The memory of her tear-streaked face flashed up, sharp and unwanted, and Tom’s jaw tightened.
He wanted to hold her, to wrap her in his arms and soothe her.
Not be here, explaining to his brother how she’d kicked him out. Tom felt something uncomfortable spike through his chest.
“You saw how the house was covered in her craft projects,” Tom said irritably, “Everything’s glitter and felt and hot glue.”
“Lauren cares about Christmas,” Jake said carefully.
“It has to be this whole production with homemade everything.” Tom’s voice rose. “Mom and Dad could barely hide how ridiculous they thought it all was. And Lauren doesn’t even notice—she just keeps going on about her centerpiece and her place cards. It’s embarrassing.”
Jake let out a long breath. "Man, do you even hear yourself?"
Tom looked away. He could see Mia in the living room, spreading sheets over the couch. He looked back at Jake. “Sometimes you have to be honest,” he said. “Sometimes you have to tell your wife when she’s being too much.”
Jake paused with his beer halfway to his mouth. His eyes widened. “Did you tell Lauren she was too much?”
Tom crossed his arms, the beer bottle hanging from the neck. He had nothing to be ashamed of. There was nothing wrong with what he’d said to his wife.
Jake rubbed his face. He pushed off the counter with a sigh. “You know why my place looks like this?” He gestured around himself. “Because Mialovesmid-century modern. And I love Mia.” He leaned forward. “You know whatLaurenloves?” His voice softened. “Christmas.”
Tom blinked at him. “Whose side are you on here?”
Jake put his hand on Tom’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Lauren’s,” he said gently.
He turned away, then stopped and looked back. Shook his head like he couldn’t quite believe it. “Couch is all yours. Try not to wake Mia when you’re done making excuses to yourself.”
Tom sat there in the quiet kitchen, his beer warming in his hand, the silence pressing in.
His eyes fell on the quilt Mia had spread out over the made-up couch. It was a gaudy, mismatched thing.
It was an embarrassing gift to give him.
Why had she made such a big deal? Why did she have to be like that in front of his parents?
CHAPTER 10
Lauren
Lauren saton the edge of their bed, staring at the red lace. She’d been planning on seducing her husband tonight.
What a fucking joke.
Lauren picked up the lingerie, letting the lace spill through her fingers. Twenty-four hours ago, the idea had made her feel powerful. Sexy. Now it just felt humiliating. Like a costume from a play she hadn’t realized was over.
Her chest ached. Five years of marriage.
Five years of handmade gifts and now—every ounce of love she’d poured into him now curdled inside her. Embarrassment. Humiliation.
She caught her reflection in the mirror. Cheeks blotchy from crying. Box-dyed hair. Red lipstick. She’d thought it was festive but now the color just looked cheap. Gaudy.
Ordinary. Overdone. The kind of wife who didn’t even earn a hand-picked gift.
Her gaze swept over the room, and she saw it the way Tom must.
The garland across the headboard. The felt stockings with their careful, contrast stitching. Too many ornaments clustered on the dresser.
Her homemade Christmas. Her love of color. Her love of excess. A desperate, gaudy love letter plastered across the walls, to a man who didn’t want it.
