He laughs. “The sleighs are deadly serious, and real. They’re taking people on tours of the grounds, if you want to go.” Before I can answer, he looks over my head. “Daphne.”

She’s comes through the crowd the next instant, eyes twinkling, cheeks pink. “He’s not here, Leo. You have to let go of this obsession.”

Daphne’s talking about her collector. She’s an artist, and from what I understand, this man saw one of her paintings in a gallery one day and fell head over heels with the art. And maybe Daphne herself. Leo was not thrilled to find out that he’d broken into her apartment to leave a gift for her. He hated it so much that he had her moved into his house that day, and she’s living with us there now.

Leo narrows his eyes. “Is he not?”

Daphne narrows her eyes back. “No. Obviously. I’m not going to bring him to any party where you are.”

“You’re blushing like you have him hidden in one of the bedrooms.”

“Leo. When are you going to take me seriously? I’m an adult. You can’t protect me from everything.”

“I can protect you from men who break into your apartment.” He sighs. “I wasn’t going to ask you about your collector. You’re the one who started talking about him.”

“Then what?” Daphne teases. “You want to talk about the mural in my bedroom?”

Daphne is painting one of the walls in the guest suite where she’s staying in Leo’s house. She bothers him about it every day, and every day, Leo insists that she should do whatever she wants and stop asking him.

Daphne screws up her lips into a thoughtful pout. “A forest scene would make more sense in your house. I want it to make sense.”

“Jesus Christ, Daphne.”

“I want you to care, Leo. This is what matters to me. Care about this, and not about the collector.”

“You keep talking about him like he’s in the next room.”

“He might be.” She shrugs. “I don’t keep tabs on him.”

Leo throws a long-suffering gaze at the ceiling, then looks back down at his sister. Once upon a time she told me that he is her favorite brother. I think she’s only half-teasing about the painting. She really does want him to weigh in.

“It is Christmas Eve, Daphne,” he says. “I care deeply about your mural. I want it to be whatever makes sense in my house, as long as that’s what you want it to be. And I want you to stay away from strange men who sneak into your apartment. Okay? It’s all I want for the holiday.”

She laughs. “I’m doing the ocean, then.”

“Good. I love the ocean. It’s fucking perfect. Do the best ocean you’ve ever painted and I’ll keep it on the wall forever.”