The Proposal - Kitty Thomas Page 0,25

how to coax my inner beast out of the cage. The idea of the three of us together again, sharing a woman in something permanent is too tempting to ignore. The part of me that wants to protect her from Soren is outmaneuvered by the part of me that wants her on her knees.

10

Livia

The Announcement

Six months ago. Christmas Eve.

It's Christmas Eve, and I'm standing on my parents' porch, wondering why I didn't call first to soften the shock. I slip inside the front door by myself, trying to come up with some last minute Hail Mary to make this less of the clusterfuck I'm sure its going to be.

“Livvy!” my mom calls out, rushing toward me. She's got a red Santa Claus apron on, and I know she's just pulled her famous soft gingerbread cookies out of the oven—her yearly tradition for the big family meal.

“You look like you got a tan. Where on earth did you get a tan this time of year? You know how dangerous tanning beds are!” Her rant about the dangers of life-giving sunlight dies suddenly and her eyes nearly fall out of her head when she catches sight of the gleaming rock on my finger.

“You're engaged!?!” she whisper shrieks. “I didn't even know you were dating anyone. Well, where is he?” She's looking past me trying to see out the windows which are too frosted from the cold to see anything but moving shadows.

“He's getting the gifts out of the car.”

“Your father is going to lose his shit. You know he doesn't like surprises.”

That's the understatement of the century. My father hates surprises so much that you pretty much have to shop for him off a pre-curated list he's created so he knows he's going to like it. Creative deviations are not appreciated.

My mom takes my hand in hers to inspect the ring. “This is a nice ring,” she says. I swear she's about to pull out one of those things jewelers use to inspect the quality of diamonds. I'm grateful she doesn't actually have one of those things. Nothing would be more embarrassing than my mother appraising my ring in the middle of the foyer.

“It's Tiffany,” I say, giddy glee coming out in my voice because this truly is my dream ring and even though I have my doubts about everything else, the ring itself is the one bright spot I have some measure of faith in.

“Really?” She's still whispering. I'm not sure why she's feeling the need to whisper in her own house. Maybe she's afraid my father will hear. “So he's doing pretty well for himself?” she says, fishing.

“He runs a Fortune 500 company,” I say, but that's all I say because that's all I know. I don't even know which company.

Before I can be grilled further, the doorbell rings. Oh shit, that's him. I feel like the heroine in a horror movie with the killer just outside the door.

“Aren't you going to let him in?” My mother asks.

I'm really not ready to do this but obviously if I'm going to get married, my family has to be made aware of the engagement, and hearing it in person is probably better than finding out when the wedding invitation arrives.

“Honestly, Livvy,” my mother says. She flings the door open and smiles brightly when she gets a look at him all handsome and suave and stylish, laden down with Christmas presents like a sophisticated and evil Santa. “Come in, I'm sorry, Livia didn't tell me your name.”

He gives me a look like he's disappointed in me and says, “I'm Soren.”

“I'm Judith,” she says.

“It's lovely to meet you, Judith.”

“Harold,” she calls... “Livvy brought a man for Christmas.” She says this in the same way one might say “Livvy brought a pumpkin pie.” And I'm pretty sure my mom thinks both of those things would be equally delicious.

My father appears a moment later. He's smoking a pipe. He has this Christmas Eve thing where he smokes a pipe. I have no idea why he does it. He never at any other point in the year smokes a pipe. This is his Christmas Eve tradition. The Fairchild Christmas: Gingerbread cookies and cigar smoke.

He narrows his eyes at Soren.

“Hello,” he says, coldly. “And who might you be?” He looks between Soren and me as if Soren is attempting to kidnap me, which is so close to the truth.

“Soren Kingston,” he says. Soren can't shake my father's hand—not that my father's offering—because he's still holding the presents.

My father's