And it shouldn’t be unsettling.
Iris closes her eyes and scrunches her face. “Like right now. I’m trying to picture it and—oh my god. You look terrible in red.”
“Hilarious.” And honestly, well documented; we’ve established that ruddy hues are not my color.
“No, seriously.” She holds a hand to her mouth. “It’sgrotesque—”
Kris bounds up onto the stage. “What’s grotesque?”
Iris opens her eyes and bats her hand at me. “Your brother as Santa.”
“Well, yeah.” Kris sizes me up. “He’s too skinny.”
Nowthistime I let my offense show. “I’ve been doing those weight training videos you sent me!”
He squints. Sizes me up again. “You have?”
“Fuck you.”
Kris grins and looks back at Iris. “They’ll be here in ten minutes.”
She spins on me. “How do I look?”
She’s in a lavender dress that’s all descending layers of tulle with clusters of flowers stitched at random intervals. Half of her box braids are looped through a flower crown of tulips and daisies, and in this very Christmas room full of very Christmas people, she’s a riot of springtime and renewal and freshness.
But I don’t tell her any of that and squint at her. “You care?”
“Of course I care, Ialwayscare. When this whole thing blows up in our faces, it willnotbe because of anything I did. I will beperfect.Now,Kris”—she twists her question to him, probably realizing I won’t give her a straight answer and rightly so because it is super messed up that she would equate her physical appearance to being perfect—“how do I look?”
Kris goes as red as the checkerboard print blankets draped over the chairs in the ballroom’s alcoves. But before I can decide whether to intervene, he looks up and down her body.
“Perfect,” he says softly.
Iris must miss his tone, because she says only “Thank you” pointedly, then looks at me. “That’show you respond when a woman asks how she looks.”
Kris gets an odd expression, eyes still on her profile where she’s looking at me, but he doesn’t seem hurt or rebuffed—it’s more of awell huh. That didn’t work.He’s always handled her obliviousness rather gallantly for someone who proclaims to be in love with her.
“Next time,” I say to Iris, “I will release a sonnet to your beauty.”
She nods, satisfied. “About damn time, Claus.”
“With all the pomp and extravagance of a Taylor Swift midnight single drop.”
“You know, when you say things like that, it’s hard to take your adoration seriously.”
Dad comes up onto the stage, trailed by Neo, as Easter-y as his daughter in pastels and flowers. He ushers Iris away—since his announcement three days ago followed sharply by another announcement ofOh, and now Halloween is vying for Iris’s hand too, isn’t that quaint,he and my dad have kept the two of us out of as many photos togetheras possible to avoid, quote unquote, “playing favorites.” Even though one of the contenders is also the host of this little competition and has already basically won. Yeah, it’s definitely going to be fair.
Iris wasn’t concerned about how that change of plans looked to Easter. She said her father was certain it would only make their family lookdesirable.Which made my nose curl, but Iris had shrugged and changed the subject, and I can’t shake the persistent itch that there’s shit she’s not sharing with me. Important shit, important toher.
My eyes dart over the ballroom again, at the individual chatting groups as they munch on hors d’oeuvres. I think back on what Iris said, about losing the trust of our people by backing out on our announced relationship. But none ofthesepeople would be concerned about shifting alliances, would they? It wouldn’t negatively affect their lives. They’ll carry on being the noble houses of Christmas no matter what happens.
What do the thousands of people out in North Pole City think? What story is Dad feeding them? I should find it within myself to start reading the tabloids again.
Nowthat’sa horrifying image.
I tug on the sleeves of my suit jacket. I sent Wren a thank-you gift for the nice blue suit at the tree trimming, and she responded withthisnumber, an azure blazer done with baroque filigree in gold and green. I look fine as hell in it—Christmas Prince, I see no Christmas Prince, just a runway model.
Iris is center stage with our fathers. Dad is in a vibrant red suit, Santa but make it Versace, and the three of them turn forward.
