The Boyfriend (The Boss 7)

“One hundred!,” I said, lifting my finger toward my mouth. “That’s awesome!”

“Hey, hey.” El-Mudad intercepted my hand before I could put it to my lips. He wrapped the alcohol wipe around the teeny wound. “There are germs in your mouth.”

“You never complain,” shot out before I realized I was saying it. And saying it in front of the housekeeper. “That was a joke, Joan.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she said easily. “Do you need a plaster?”

“No, it’s slowing down. Thank you so much, by the way. You really don’t have to help with this. I can hire a nurse,” I told her for the thirtieth time.

“It’s no trouble at all,” she assured me, yet again. “Would you like anything else?”

I jerked my hand away from El-Mudad. The alcohol had finally gotten around to stinging. I dropped the wipe on the tray. “No, thank you. I think we’ll just get some food.”

She nodded and walked away, and I glance up at El-Mudad’s half-suppressed smile. “What?”

“You don’t need to panic. She already knows the three of us are fucking,” he whispered, and all the blood drained from my face.

“Okay, yeah, she knows, but you don’t have to say that.” I gave him a jab with my elbow. “Nobody else needs to overhear.”

“They won’t,” he promised. “And domestic staff keep secrets for their employers, no matter how many tell-all books get published about the royals.”

“We’re not as important as they are.” Thank god. “Oh, but we did get invited to the wedding!”

“I didn’t go,” El-Mudad said with a shrug. “Weddings are so long and exhausting. I sent them a very nice gift, though.”

I wondered if we’d sent a gift. Oh my gosh, if I’d committed a faux pas with the most important duchess...

This is my life. I can’t believe this is my life.

After dinner—and after El-Mudad had assured my grandmother that her potato salad was the best he’d ever eaten—everyone migrated back into the ballroom for presents. There were only a few gifts under the tree for Olivia, Amal, and Rashida; we planned to have a Christmas morning breakfast, just the six of us, and give the girls the bulk of their gifts, then. I’d been so overwhelmed by the idea of shopping for all of my family that I’d hired someone from a promotional company that routinely assembled goodie bags for major awards shows, given them a budget, and let them go wild. Everyone was walking out with iPads and fancy sausages, and god alone knew what else. But I’d bought one person a much more personal gift.

“Happy Christmas, Grandma,” I said, coming to sit beside her in one of the chairs that lined the room. I handed her a small box and an envelope. “Open the box first.”

She stuck the card under her arm and deftly untied the silk ribbon around the present. She caught the sprig of holly that had been tied up in it. “Is that real, do you think, or should I keep it?”

“I think it’s real.” I picked it up to smell it. “Yeah, it’s all...plant-smelly.”

“I wonder if you could dry them.” She slid her fingernail under the green lid and lifted it off. Inside, on a bed of black velvet, rested a rosary with beads of Connemara marble.

“The stone comes from Ireland,” I informed her. She had always been so proud of our supposed Irish ancestry, though my Aunt Marie’s Ancestry.com test had pretty thoroughly disproven it.

“Oh, isn’t that beautiful,” she said, touching the beads reverently. “You know, I’ve always wanted to go to Ireland?”

I did know. “Open the card.”

There was no fancy seal on the envelope. I hadn’t even licked it to close it but folded the flap inside. This was too important to have handed it over to someone else. She pulled the card free and opened it. I watched her face eagerly as she read the words inside.

She held her hand to her heart, her eyes lighting up. But then she forced her growing smile away. “Oh, no, Sophie, I couldn’t. This is too much.”

“Grandma. Look around. This is my house.” I waved an arm to indicate the towering tree and frescoed ceiling. “Believe me. I can afford this.”

“Afford what?” My Great Aunt Deb asked, looking up from her goodie bag.

“Sophie and Neil are sending me on a trip to Ireland!” Grandma opened the card and turned it to face Deb like it was a picture book.

“Oh jeez. Becky, did you see this?” Deb called to Mom.

Mom looked up. “Oh, Ireland. Yeah. Ma, I’m going with you, so you don’t have to worry about getting around alone.”

“Take as many people as you want,” I blurted. Then again, maybe Neil didn’t want me to spend several million dollars sending my family on a single vacation. “Or, you know. Just the two of you. Either way. We’re going to send you on our jet, put you up in some amazing castles—“