But now? The alchemy had teeth and smelled vaguely of liver treats.
“What the—” I blinked against the pale morning light and wiped my face, groggy and disoriented. Nancy Reagan stared back at me, eyes wild, tongue still out like she hadn’t just assaulted my sinus cavity.
I groaned and rolled onto my side.
She was still there.
Curled toward the middle of the bed, one arm tucked under her cheek, the other flung across the pillow I’d abandoned. Her curls were a tangled halo across the sheets, catching the morning light in soft brown streaks. Lips parted. One knee hitched up like she’d been ready to bolt mid-dream. She looked peaceful. Beautiful. But even in sleep, she carried that quiet storm with her—brewing beneath the surface, ready to tear through the room the second she opened her eyes.
I exhaled, slow and careful. Stupid how much I already missed her, even with her right there.
I sank back into the mattress for a second, trying to hold onto it all—the way she’d looked under the glow of those lights, her laugh balanced somewhere between reckless and shy, the way her fingers had curled in my hair like she never wanted to let go—the way she’d handed me her heart and trusted me not to screw it up.
And I stayed there on my knees, in front of her—my queen, in every way that mattered—vowing I’d do everything in my power not to.
Even if that meant sharing a bed with her dog, who clearly had no sense of boundaries and needed a bath in the worst possible way.
“Alright, Reagan. Message received,” I muttered, giving her a half-hearted pat. She sneezed in my face.
I was starting to drift again, hand lazily resting on the curve of Tally’s hip, when the front door swung open.
Loudly.
Nancy Reagan launched off the end of the bed like she’d been shot out of a cannon, barking so hard her front paws left the floor. Tally jolted awake with a gasp, half sitting up and dragging the sheet over her chest as I blinked toward the door in sleepy confusion.
“I swear to God, Jordan, if she broke any of my vintage crystal Baccarat ornaments, I will strangle her, pregnant or not.” Doyle’s voice boomed through the penthouse, all smug cheer and early morning audacity. “Surprise, sis! We’re home early.”
Jordan was quieter, trying to smooth things over with some sort of yoga breathing that was loud enough to hear behind closed doors. “Let’s not judge until we see all of it. Inhale peace, exhale expectation.”
“Oh, I’m inhaling something, alright,” Doyle grumbled. “What the hell is that smell? Is that spray paint?”
Tally hissed through her teeth and flopped back against the pillow. “Tell me that’s not my brother.”
“It’s your brother,” I said, resigned, throwing an arm across my eyes as footsteps echoed down the hallway.
Dig’s voice rang out a moment later, far too enthusiastic for someone who probably hadn’t slept in two days. “Helloooooo! Did Santa come early, or is that just the scent of sin and sugar cookies?”
And then the bedroom door creaked open.
I sat up as Doyle stepped inside and froze. His gaze darted from the twinkle light explosion in the living room behind him to the sight of me, shirtless in bed beside his naked, definitely-not-just-visiting sister.
There was a beat of silence—a long, painful one.
“So… the worst part is not that you two are in bed together. The worst part is that it looks like a coked-out Christmas elf blacked out in here and had a nervous breakdown with a Bedazzler.”
“You did, indeed, smell spray paint,” Jordan muttered from the hallway.
Tally let out a strangled laugh and pulled the sheet higher.
Dig, bless his heart, flopped down on the other side of her, completely unbothered by the situation or the state of undress. “Aw, you started without me.”
Nancy barked harder, leaping onto the bed and ricocheting off to pounce on Jordan and Doyle, her nails clicking wildly against the wood floors as Doyle tried his best to keep the dog off of his perfectly creased, white linen pants.
I closed my eyes, sighed, and said the only thing I could.
“Merry damn Christmas.”
***
