“You, Mr. Santini, are eye candy for days.” She went to him, kissed him. “You gotta wear your vest.
“Simone—”
She crossed her arms. “I’ll wait.”
“I’m not going to win this one, am I?”
“Nope.”
Off came his sport coat, then his shirt. He pulled on his Kevlar vest, redressed, and they returned downstairs.
“Bring your laptop,” she insisted. “You can work while I go through my things.”
“Let me grab that.” Alone in his office, he extracted the small jewelry box from his safe. After slipping it and his laptop into his computer bag, he found her in the kitchen staring out at the expansive backyard.
He stood behind her, wrapped his arms around her, and looked outside.
“I see children running around out there,” she murmured.
Still standing behind her, he hugged her. “For real?” he teased. “I don’t see anyone.”
Laughing, she turned to face him. “In our future, but I’m getting way ahead of myself.” Her smile fell away. “I used to stare out these French doors and miss ALPHA. I wondered where The Bomb Maker was hiding. I used to fantasize about finding him and avenging my team, but I was too scared to do it.”
“My badass babe isn’t scared anymore.”
“No, I’m not.”
He drove them to her house where he worked at her kitchen table while she got busy sorting through everything.
Over the next two hours, his mind kept wandering. This was a big weekend for him… the biggest in a long, long time. He was asking her to marry him. He might pop the question at their holiday lunch, or wait until that evening. Or… he could propose on Christmas Day. He would know when the time was right.
Simone came downstairs looking stunning. She’d pulled her hair into a messy updo, placed a diamond cuff on her ear. Her black cocktail dress was the perfect combination of classy and sultry. On her feet, she’d kept on her low-heeled, black leather boots, the stilettos dangling from her finger.
Taking his time, he checked her out. Twice. “You look hot, baby.” He rose, went to her.
She modeled the dress for him.
“Sembri abbastanza buono da mangiare,” he murmured.
“Something about eating,” she replied.
“Very good. I said, ‘you look good enough to eat.’”
“Mmm,” she murmured. “I like that, but you gotta wait for the good stuff. Santa only comes once a year.”
“Poor Santa.”
She laughed.
Before leaving, she confirmed all the security cams were functioning, then she activated the alarm, and they left.
On the way to the cemetery, she clasped his hand, rested it in her lap. But she said nothing. The only sound was the eclectic mix of holiday tunes coming from one of his playlists.
He drove into the cemetery, parking near his family’s gravesites.
“You sure about this, babe?” he asked.
“I am, but I think you should go first, without me. They should hear about me from you, not from me.”
