But this—this was… so much more than that. This was a little velvet-boxed miracle. She reached inside. Her fingers brushed against the soft texture and her hand jerked back.
She cut another glance toward the doorway. No footsteps. No movement. A prickle crawled across her skin—curiosity and guilt and excitement. She had to know. Shehadto.
She pressed her palm flat against her thigh, steadying herself.
This time when she touched velvet she was ready for it. Her heart hammered but when she pulled her hand out of Tom’s bag, she was holding a jewelry box.
It was deep red and lush and perfect. Her breath caught.
For a moment, it felt like the house was holding its breath with her. She should put it back. She flicked another look in the direction of the living room. Still nothing.
She eased open the lid.
For one stunned beat she couldn’t move. It was as if the world had gone silent, her senses narrowed to metal and velvet.
Inside lay a silver necklace with a heart-shaped pendant.
Sound rushed back—the tick of the clock, the hum of the fridge. She snapped the box closed.
For a long moment, all she could do was press the box to her sternum and try to slow the riot of her pulse.
She'd never seen it, she told herself firmly. On Christmas morning, when he handed it to her in front of everyone, she'd act surprised and breathless and overwhelmed… which wouldn't be acting at all.
Carefully—so carefully—she eased the jewelry box back into the bag, exactly the way she'd found it, adjusting the flap so it fell just right.
She could already picture it: Tom’s mother in her signature black wincing at their colorful house, his father not bothering to hide his judgment of her decorations. And then, cutting through allthat—Tom. His fingers brushing her neck as he fastened the clasp, silver glinting in the light.
A sparkle from her husband announcing to the world that she was loved. His parents’ polite smiles faltering just a touch as they watched.
She hung his bag on the hook and smoothed her palms down her jeans. She felt giddy, breathless, like a kid who'd snuck a peek at her presents and had found exactly what she wanted.
Itwasexactly what she wanted. Not the price tag. Not the precious metal. But Tom showing her, unmistakable and emphatic, that he loved her.
She touched her wedding ring. It was greedy of her to want more.
But that was what made Christmas so wonderful. It was the one time of year when you could give and give and receive and receive, and no one thought less of you for it.Wantingdidn’t make you ungrateful; it made you human, alive to the magic of it all.
She glanced toward the living room again, where her husband would be surrounded by everything she had decked out.
Yes. This was what happiness felt like. Warm light, sugared air, her husband surrounded by all the Christmas excess she could give him.
Secure. Loved. Hers.
CHAPTER 2
Tom
Tom groanedas he took in the latest additions to the living room.
Some over-produced Christmas pop-song was playing from the speaker. Glitter from Lauren’s latest “art work” dusted the coffee table, the floor, probably his work pants if he so much as breathed too close.
He hung his jacket on the hook that was, inexplicably, decorated with a miniature wreath. At this point, he considered himself lucky she hadn’t tried to hang one on his cock.
Lauren had outdone herself this year—which was saying something. Her enthusiasm for Christmas was full-blown mania.
It made him cringe.
“Did you notice the cushions?” Lauren seemed oddly breathless as she moved across the room to plump one.
