Christmas Griffin - Zoe Chant Page 0,59

again, until they were in the bathroom.

And then it all went wrong. Hardwick was as enticing as he had been before, his dark eyes sensuous, his hands wickedly teasing—but Delphine was too distracted to let herself be distracted. She couldn’t drag her mind away from the breakfast table downstairs, the idea of her relatives all gathering together, what possible plan of attack she could formulate to keep them from hurting Hardwick with their thoughtless lies—and her brothers. She might not have spent as much time with them as she should have, or wanted to, but she knew them.

She knew that if she wasn’t there to steer the conversation and deal out a few well-timed kicks, she couldn’t trust them to keep their mouths shut. Not if they thought they were helping her. God, if they did that—

Clean, dampish, and thoroughly dissatisfied, she and Hardwick made their way downstairs at the same time as her cousins Brutus and Livia. Livia was complaining about having to wait until after breakfast to open presents. They both gave Hardwick a piercing look and asked him if he was feeling better. He was polite enough, but for the first time, Delphine wanted to put her hands in the center of Brutus’s stupid chest and shove him away.

“Merry Christmas to you, too,” he murmured as they hurried off.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice as low as his.

“Looks like it’s hunting season for poor, weak, headache-suffering griffins.” He kissed her. “I’m happy to take the heat if it means keeping it away from you.”

Christmas breakfast. In movies and books, it was the first moments of magic—families slowly waking up, kids squealing over stockings, early risers shaking and tapping wrapped gifts trying to figure out what was inside. Sometimes it was skipped over altogether in a festive whirl of fun and happiness.

Christmas breakfast in the heart of the Belgrave clan...

Delphine’s heart broke a little more as she realized how she had wasted her previous Christmas with her family. Last year, they’d had a quiet, relaxing breakfast, just the four of them. Anders had tried to make pancakes, and Vance had snuck out while the smoke alarm was blaring to buy pastries from a bakery that was open early morning for exactly that sort of Christmas emergency.

And all the time she’d been hiding herself. Being Delphine-the-terrible-sister rather than Delphine-the... whatever she really was.

The dining room was set up the same way it had been the evening before, with all the tables that would normally be arranged separately for different groups to eat alone pushed together into one long table. There was a red table runner running the length of the mega-tablecloth, decorated with wreaths of pine and holly and dotted with tealight candles in cute holders. The candlelight glinted on champagne glasses and water carafes and the round belly of the bottle of port Delphine had bought for her grandfather, which was sitting in pride of place in front of her grandparents.

The seating arrangement was so familiar it might have been a snapshot from any Christmas of her childhood. Her grandmother and grandfather were seated at the head of the table, with her other relatives arrayed down either side according to how much her grandparents wanted to lecture them, peer at them, or test their knowledge of Belgrave family history. Once upon a time, Delphine had thought that her grandparents ordered the family meals based purely on most to least liked, top to bottom of the table. Favored aunts and uncles at the top, sneered-upon relations at the bottom. But it wasn’t that simple. The bottom of the table was as coveted as the top of the table. It was the middle that was the dead zone. Hemmed in on either side by loud conversation, unable to focus on anything without someone passing a dish over your plate or spilling gravy in your drink—that was where the least favored Belgraves were banished to. Including Delphine’s family.

She’d always had mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, it was horrible. She hated that ever since Delphine’s father had died, her mother had been so obviously excluded. On the other, it meant they paid less attention to her little corner of the family as a whole. And she was despicably grateful for that.

Delphine took a deep breath and wrapped her arm through Hardwick’s. “Let’s sit with my folks,” she said. “It shouldn’t be as bad as last night.”

She checked his face warily. Did wishful thinking count as a lie?

“And we can