“No. Yes. No.” He was quiet for a moment, then, “Yes.”

  “You are drunk, aren’t you?”

  “It’s Christmas.”

  “He’s spending the night.”

  “Bad Christmas.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, I plan to eat so much food tonight that sex would be a danger to both him and me.”

  “Merci.” He sighed. “I just wish it was me spending Christmas in bed with you. Not him.”

  Nora laughed. “Nico, you know how this works. He’s the very forbearing husband I’m not actually married to, and you are my delicious concubine.”

  “Am I delicious?”

  “Nico, if you remember, I once drank your semen out of a wine glass.”

  “Oh, I remember. I remember that about ten times a day,” he said.

  “You know I love talking to you, but I really have to go or I’ll be late for dinner. Did you need me or just want me?”

  “I need you. I was looking at pictures of you on my phone.”

  “I approve of that pastime,” Nora said. “And…?”

  “And I had an idea.”

  The way he said “idea” made her feel like she felt when Søren’s teeth grazed her ankle.

  Nora was intrigued. “I like ideas. Tell me.”

  “I know this will sound crazy, but, ah, you know how I’m going to New York next week? The meeting with our new investors?”

  “You told me.”

  “I have a free night. I can fly down,” he said.

  “What? To New Orleans?”

  “I have time. There’s a direct flight. I would have to leave at ten the next morning, but I could do it. We’d have the whole night.”

  Nora smiled. She saw her smile reflected in the glass of the kitchen window. It looked like the smile the Grinch made when he had a wonderful, awful idea.

  “I can do a lot with one night,” she said. “But I have to ask You-Know-Who.”

  “Will he say yes?”

  “He’ll immediately remind me that I was just in France last month, and that I’m seeing you again in a few weeks.” She already had plans to see Nico in January in France, which was the deal she and Søren had struck. Four months a year with Nico, one month a season. The rest of the year she belonged to him and only him.

  “But your next visit is far away. Very far. Very very very very very very far. Weeks.” Oh yes, he was definitely more than a little drunk.

  “He’ll also remind me that the deal was that you two don’t encroach on each other’s time with me. That was the custody arrangement.”

  “So it’s a no?”

  “It’s a maybe.”

  “Only if you want to.”

  One in the morning. Nico would be in his bedroom. Probably naked under the covers. All young and firm and beautiful and warm and hard…

  She wanted to. Very much. Very very very very very very much.

  “Answer this question—what were you doing while you were looking at pictures of me?”

  He laughed softly. “You know.”

  “On our Lord’s birthday?”

  “He gets to celebrate. So do I.”

  She wished he could see her smile. “I love you, Moosh.”

  “I love you, too.”

  “Merry Christmas,” she said. “I’ll let you know what his Lordship says.”

  Nora hung up, went into the bathroom, and checked herself in the mirror. She only hoped that the red in her cheeks would be attributed to the cool evening air when she got to Kingsley's house.

  She needed that cool evening air to keep her from sweating as she walked as fast as she could in her pumps to Kingsley’s house. If she was late, Søren, Juliette, or King would ask her why.

  Oh, because Nico was drunk and masturbating in bed and decided to call me to see if I’d fuck him next week if he flew in from New York for a night.

  That would go over like a house on fire.

  She made it to the gate at seven on the dot, made it to the door at 7:01, and let herself in. After hanging her coat up in, she peeked into Kingsley’s grand living room. It looked beautiful. The giant Christmas tree covered in white lights made a beautiful bright contrast to the dark, antique French furniture. They’d removed the Persian rug that usually covered the dark hardwood floors and replaced it with an enormous white fur rug that made the room appear as if had snowed inside the house. Juliette, dressed in a short shimmery off-the-shoulder gold cocktail dress, was taking Christmas pictures of Céleste, who was sitting prettily in the middle of the rug while “Petit Papa Noël” played in the background on the antique record player.

  Nora stayed in the entryway, watching, not wanting to distract Céleste while she was actually holding still for a minute or two. She could hear voices coming from the kitchen—the caterers Juliette had hired. A step squeaked behind her, and she looked up to see Søren descending the staircase.

  She put her finger to her lips to indicate that the photo session was still in progress.

  He came to her and kissed her on the cheek.

  “Your cheeks are flushed. Why is that?” he said softly into her ear.

  “It’s cold out. Your lips are a little red. Why is that?”

  “I had a sip of red wine.”

  “Are you lying, sir?”

  “Are you?”

  “Probably, knowing me.”

  “Then we’re even.”

  He kissed her to stop her laughing. When the kiss ended, Céleste was running toward them. Nora picked her up and spun her.

  “Merry Christmas, baby girl.”

  “You’re pretty, Tante Elle,” Céleste said in her little girl voice with her sweet little French accent.

  “So are you.” She put Céleste on her feet and watched her spin in circles, making her tulle skirt float around her. It must have made her dizzy because she started to fall over. Søren caught her before she hit the ground and picked her up. She wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed like an octopus.

  “Good catch,” Nora said.

  Søren quickly and efficiently peeled Céleste off of him and set her on her feet.

  Juliette came into the grand entryway with a sigh. “It’s time to go upstairs, my love.”

  This announcement did not go over well. Juliette reached for Céleste’s hand, but the little girl wasn’t having it. She dug in her heels, and her mother was forced to pick her up and carry her.

  Céleste bellowed—there was no other word for it— all the way upstairs. No amount of soothing by Juliette could calm her. Céleste’s night nanny met them at the top of the stairs and carried the still-screaming toddler to her bedroom.

  Nora shook her head, blinked. Her ears were ringing.

  “God, I’m so glad I don’t have kids,” she said without thinking. Søren’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered across his eyes. “Søren—”

  “It’s fine,” he said quickly, too quickly. Nora kicked herself quietly. Søren’s son Fionn was a tender subject. Sometimes she wondered if being around Céleste made it better or worse.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “You’re allowed to say anything you want,” he said. “Unless you’re gagged.” He bent and kissed her cheek again. “Let’s find the wine.”

  They knew exactly where to find the wine—in the living room at the wet bar. That’s also where they found King.

  “Red? White?” King asked as he poured himself a red. He was looking handsome as usual in a dark blue Armani suit, one of his favorites.

  “White,” Nora said. “White before dinner. Red during. Bourbon after. Speaking of…when do we get to eat?”

  “Soon. Hungry?”

  “I’ve been starving myself all day to make room for oysters. And turkey. And dessert. What’s for dessert?”

  “Whatever you can think of,” King said, “Jules probably ordered it.”

  “I love that woman,” Nora said.

  As King poured the wine, Nora went to fetch the gifts she’d left in the entryway. She took them to the tree and tossed them unceremoniously onto the tree skirt.

  “Socks, again?” King asked. He sat on the burgundy sofa, an arm thrown casually over the back, legs crossed and his wine glass in his hand.

  “Always,” she said, standing up. “You two are impossible to buy anything but socks for. You—” She pointed at King, “can buy yourself anything you want. And you—” She pointed at Søren, “don’t want anything.”

  “I can always use more black socks,” Søren said. He stood by the fireplace mantel where a low fire burned, more for show than warmth. This was probably the first night King and Juliette had actually used their fireplace.

  “It’s getting a little boring, just buying you two socks every year. And what did you get me?” Nora asked King.

  “I’m letting you date my son. That is your Christmas gift from now through eternity.” King stood up, walked over to the record player, and swapped out Nat King Cole’s “O Little Town of Bethlehem” for Dean Martin’s “Let it Snow!”

  “Ah, fine. What about you?” she demanded of Søren.

  “Same.” He smiled behind his wine glass.

  “Assholes,” she said, dropping into the armchair and crossing her ankles on top of the ottoman. She wanted to make sure Søren saw the shoes. No ankle straps. No sex tonight unless he thought of something better than socks for Christmas. “We should do something more fun for gift exchange than socks and first-born sons.”

  “What did you have in mind?” King turned around to face her. He was always up for a challenge. “I hope you’re not going to say White Elephant. Does it look like we’re a women’s book club?”

  “Just so you know, I’ve gone on some pretty stellar benders with women’s book clubs. Show some respect.”

  He raised his hands in surrender.

  “The white elephant gift has an interesting history,” Søren said. “Shame it’s become so… what’s the word?”

  “Bourgeois?” King offered and drank his wine.

  Nora said, “Lame.”

  “The story is that the King of Thailand,” Søren said, “would give gifts of elephants painted white to the people he wished to honor. Of course, everyone wanted the king to honor them, but…what do you do with a white elephant? Since the elephant was a gift from the king, you couldn’t put it to work in your fields. It was an expensive pet. A blessing and a curse.”

  “So it was something you wanted but also didn’t want at the same time,” Nora said.

  Søren nodded. “Exactly. I have no idea how it’s become a game where people pawn off their worst trinkets and knick-knacks on each other. I thought that was what the St. Vincent de Paul charities were for.”

  A thought occurred to Nora, one that might send her careening straight to Hell if she happened to choke to death on an oyster tonight. But it was such a good—well, terrible—idea she couldn’t resist. Especially if it meant getting Søren to allow her to see Nico next week.

  “Let’s do that then,” Nora said as an idea came to her.

  “A White Elephant Exchange?” Søren asked.

  “Better,” she said. “Cursed gifts.”

  “What?” King said. “Are you serious?”

  Søren glared at her. “Eleanor, you haven’t started practicing voodoo, have you? We talked about that before we moved here.”

  She looked at them both. Cowards. “Come on, it’ll be fun. Not actual cursed gifts. Just gifts that hurt. Hurt to give and hurt to receive, but you still want it.”

  “Ah, sadomasochistic gifts,” King said, nodding. “Intriguing.”

  “Right? We’ll give each other gifts that A—the other person wants, but B—also doesn’t want, and C—hurts the giver to give.”

  “You mean like Nico?” King said, grinning rather menacingly at her.

  She ignored the look. “Exactly. You let me date your son, which I want, but I didn’t want it. For the record, I did not go looking for him for that reason at all, I swear on a stack of Bibles and ask Zach Easton if you do not believe me. He was there.”

  “I know, I know,” King said and raised his hand in surrender. “Still.”

  “And you let me have him,” Nora said, “although it hurt. Yes?”

  King laughed softly. “Yes,” he said and took a very long drink of his wine. “I’m all for it. I’d like to see what you come up with to give me. And you, especially—” He looked at Søren.

  “I already have ideas galore,” Søren said and gave King a look that would scare most men. King was not most men, however. And the brief look they shared was so intimate and personal, Nora knew she shouldn’t have seen it.

  King wrenched his eyes from Søren, turned to her again. “Are we planning this for next year?”

  “Why not this year?” Nora said with a shrug. “We’re Catholic.”

  “Speak for yourself,” King said. “I’m a heathen.”

  “In the Catholic calendar,” Søren said to Kingsley in the tone of a teacher lecturing a particularly stupid child, “Christmastide began today and ends on the Feast of the Baptism of Our Lord. Which is January eleventh—”

  “See? There you go,” Nora said. “Want to?”

  King swirled the wine in the bottom of his glass. “If we’re doing this, I’ll need more wine.”

  “I admit I’d be curious to see what you two come up with for me,” Søren said. “By curious, I mean slightly terrified.”

  “You are not,” she said. He only smiled. “So… Are we in?”

  “You know what you’re getting me?” King asked.

  “No idea. Do you know what you’re getting him?” She pointed at Søren.

  “Not a clue. Though it will be fun to think of something.”

  Nora held up her hands. “Shall we?”

  “I’ll play,” Søren said. “If only to see what you have up your sleeve, Little One.”

  “Come on, Bad King Wenceslas,” Nora said. “Want to play?”

  He stood by the tree, wine glass in hand, a thoughtful expression on his face.

  “More fun than socks,” he said. He picked up a gift from under the tree and held it. A small black box. “Cursed gifts. Wrapped in black.” He put the box back under the tree and turned to look at Søren.

  “I’m in,” King said.

  “What are you in?” Juliette demanded as she swept into the living room. “Or do I not want to know?”

  Nora quickly explained the game. Juliette listened in wide-eyed silence that might have been wide-eyed horror.

  “Only you three,” Juliette said, shaking her head. “Instead of a white elephant, it’s black and blue. Of course you three would find a way to turn Christmas gift-giving into a mind game.”

  Nora grinned fiendishly, “Want to play with us?”

  “Non, non, non, non, non,” she said, shaking her head and waving her hand. “I’m no sadist. And what I want for Christmas is what I want for every Christmas.”

  “Jewelry,” King said.

  “Exactly,” she said. King pulled her into his arms and kissed her. “You know me well.”

  “All right, just the three of us then,” Nora looked at Søren and then King.

  “I only have one question,” Søren said. “Will I still get my black socks?”

  Christmas

  The dinner party ended shortly before midnight. Søren walked to St. Mary’s, a Catholic Church only a few blocks away for midnight mass. Nora might have gone with him but didn’t want anyone seeing them together. Søren knew too many of the other priests in town to take the risk. They’d all had too much to drink, so King walked her back to her house. The Garden District was safe, more or less. Still, no city was perfectly safe for a woman to walk alone after midnight, even on Christmas. Nico had actually threatened to buy her a guard dog since she insisted on walking alone in the evenings.

  King escorted her all the way to the front door, which was very gallant of him. They stood beneath the oak tree in her front yard, festooned with Mardi Gras beads. She hadn’t put the beads in there, but they always seemed to multiply. Søren thought she had a secret admirer in the neighborhood, but she guessed local drunks saw her tree and made a game of throwing their beads into the branches.

  She expected him to kiss her cheek and head home right away, but he lingered. Clearly, he had something he wanted to say to her. She waited, tense.

  “Was that my son you were texting with after dinner? You were smiling at your phone,” he said.

  No surprise King would have noticed that. He found phones at the dinner table the height of rudeness. Not that it ever stopped her.

  “No, actually. It was Griffin. He was telling me that he and Michael worked things out.” She opened her bag to get her keys, but she was ready to show him her phone if he doubted her.

  “Ah, good for him.” He looked a little suspicious. “That was a long text exchange for just that.”

  “I may have caught him up to speed on a few other things.”

  “You told him about Nico? Finally?”

  He didn’t seem angry about that, so Nora admitted to it. “Griff would have been really hurt if he’d found out from anyone but me. And since it seems like it might last a while…”

  He nodded. “True.”

  She braced herself for another confession. “And…I might have let him in on you and Søren. He kind of needs to know that, too.”

  There were secrets you could keep from your friends, but something like this—being in a serious long-term relationship with someone—wasn’t one of them.

  Kingsley glanced away, his dark brown eyes reflecting the Christmas lights hanging on her porch.

  “He knew a little already. It’s hard to talk about, you know. What I am.”

  “What you are is Griffin’s hero. And Griffin has never looked down on a switch in his life.” She poked him in the upper arm. “Except if they’re on the floor, and he’s flogging them.”

  “Fair, fair.”

  She waited. He didn’t leave. The night was cold now, but she didn’t mind it after all the food and the wine and the fireplace burning at King’s house.

  “I’m not angry about Nico, you know,” he said.

  “You aren’t?” She leaned back against the door.