Page 68 of Lords Of Ruin: Christmas

“Pancakes!” Vincent laughs as he cuts off Damien, swinging around a huge plate of nutella crêpes.

“Daddy, those are crêpes,” Rose corrects as he slides one onto her plate.

“Oh, right,” he winks, dishing out the rest of the food.

The room fills with laughter. Even Penny—small and bundled in her oversized pajamas—lets out a sleepy giggle from where she’s perched on a stool.

“Papa,” she says, voice soft but mischievous, “you look like a grumpy Santa.”

He glares at her for a second, then sighs and adjusts the hat. “That’s because Iama grumpy Santa.”

“Mom,” Rose whispers, cupping her hands around her mouth like she’s plotting something top secret, “we should get him a reindeer nose.”

Theo gasps, eyes lighting up. “And a beard! I can make one out of marshmallows!”

Damien groans, already seeing his fate unfold. “Save me, please,” he mutters, sliding behind me and looping his arms around my waist like I’m his human shield. His breath is warmagainst my neck; the tone is mock despair, but I can hear the laughter tucked underneath it.

I can’t help laughing, nearly spilling my coffee. “Alright, my little elves,” I say, raising my voice over their giggles, “the faster you finish breakfast, the faster we can go outside—and the faster you can start a snowball fight withgrumpy Papa.”

Cast looks up from the stove, spatula in hand, narrowing his eyes. “I heard that.”

Rose grins, utterly unbothered. “Good!”

Damien groans louder, pressing his forehead against my shoulder. “You’re no help,” he accuses, his voice muffled. “You realize this is war, right?”

I take another sip of coffee, feigning calm. “You started it.”

He retaliates immediately, fingers sliding to my sides, tickling until I’m laughing so hard I can barely breathe. “Damien!” I gasp, pushing at his chest.

He smirks. “What’s wrong? No backup from your elves?”

“You’re on, Sterling,” I shoot back, shoving him away and nearly knocking the Santa hat off his head.

Rose cheers. “Snowball war!”

Theo pounds his tiny fist on the table. “Team Mom!”

Damien clutches his chest in mock betrayal. “Et tu, Theo?”

“Sorry, Papa,” Theo says with a grin. “You’re going down.”

Damien stands in the middle of two forts and a bucket of premade snowballs still wearing his Santa hat, hands on his hips, surveying the battlefield. “Alright,” he declares, “rules are simple. No snow down the coat, no crying, and no surrendering totiny terrorists.”

Rose squints up at him. “You’re going down.”

Theo points dramatically. “For Mom!”

I laugh, pulling my gloves tighter. “That’s my boy.”

Damien feigns a look of betrayal. “Unbelievable. Traitorous offspring.”

Elise raises both mittened hands and yells, “Team Mom!” Her voice is high and proud and absolutely devastatingly adorable.

From the porch, Penny giggles, wrapped in a blanket and holding up two big sheets of cardboard she’s clearly drawn on in marker: one saysTEAM MOM, the other,NO MERCY.

“See?” I say, smirking at Damien. “Even the injured are rallying behind me.”

He gasps, clutching his chest. “You’ve turned my own family against me.”