Frosting Her Christmas Cookies - Alina Jacobs Page 0,135

Then Morticia made us take a detour to an Italian specialty store to buy fresh mozzarella, burrata, and other cheeses and cured meats. “They make them in-house,” she said.

When we returned, waiting in the foyer outside my condo was a large, rectangular package wrapped in butcher paper, which the doorman had brought up.

“It’s for you,” I said to Morticia, reading the tag. “From the Getty Museum.”

She stared at it for a moment, then horrified recognition crossed her features. “We should just burn this,” Morticia insisted, dragging the package back out into the hallway.

“Oh, hell no!” I exclaimed. “That’s the famous painting, isn’t it! This is going in a place of honor.” I unwrapped it with a flourish.

Morticia shuddered. “It’s even cringier than I remembered.”

“Please,” I snorted. “This is art!”

I dug out a hammer, nails, and picture hooks to hang it on the wall above the fireplace while Morticia sorted ingredients. To add an extra oomph, I pinned some garland above it. Then I stepped back to inspect the piece. The pictures Sarah had shown me really hadn’t done it justice. I could see why the Getty had wanted Morticia to work for them. The painting was well-balanced, interesting, and layered.

“You can’t hang that there!” Morticia said in horror.

“It’s here or in the bedroom,” I told her. “Here, at least it seems less creepy. Like, oh, you have a problem with my overly sexualized painting? Well, it’s art, and you clearly do not have a refined enough palate.”

“I should have added some more Christmas fig leaves,” she said, staring up at it.

“Please,” I said smugly, “you love staring at my naked body.”

The doorbell rang then rang again. The cats bounded over.

“You invited guests?” Morticia asked.

“Reinforcements,” I replied as my brothers, sister, Chloe, Holly, Lilith, and Emma piled in.

“Are you making fried baccalà?” Emma asked hopefully.

“It’s for the party tomorrow,” Morticia said. “We’re doing prep work.”

“But you have to feed us,” Matt complained to me.

“Like you’re actually going to do any work,” I told him. “Only people who work get to eat.”

“I’ll work more than you,” my brother shot back.

Owen and Jack’s huskies bounded into the living room. I ran in to make sure they didn’t bother our cats. But the animals were happily playing with one of the many toys I had bought for Cindy Lou.

“You are so extra!” Chloe, Jack’s girlfriend, commented as she set down bags full of ingredients. “Is your cat wearing a diamond collar?”

“Forget the collar; get a load of this painting!” Jack said, following her into the living room.

“You need to cover that,” Morticia complained, rushing in.

“No way!” I said. “This is exactly what I need to show everyone that I am a legit billionaire. Nothing screams ‘new money’ like partially nude portraits of yourself.”

73

Morticia

“Can you take the lasagna out?” I asked Jonathan the next afternoon.

It was Christmas Eve, and his condo was packed for the party. Jazzy Christmas music played over the sound system. I had freshened up the garlands and fluffed out the ribbons on the tree a bit. The fire was burning along merrily.

“I should have brought up some of those creepy dolls Mimi used to collect and put them in Christmas outfits. Then it would feel like old times!” Lilith told me. She set a basket of cheesy garlic bread on the long dining room table with a bowl of marinara sauce beside it for dipping.

“We’re having a classy, high-end Christmas party,” I reminded my twin.

“Is that why you have that naked painting up?” she asked me, pointing.

“There aren’t any kids coming,” Jonathan said, walking by with the large pan of lasagna. “So everyone can experience Morticia’s artistic prowess.”

He was wearing a red smoking jacket and a Santa hat, and he looked smoking hot.

“I think I may need to open my present early tonight,” I told him, smoothing his lapels.

Jonathan grinned. “Glad to see you getting into the Christmas spirit.”

“You’re not bringing your little brothers?” Owen asked Greg with a grin.

The elder Svensson scowled. “I’m going to be stuck with them in Harrogate for the next ten days,” he grumbled. “That’s too much family and Christmas time.”

“Family is important, Greg,” Carl said as he cut out a giant slice of lasagna.

“Did you get all your Christmas shopping done?” Jonathan asked.

“I have a hundred brothers. I’m not giving them all presents.”

“Yeah,” Carl joked, “he had his secretary do it instead.”

“You should have just done the shopping yourself,” Belle said, scooping up fried calamari and fried puffy white cod. “Considering that you don’t have