Page 16 of Daddy's Little 1

I brush my hair halfheartedly and throw it up in a bun, pulling on a sweater and a pair of leggings. It’ll have to be good enough.

When I walk into the living area, I see Roman’s muscular back. He’s shirtless, his gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips as he finishes up what looks to be a delicious breakfast.

I grab my stomach as it grumbles loudly. He must have heard it. It is almost as loud as my screams last night.

“Merry Christmas,” I say softly, looking anywhere but at him while he turns to plate the meal for us.

“Good morning. I thought we’d have breakfast in here and exchange gifts.” Roman nods toward the Christmas tree with a few gifts underneath, some of which I’m sure are decoys for the sake of décor.

“Sure.”

An odd uncomfortableness swirls between us as we sit across from each other on the floor, plates on the coffee table.

“That one’s yours, with the white bow.” He gestures to a smaller box to my left.

I crawl to it and bring it over to the table with me. “You have two. One from me and one from Dad.” I point to two gifts stacked together and wrapped in green paper that doesn’t match the other presents.

His long arm extends, and he scoops them up. The silence soon becomes too much.

“You go first,” I say huskily.

He looks at the gifts by his side as if he’s forgotten they’re there and tears at the paper. He opens my dad’s’s present first. I recognize a pair of cufflinks from my grandfather’s collection. He had a ton, and they were all high-end and stunning. It’s a reminder of how he thinks of Roman as family.

I blush at the silly fantasy about him being family in every sense of the word one day. As in, my husband.

“I’ll have to try these out at Scotch Rocks in a few days. There’s a password event the night before New Year’s Eve,” he says, smiling at the gift. Then, he looks at me. “I bet your gift tops this, though.”

I drop my gaze at the intense look in his eyes as he opens the package. I hope I’ve done well and haven’t given him something he already has. He collects rare vinyls, and I got into a bidding war for this one.

“I hope you like it,” I say, biting my nails. “It was kind of hard to get a hold of.”

He opens it, holding it in his hand, and he freezes. It’s like he’s glitching, and I hold my breath as I wait for his reaction.

“How the hell did you get hold of this?” he asks, still not tearing his eyes away. “The White Stripes' first record was hand-painted and limited to fifteen copies.”

I shrug like it was nothing. “It wasn’t without effort.”

He shakes his head in disbelief. “Thank you. This is amazing.”

“It was nae bother,” I say in my best Scots accent, smiling.

His grin makes him look younger. “We have to listen to this later. But first, I want to see you open yours.” His green eyes flash with anticipation as he plucks a gift from beneath the tree and slides it toward me.

A rush of adrenaline and curiosity has me tugging at the white ribbon. The oblong box reveals two things: a roll of papers tied with another ribbon and a pair of earrings.

The earrings are custom-made in the shape of turtles, my favorite animal and my birthstone is embedded in the center of the shells, surrounded by tiny diamonds.

There’s no doubt he put thought into this gift.

“Unwrap them,” he says, pointing to the papers.

I do as he says, revealing some kind of star chart. The paper behind it has me gasping. I read it three times before it sinks in. I don’t even realize I’m crying until a tear drips onto the page.

Roman had a star named after me.

“It’s in the Keya constellation, which is known for being shaped like a turtle.” He moves to my side to show me on the map, showing me the shape of it and the location of my star.

“Thank you,” I say breathlessly.