve everything,” he says simply.
I pull back to look at him, noticing again the shadows beneath his eyes. “You didn’t sleep at all, did you?”
“I had more important things to do.”
“Like hanging garland?”
“Like making sure my wife has the perfect Christmas.” His voice is soft but there is something more behind it.
“What’s wrong?”
He sighs. “You’re learning to read me too well, Dea.”
