My father's eyes turn to slits. He disapprovingly states, "This is your wife's first Christmas with you, and you don't know what you're getting her?"

"I'll figure it out," I claim.

He shakes his head and says, "Son, you've got a lot to learn."

I ignore him and pretend I don't care.

But I do. As much as I don't want to, I now care about what I'm getting the woman I plan on marrying in less than a week and divorcing shortly after Christmas.

How did I get this so fucked-up?

Christmas gifts were never hard before this year. Anyone I dated always made it clear what they expected. All I had to do was tell my assistant to get it, and it would appear on my desk already wrapped.

Why didn't I think about this before I left Dallas?

I sort through all the expensive gifts I've gotten my girlfriends in the past. Brand-name perfume, hard-to-get jewelry, luxurious trips, designer purses, clothes, and shoes all fill my mind.

Nothing is good enough for Georgia. I continue to rack my brain, growing antsier and antsier, wondering what she'd appreciate.

Why do I even care?

It's just for show for my family.

This really isn't a big deal.

Yet the nagging voice in my head tells me that it is and I shouldn't mess this up. Plus, I've never done anything half-assed, so the last thing I want to do is disappoint her on Christmas, especially after her reaction to the ring.

I wince inside, still having a difficult time believing I got it so wrong. She tried to hide it, but I could see she despised the ring I chose.

It burns me that she hates it. Not because I love the ring, but because I didn't put the effort in to pick the right one. I went into the jeweler and pointed to the biggest one in the case, figuring she was just like my other fiancées.

She's not them.

It's only until January 2nd. She can do whatever she wants with the ring afterward.

Hell, it's worth a lot of money. She'll be happy I gave it to her when she goes and sells it.

Even that statement feels off. The more I get to know Georgia, especially after our conversation with my sisters and mom this morning, the more I get the impression she isn't all about money.

Then why did she negotiate a million dollars?

She wanted three!

The longer the debate about Georgia goes on in my head, the more confused I become.

"Timber!" the boys yell, tearing me out of my thoughts.

The pine drops to the ground on the tarp, which isn't surprising since Alexander is a pro at cutting down trees. Still, we all cheer.