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“I remember everything you say, Filippa.”

She flinches unexpectedly at that, staggering back a step as if his kindness is somehow a weapon, as if ithurts. “I—I don’t understand. Ikilledyou.”

Dimitri chuckles low, sliding his hands into his pockets and matching her step for step. Refusing to give her an inch. “Strangely enough, I remember that too. Stranger still is that I’ve chosen to forgive you.” A meaningful pause. “Everyone has.”

Her face crumples, and all at once, she stops trying to escape, instead turning away to hide her face. “Thank you, Dimitri,” she breathes after another long, painful moment. “They’re... beautiful.”

He touches her shoulder before gesturing toward an upstairswindow, and we all duck swiftly before peering back over the windowsill, unable to help ourselves. Fortunately, their attention has already returned to each other, and we shamelessly and simultaneously rise; even Odessa, with all her vampiric grace, flattens her ear against the glass.

“You’ll be able to see them from your window as you write,” Dimitri says softly. Hopefully. And now he does tuck that errant strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering for just a second too long. She almost leans into the touch—almost—and his gaze falls to her lips.

“It’s happening,” Coco whispers gleefully, bouncing on her toes behind me.

Odessa shakes her head, opening her mouth to argue, but I hardly hear her—not as Michal slips his hand through mine, bending low to murmur in my ear, “We should give them some privacy.”

Gooseflesh erupts down my spine.

“An excellent idea!” Before anyone can protest, my mother snaps the curtains closed, and a moment later, Filippa returns to the sitting room with a snowdrop tucked behind her ear, her cheeks flushed from the cold. When Dimitri follows, the entire room hurries to feign disinterest—Lou opens the bottle of absinthe with a cheerypop, Beau drags Coco into his lap on a nearby chair, and Reid joins my mother in hastily collecting the discarded wrapping paper. Only Odessa notices, her smile wry, as Michal pulls me away from the flurry of activity, slipping into the quiet of the kitchen.At last.

He lifts me onto the counter without a word, stepping between my legs as I drape my arms around his neck. Unable to help it,I glance back at the door through which we just came. “Dimitri could be good for her, I think. She seems to... like him, which is a small miracle because my sister doesn’t like anyone.”

Michal brushes his lips against my throat. “And what about you, pet?”

Arching my neck to ease his access, I shiver as his hands skim up my thighs, parting my legs farther. “What about me?” I ask breathlessly, forgetting all about my sister. As his fingers dance across my skin, I can hardly remember my own name—and in this moment, it doesn’t matter. Nothing else ever matters when I’m with Michal. I’ll want him always. I’ll love him always. And today—with the holiday festivities and our closest friends exchanging tender promises—it feels like it should be a dream. It feels beyond what I could have ever hoped, what I could have ever imagined. My head tips back as Michal continues his languorous perusal of my throat, and above us—

Mistletoe.

Michal must feel my slow grin.

“Who doyoulike?” Voice purring at my ear, he flicks his tongue against a sensitive spot, and I tip forward again, stifling a moan against his broad shoulder. Those fingers continue their wicked taunt, and I would give anything—anything—to be back in Michal’s town house. Behind the closed door of his blackened room, atop his silk sheets, with the moonlight spilling onto his bare chest.

“This is cruel.” My own hands slide through his hair before curling into the collar of his sweater. I knitted it for him last month, and it looks like a woolen bladder. “You’re torturing me.”

“Perhaps.” His mouth captures mine then, and he kisses mewith all the fierceness of an immortal king, a groan building hot and heavy in the back of his throat. Against my lips, he murmurs, “Is this making it better?” His tongue plunges inside then, tasting of cinnamon and apples and spice, and my legs hook instinctively around his waist before tightening and drawing him closer still. It isn’t enough. Never enough.

“My mother could walk in,” I remind him with a gasp.

“Your mother is cleaning.”

I clench his shirt in my hands, unable to stop myself from kissing him again and again and again. “What about the others?”

“Busy,” he says, and I swallow the word. I savor it.

I savorhim.

“Michal,” I whisper, shuddering, and he pulls back with a groan. “We cannot have—relationson my mother’s kitchen counter.”

He chuckles darkly, and I feel that rumble in his chest through to the tips of my toes. “You didn’t seem to have a problem having them in the library this morning.” Memories flash through my mind’s eye at his words: the gilt of a sliding ladder, the scent of fresh paint, the sharp edges of brand-new bookshelves pressed into my spine—and Michal.

Michal against me, on top of me, alloverme as we christened his gift to me. Twice.

“We’ll finish this later,” I say against his lips, and he seals the promise with another scorching kiss. When he pulls away, however, his thumb lingers on my empty ring finger, and my entire body goes still.

When he finally looks up again, his eyes burn with fiercer promise still. “Expect more than a library for Yule next year.”

Next year.We stare at each other, the words lingering in theair between us, and nothing has ever sounded so sweet. An entire year of courtship with Michal—of stolen kisses and midnight promenades and library trysts. “Next year,” I whisper, kissing him softly. “And then forever.”