Page 75 of Bossy Wicked Prince

It seemed rude to send the guys away, though. And now that they’re laying out food and setting the table, I’m even a little excited. You can learn a lot about a person from their friends. I’m going to find out more about Nate than I ever have.

Nate doesn’t leave my side to help set up. Instead, he pulls out a chair for me on one side of the table and makes a point of sitting next to me. He takes my hand and squeezes it.

“The table looks beautiful,” I murmur.

“I went to that florist you like. They recommended everything. It probably would have looked better if they set it up instead of me.”

My heart flutters, imagining Nate carefully placing the candles and flowers for my approval. But that reminds me…

“How did you know about my favorite florist, exactly?”

He shrugs. “A man has to keep some secrets.”

I glance over at him. It’s the first time I’ve seen Nate not wearing some version of a suit. He still looks more polished than me in his gray wool trousers and a charcoal cashmere sweater that clings to his chest muscles. He looks absolutely delicious. Whoever his stylist is, she definitely deserves a raise.

While Nate opens a bottle of wine, I peek at my phone.

Pippa

Happy Thanksgiving, kitty Cat! Hope you’re having a meow-velous date.

She follows it up with a gif of a cat with heart eyes.

Cat

Soooooo my date kind of got crashed…by your stepbrother and the whole poker crew.

Pippa’s reply is almost instantaneous.

Pippa

NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!

Don’t they know you’re supposed to get laid tonight??

Cat

Well, they have to leave eventually.

I shove my phone back in my pocket as the guys take their seats and Nate pours red wine for everyone.

“Ladies first,” Luke says, gesturing to me. “Go ahead, serve yourself, Cat.”

“I don’t even know where to start.” I laugh. “Everything looks delicious.”

The guys have produced quite a spread. Beau’s responsible for the buttery mashed potatoes, roasted brussels sprouts, and homemade rolls, but everybody brought something.

“Here, take some stuffing. I made it myself,” Ryan offers, scooping up a serving of something brown and mushy that looks like no stuffing I’ve ever seen. It lands on my plate in a gelatinous blob.

“Thanks.” I smile brightly at Ryan, even though I have no plans of putting whatever that is in my mouth.

“Don’t eat it,” Luke and James say simultaneously.

“Unless you have a death wish you haven’t mentioned yet,” Beau adds.

“You’re just jealous because I’m the only person who actually cooked the dish they brought, other than Beau,” Ryan says. “I think I get an A for effort.”

“More like an A for asshole,” Nate mutters.