The Billionaire’s Christmas Vows: A Jet City Billionaire Christmas Romance by Gina Robinson Page B
Authors: Gina Robinson
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out my advent charm bracelet bead of the day instead of his phone. Which, of course, would be another Nutcracker bead. Explaining his excitement and why he wanted me to vote for this particular display. He was so undeniably adorable and romantic. This was threatening to be the best bead presentation yet.
But I was losing ground and getting nervous I was going to blow my opportunity. I had to get my surprise in before we moved away from wonderland entry. Or we got another unexpected interruption.
We spoke at the same time.
"I've been trying to find the perfect way to give you this." Puzzlingly, he pulled neither his phone nor a small jewelry box out. Instead, he pulled an envelope from his pocket with a flourish and held it out to me. "I had to pull all kinds of strings—"
I pulled the marriage proposal card from my purse and looked deep into his eyes as I went up on my toes and whispered in his ear. "I have something for you, too."
I took the envelope from him. He took the card from me.
"You first!" we said in unison again. "No, you!"
"Jinx!" I finally said.
"All right, clearly, great minds think alike. We'll open them together." His gaze held mine. "Agreed?"
I nodded. "Agreed."
The envelope he'd handed me was unsealed and looked like a ticket sleeve. I opened the flap and pulled out eight tickets to The Nutcracker . Box seats. And a note in Justin's neat engineering printing. A new tradition for the whole family. Both sides are going. Your parents. My parents and brothers. You and me.
I stopped reading and gave a girly squeal. "Jus!"
Jus had opened the handmade card I'd given him and was staring at it with a shocked, still expression.
I held my breath. I'd taken great pains with the calligraphy and the wording. I'd spent an inordinate amount of time stamping, cutting out shapes, and applying appliques, embossing, and even glitter, using every card-making technique I knew. I'd used my design skills and premium, high-quality cardstock, sparing no expense. I'd even judiciously applied gold and silver foil to make a Christmas wedding announcement/marriage proposal card. And though the calligraphy wasn't as pretty as a professional's, it got my point across.
I watched his face as he silently read the words I'd penned.
Kayla Marie Lucas Green invites you, Justin Arnold Green, love of her life, fake husband, father-to-be of her child, and lover, to really marry her, in a legitimate, legal ceremony, sanctioned by the State of New York, complete with a genuine, authentic, and legally binding second marriage license on December 24that 1 p.m. in New York State. We won't be married by a snowman. But the preacher's name is Brown.
This was where I had planned to whisper in his ear, Will you really marry me, Jus?
Instead, I was staring at the date on The Nutcracker tickets. And the rest of his note. It will be a Christmas Eve to remember.
It certainly would.
Before either of us could speak—it was safe to say we were both speechless with surprise—a camera flashed, immortalizing the moment and our stunned expressions. My sometimes ally, sometimes nemesis, local daytime TV personality and talk show host Sunshine Sheri, appeared with a camera crew in tow.
I'd been so absorbed in this beautiful, bittersweet fiasco of a moment, I hadn't noticed her come in.
Who invited her ? I thought. And what was she doing, lurking behind a potted palm, waiting to pounce on us?
Before we could turn and run, her eyes lit with a predatory glint. She smiled an evil, slow smile of satisfaction. The ball on her red Santa hat bounced. Of course she was wearing a Santa hat! Her heels clicked on the polished granite floor, the sound of my beautiful marriage proposal being interrupted and ruined. And I swore her crew had moved into position to block all the exits.
She hurried toward us with a cheery wave, parting the crowd waiting to get into the holiday gingerbread village as easily as Mrs. Claus herself. A whisper of excitement rippled
But I was losing ground and getting nervous I was going to blow my opportunity. I had to get my surprise in before we moved away from wonderland entry. Or we got another unexpected interruption.
We spoke at the same time.
"I've been trying to find the perfect way to give you this." Puzzlingly, he pulled neither his phone nor a small jewelry box out. Instead, he pulled an envelope from his pocket with a flourish and held it out to me. "I had to pull all kinds of strings—"
I pulled the marriage proposal card from my purse and looked deep into his eyes as I went up on my toes and whispered in his ear. "I have something for you, too."
I took the envelope from him. He took the card from me.
"You first!" we said in unison again. "No, you!"
"Jinx!" I finally said.
"All right, clearly, great minds think alike. We'll open them together." His gaze held mine. "Agreed?"
I nodded. "Agreed."
The envelope he'd handed me was unsealed and looked like a ticket sleeve. I opened the flap and pulled out eight tickets to The Nutcracker . Box seats. And a note in Justin's neat engineering printing. A new tradition for the whole family. Both sides are going. Your parents. My parents and brothers. You and me.
I stopped reading and gave a girly squeal. "Jus!"
Jus had opened the handmade card I'd given him and was staring at it with a shocked, still expression.
I held my breath. I'd taken great pains with the calligraphy and the wording. I'd spent an inordinate amount of time stamping, cutting out shapes, and applying appliques, embossing, and even glitter, using every card-making technique I knew. I'd used my design skills and premium, high-quality cardstock, sparing no expense. I'd even judiciously applied gold and silver foil to make a Christmas wedding announcement/marriage proposal card. And though the calligraphy wasn't as pretty as a professional's, it got my point across.
I watched his face as he silently read the words I'd penned.
Kayla Marie Lucas Green invites you, Justin Arnold Green, love of her life, fake husband, father-to-be of her child, and lover, to really marry her, in a legitimate, legal ceremony, sanctioned by the State of New York, complete with a genuine, authentic, and legally binding second marriage license on December 24that 1 p.m. in New York State. We won't be married by a snowman. But the preacher's name is Brown.
This was where I had planned to whisper in his ear, Will you really marry me, Jus?
Instead, I was staring at the date on The Nutcracker tickets. And the rest of his note. It will be a Christmas Eve to remember.
It certainly would.
Before either of us could speak—it was safe to say we were both speechless with surprise—a camera flashed, immortalizing the moment and our stunned expressions. My sometimes ally, sometimes nemesis, local daytime TV personality and talk show host Sunshine Sheri, appeared with a camera crew in tow.
I'd been so absorbed in this beautiful, bittersweet fiasco of a moment, I hadn't noticed her come in.
Who invited her ? I thought. And what was she doing, lurking behind a potted palm, waiting to pounce on us?
Before we could turn and run, her eyes lit with a predatory glint. She smiled an evil, slow smile of satisfaction. The ball on her red Santa hat bounced. Of course she was wearing a Santa hat! Her heels clicked on the polished granite floor, the sound of my beautiful marriage proposal being interrupted and ruined. And I swore her crew had moved into position to block all the exits.
She hurried toward us with a cheery wave, parting the crowd waiting to get into the holiday gingerbread village as easily as Mrs. Claus herself. A whisper of excitement rippled
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