Page 33 of Terms and Traditions

Chapter fourteen

Stephanie

Mayhem. The voices clamoured. Accusing. Shouting. Swearing. None of them thrilled. The solid press of Nash’s arm around me was the only thing anchoring me to the present, and he squeezed me closer as if sensing I was ready to bolt. How did he know me so well? I was more than ready to ding dong ditch the Addams, hightail it out of the state, and change my phone number. Anyone have Witness Protection’s card? Because I was dead meat.

A shrill, intense whistle cut through the room, silencing the commotion, which I swear made the crystal chandelier ring. (Yes, this otherwise rustic cabin did have crystal light fixtures.) And I breathed a prayer of thanks for Gabe’s stellar lung capacity and take-charge presence as the pandemonium dimmed. I might give him a hard time, but I adored him, especially in this moment.

“We’ve all got questions,” Gabe said, firm and even, eyeing me with a look that told me I was so in for an interrogation later. “Whatever your opinions, there’s no excuse for rudeness. Nash, welcome. Merry Christmas.”

Gabe’s speech earned him several withering scowls—from all four of my other siblings—but his hulking size had garnered him enough reverence in the Addams clan that no one contradicted him. They might not like him anymore than they liked me, but he at least could make them listen. Perks of being the eldest instead of the baby, I guess. Lord, thank you once again for intimidating big brothers.

Ivy rushed over, gushing as she threw her arms around me. Which was awkward for a second since Nash was still holding onto me. But after the untangling of arms and limbs, I sank into her hug. Ivy was the big sister I’d always wanted—and completely unlike the older sisters I had. She’d married Gabe when they were still teenagers, and I was only seven years old. The gentler counterpart to Gabe’s strait-laced nature and a peacemaker at heart, she’d always been a steadying force in my life. And her hugs, a comforting blend of fresh detergent and baby powder, always felt like home.

When I pulled back, because she never let go first, Ivy shook Nash’s hand and gave him a once-over, her sharp green eyes beneath tortoiseshell glasses assessing him.

I found myself sweating a little because her opinion mattered to me.

Ivy twisted a long auburn curl around her finger thoughtfully, then speared me with a smirk. “Your boss?”

I flushed. Because…. Okay, I had talked about Nash more than I let on to him in the car. And maybe more than I had admitted to myself. “Yup, this is Nash. Nash, this is Gabe’s wife, Ivy.”

Nash flashed her his million-dollar smile that never failed to win him clients.

But Ivy was unfazed. She returned the smile warmly and patted my arm, leaning in to hiss, “We are soooooo talking about this later.”

Ha. Take a number, sister.

“Stephanie Mae Louise Addams!”

I winced. Being full-named was as terrifying at twenty-eight as it was at eight. There was only one person who got away with using my full name at that volume.

Ivy snickered, backing away with her hands raised. “Good luck,” she mouthed, her auburn curls retreating into the lingering crowd, who insisted on spectating like we were in the gladiator arena.

I glared after her. The coward. It was showtime. I grinned ecstatically, then toned it down, so I didn’t look like the Joker, baring way too many teeth. That wasn’t a good look on anyone. “Hey, Nana! Merry Christmas Eve Eve!”

My nana—Charmain Russo Addams—was a five-foot, American-born Italian firecracker. Her bright white hair was always permed within an inch of its life, and I never saw her in anything other than rainbow, bright colours and chunky jewelry. Oh, and she didn’t glide through life. She marched. Currently clad in a red gingham apron over a burnt-orange cardigan and navy slacks, she jabbed her wooden spoon at me.

I jumped back to avoid it, smacking into Nash. His hands gripped my waist, holding me upright as I leaned against him. By this point I was as rosy red as Nana’s signature lipstick colour.

Nana jerked to a stop in front of us—me with a mottled face and Nash’s fingers still warm at my waist through my sweater. She raised a sculpted feathery eyebrow. I had inherited my short stature from her, so we were eye level. “Care to explain, Stephie?”

No. I really didn’t. But it wasn’t a question. It was an order. Besides, this was why we were here.

Before I got a word out though, Nash smoothly extended one of his hands to her, the other still resting on my hip. “Mrs. Addams, it’s a pleasure. Stephanie speaks very highly of you. I’m Nash Prescott.”

Nana harrumphed but shook his hand. She was too well-bred not to. “You’re the millionaire boss she talks about all the time.” She eyed him from the curl of his hair to the loafers on his feet. “You’re right, Stephanie; he is a looker.”

I covered my face with my hands. Why did I ever tell her such a thing? If I thought I was red before, the fire department was about to be called because I was officially on fire with embarrassment. And all the time was a big stretch. “Okay, Nana, that’s enough. What rooms are we in? Separately. Because, you know, together is not happening.”

Nana snorted. “Nash can take your luggage to the Mistletoe. You’ll be bunking with Hailey.” She pointed to the right staircase, and I instantly relaxed because Hailey was my favourite—and only—cousin. “And you”—Nana jabbed a finger at Nash—“will be staying in Cedar.” Her finger jerkily shifted to the left-hand staircase. “And there will be no hay rolling on my watch.”

“Nana!” I shrieked.

She grinned saucily, swatting at me again with her wooden spoon. “Join me in the kitchen, baby girl, while your man totes up the luggage.” She patted his arm. “He’s got enough muscles for it, and we’ll catch up.”

The sweet words were a decoy, a pretty package harbouring devious intent. “I told you she would murder me,” I hissed to Nash as she sashayed away.

He glanced between me and Nana’s retreating march. “Are you safe alone with her?”