“Yes,” I chuckled.
Daimon laughed, he genuinely laughed and my heart skipped a beat. Watching him laugh at my gag gift made me want to reach out and hug him, but I pushed the thought out of my mind.
“Here.” I gave him a small box. “It’s nothing really special.”
He pulled off the paper and opened the box. It was a pair of black cufflinks. They looked just like something he’d wear. They were made of titanium, and were intricately carved.
“They’re beautiful,” he said, low into his chest as he looked at them.
I shrugged. “Whatever. You paid for them.” I laughed, making light at how much this moment really affected me. It was the first Christmas I didn’t feel sad or upset. I actually felt somewhat happy.
“Where the hell are you going?” Daimon asked as I stood up to clear off the table.
“To clean, your majesty.” I curtsied.
“Sit your sexy ass down,” he ordered. I sat back down and waited. “There, behind the tree, there’s a box. It’s yours.” He pointed. I reached and found a box that was lavishly wrapped.
“I thought you don’t do gifts?”
“Shut up and open it,” he snapped.
I ripped it open and looked inside. It was a lacey black demi-bra with a matching thong that had tiny little bows on them.
“You got me lingerie?” I asked, shocked.
“Yes,” he smiled.
“You’re an asshole.”
“It’s expensive, French made. I wouldn’t get you anything cheap,” he teased. I had to admit it was pretty. It was a shame I had no one to wear it for and there was no way I would wear it for him.
“Learn to take a joke, Addie. Look inside.” I pushed the tissue paper aside and found a small folder.
“What’s this?”
“It’s an itinerary for you to visit your sister next week. I’ll be going to England next week so I figured you could see her while I’m out of the country.”
“Thank you,” I said breathlessly.
“You’re welcome.”
Like he promised, Daimon drove us to my father’s home and we celebrated Christmas together. I had asked him about his family, but he grunted and told me to mind my own business. I knew there was something there, something he wasn’t telling me, but also knowing Daimon, it was best I didn’t push. I was preparing a simple pork roast and watched as Daimon and my father were watching a movie my father loved so much called, Il Mercenario.
“This is it! This is the scene between Paco and Curly. The music is what makes it an amazing showdown,” my father said, excitedly, edging forward on his armchair.
“It’s pretty intense,” Daimon said, completely taken in.
“I know,” my father murmured.
Leave two men alone with a classic spaghetti western and they’ll end up bonding. My father seemed to have forgotten what Daimon had done as they sat, mesmerized by the 1968 classic. I’d watched it so many times that I was catching myself quoting it as it played in the background.
Studs: Polack! You play around with me. I’ll see that you’re gonna get murdered. You play with fire, you’re gonna get burned!
Kowalski: I wear gloves.
Studs: I don’t see them. I don’t see them!
Kowalski: I took them off, because without gloves, I shoot better.
I played out this whole scene only because my father would have Sofia and I act it out for him.
“I see you like these movies too.” Daimon surprised me as he wrapped his arms around my waist.
“Do you mind?” I said, through my teeth.
“Not really,” he murmured with his rough low voice.
“My father might see us,” I hissed.
“That’s the point, my beloved. We’re in love, remember?” he teased quietly in my ear, his deep voice making me wither.
“Your father pressed play again. I think he wants to re-watch it,” Daimon said as he finally released his arms from my waist.
“He does that,” I said as I turned around still holding my butcher knife.
“Are you threatening your husband on Christmas Day?” Daimon laughed.
“Think of it as an incentive,” I smiled.
Daimon’s eyes shifted; he must have heard my father getting up. He reached out and took my hand that held the knife and pulled me in for a kiss. I struggled, but his lips latched on tightly.
“Sorry kids,” my father said as he stood at the door of the kitchen. Daimon pulled back and grinned. I swear he was Lucifer himself.
“It’s okay, Dad, Daimon was just playing,” I gritted out.
“Sorry,” Daimon said, not really meaning it. My father turned around and headed back into the living room.