The Boyfriend (The Boss 7)

“Neil, you hired a pianist?” I called over to the temporary bar where he and El-Mudad waited for their drinks.

A hopefully non-alcoholic one for Neil.

“I thought it would be a nice touch. For caroling, perhaps.” He took a glass the bartender offered him and headed back to us. “You don’t think it’s too much?”

I blinked at him. “We flew my entire family on a charter plane to England so that we could have a family Christmas in our palace.”

“Point taken.” Neil’s expression brightened as he looked to the door and spotted Geir, his oldest brother. Geir was shorter and rounder than the rest of the Elwood children, and definitely more reserved. He had a grumpy face, even though he wasn’t a particularly grumpy person. Neil, on the other hand, beamed like a headlight in adoration of his big brother. He hurried over and gave him an enthusiastic handshake before pulling him into a hug. We hadn’t seen any of Neil’s siblings for a long time, and I knew that despite having lived in different countries for years, they still got homesick for each other.

I couldn’t understand what they chatted about initially, because I had no talent for Icelandic, no matter how much I’d tried to learn it. Neil had grown up bilingual since he’d lived for part of his childhood in England and some of it in Iceland.

He considered himself multi-lingual, though El-Mudad had informed me that Neil’s French fluency was debatable.

Neil led his brother to us. “Geir, you remember my wife, Sophie, and her mother, Rebecca.”

“Of course I remember your wife!” Geir sounded insulted. “Sophie, it’s wonderful to see you. And you, Rebecca.”

“I’m so glad we could all spend Christmas together,” Mom said. “As one big family.”

Geir’s smile froze a bit before he said, “Yes, it will be…pleasant.”

“I want you to meet my friend, El-Mudad,” Neil said, guiding Geir away.

“Oh, pleasant, huh?” Mom said under her breath.

“He didn’t mean anything by it.” At least, I was pretty sure he didn’t. “Neil’s family isn’t overly warm. Not like how we are.”

“Not born with a silver spoon up our asses?”

I shouldn’t have laughed. Definitely not as loud as I did.

Neil shot a look at me from across the room, and I tried to get my giggles under control.

My family trickled into the ballroom, carrying laundry baskets and garbage bags full of presents. Aunt Marie made the executive decision to push some of the carefully positioned poinsettias aside to start laying the gifts out.

“Are we doing presents before we do dinner or after?” Grandma called out to no one in particular.

Neil and I both went to her, and he hurried to take the large plastic tote from her hands. He huffed in surprise at the weight of it.

“Let me take that,” I heard El-Mudad say behind me, and I froze up. Out of all of my relatives assembled tonight, my grandma was the one most likely to blurt it out if she thought anything fishy was going on, and she instantly set her laser-sharp assessment on El-Mudad.

“Ah, this is our friend, El-Mudad,” Neil said, lifting his knee to support the tote from the underside.

“Hello,” El-Mudad said with a laugh, taking the burden from Neil. “I would shake your hand, but I think I should save Neil from a hernia.”

“This is my grandmother,” I said to finish the introduction.

I needn’t have worried about what my grandmother would think of El-Mudad. He won tons of points just by having an accent. Her eyes lit up, and she asked, “Where are you from?”

“Bahrain. By way of France.” El-Mudad had absolutely no trouble with the weight of the tote, and Neil looked down at the mineral water in his glass, ego wounded.

I predicted an overhauled workout routine when we returned home.

“Bahrain, that’s in the Middle East, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Yes, it is,” El-Mudad said, smoothly changing the subject before it went any further. “Shall I put these presents with the others?”

“Oh, I can take them out myself, if you can carry them over there,” she said, following him toward the tree. I overheard her say, “You know, my son was in Iraq. Not this last time, but Desert Storm.”

Neil heard it, too, and he sighed in discomfort.

“Don’t worry, she’ll ask him about the weather next.” At least, I was pretty sure she would.

“All I’m hearing in my head tonight is ‘please don’t bring up nine-eleven, please don’t bring up nine-eleven.’” Neil grimaced and took a swallow of his drink. Then, as if guided by some grandchild-seeking missile guidance system, his head jerked to face the doors.

“Afi!” Olivia shrieked, her little white patent-leather Mary Janes clomping across the floor.

Neil crouched down, his arms open wide. Valerie had dressed her in the most adorable dress I’d ever seen in person—it had a freaking pinafore!—beneath what I knew would be a faux-fox coat. Emma would have drawn the line at even fake fur, but she would have objected in the extreme to her daughter wearing real dead animal.