“You only say that because you can’t recognize the subtleties. And then, what did I do, anyway? I ordered a pizza. Big deal. It’s not like I forced her to eat fried chicken, so why should I eat tofu?”

“Can’t you see your sister is just jealous of you?”

“Jealous? Why would she be jealous?”

“Because she spent hours cooking and nobody liked her dinner, whereas everyone came to you to get contraband pizza.”

“That’s ridiculous. And even if it were true, that doesn’t justify her calling me fat and old. She’s so petty.”

“I don’t remember Julia calling you fat or old.”

“But she did, in female code language.”

“You girls have a secret language?”

“All gals do; it’s Bitchenglish. Most of the time, when a woman tells another woman, ‘Your new haircut looks lovely,’ what she really means is, ‘Gosh, who is your hair stylist? Better make sure I never go to that butcher.’”

“And how do you recognize when someone is talking to you in Bitchenglish?”

“Instinct, and years of faring in the lipstick jungle.”

Diego drops his hands on my shoulders to steady me before I dig a trench in the floor with my pacing. “Relax,” he says, pinning me in place with those wonderful eyes of his. “You need to get out of the house.”

“Yeah, you’re right, we should go out,” I agree, trying to ignore the warmth spreading from my shoulders downward. “Where do you want to go? Yesterday was pretty much the whole tour. There’s not much else to do here in winter. I guess we could go to the brewery and get drunk.”

“At ten in the morning?”

“It’s Christmas Eve, I’m sure getting wasted is socially accepted, regardless of the hour. How else would people cope?”

“I was thinking of a more wholesome Christmas tradition…”

“Like what?” I ask suspiciously.

“Want to build a snowman?”

“What?” I step back, shrugging free of his hands. “You know I hate all things Christmas, not to mention it’s freezing out there.”

“Cover up, then.” He smiles encouragingly. “Come on, I always make snowmen with my brothers when I’m home. It’s a tradition.”

I notice a hint of sadness in his voice. “Are you sorry you can’t spend the holidays with your family?”

He shrugs. “A little, but I told them it was work. They understand. And I promised to go visit as soon as I can.”

“Okay.”

“To the snowman?” Diego asks hopefully.

“No.”

“Come on, I promise the fresh air and hard work will make you feel much better afterward. Plus, what else would you do all morning?”

“I brought a book; I can stay in bed reading with Mr. Darcy. Better use of my time than freezing my ass off in the snow to build a stupid puppet.”

“Right, especially if you want everyone to think you’re hiding up here.”