Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 138526 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 554(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138526 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 554(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
He laughs quietly and we work alongside each other in better moods now.
“Oh, by the way,” I say, smiling at him again as sweetly as I can muster. “I’m spending Christmas with your parents.”
“Of course you are,” he mutters, laughing again. “How did that happen?”
“Ask your mom. I don’t remember.”
He looks amused as he works, and every so often, he looks up at me and smiles.
We’re definitely in a better place again. I wish I could say the same about Pax.
“You’ll figure it out,” Ezra reassures me. “He’d be an idiot to let you go.”
“I do believe that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” I jest, placing my hand over my heart.
“Shut up.”
Christmas comes and to say it has been an amazing day would be an understatement. I met with Erika who joined us with her husband, Steve, whose actual name is Lithuanian, and I couldn’t pronounce it so he’s letting me call him Steve.
The Conti family are incredibly warm, kind, and funny people.
I’m so glad I took a chance and came here.
After dinner is over, Maria arrives with her parents and she is so happy to see me. I hug her and listen to her ramble on about the gifts she got. To say she’s from a rich family, she didn’t get a lot. She hasn’t been spoiled with every gadget and gizmo money can buy. I love that.
I even have a conversation with Mrs. Conti, aka Ezra’s wife, without wanting to slap her around the face. She can be funny after wine. I might even like her if she’d never been my employer and I didn’t know what she was like with her staff.
I especially find it funny when Mario pulls faces at her behind her back, he’s not being mean, he’s just drunk and having a good time.
Maria joins in with her papa and I just sit as I listen to Mrs. Conti talk about her trip to Europe last year, trying not to insult her by laughing.
Mr. C sits beside her and plays with her hair as she speaks, and then her neck, and her shoulders. I watch him attentively touch her in front of us all as though he’s not even aware he’s doing it.
I can’t tear my eyes away. I’m mesmerized for some reason, just watching his fingers move back and forth.
They do their Christmas ornament tradition, which is where they each hang their own ornament with their name on the tree and make a wish. It’s the sweetest thing and brings a tear to my eye. I wish I had that growing up.
“Who wants to play Monopoly?” Mario asks and everyone groans.
“I probably shouldn’t,” I reply, picking at a piece of lint on the knee of the pajamas the Contis got me as a last-minute Christmas gift. They’re festive, red and white pajamas with a glowing Rudolph on the T-shirt. I love them. I might never take them off. “I don’t do well with games.”
“Too competitive?”
“No, I——”
“Please play with us,” Maria begs as Izabella sets the board game up on the coffee table in the middle of the room.
“She’ll play,” Mr. C accepts on my behalf, a teasing smile on his lips. Erika places cushions on the ground and we all sit and choose our pieces. Then Mr. C whispers something in his daughter’s ear and she gasps and runs away with a gleam in her eyes.
“I want to be the doggy!” she yells over her shoulder.
Mr. C eyes me with a mischievous smile, one that makes him look so boyish and young but also devilishly handsome. I’m nervous now. What is he plotting?
Mrs. Conti looks between us, sitting to her husband’s right and I know she’s not comfortable with whatever is transpiring. So, I make it a point to engage Erika in conversation and ignore Mr. C while Mario plays banker and gives us all our cash.
Meanwhile Maria returns and I tidy up the board, neatening the cards so everything is in line.
Izabella, who saw me do this at dinner, and with the wrapping paper, just grins at me and lets me get on with it.
Ezra, however, gives me a smirk and a pointed look. “Leave it.”
I’m confident that he’s not about to start throwing things at me in front of his parents, so, while holding his eyes, I reach over to his side and line up his cash with the edge of the board.
“Last warning,” he tells me, still smiling at me and I wonder what people think of this exchange.
Sitting back, I take the dice and roll an eight, then move my piece along the board. It’s game on.
We go around the board once and I really do fight it, I tap my fingers on my leg and chew on the inside of my mouth, I sip my eggnog and really focus on the game. I stay in good banter and conversation with the rest of them, but it’s just itching below the surface.