PLAYBOY PRINCESS (gxg) ✓

EXTRA

             COLOURFUL CHRISTMAS LIGHT BULBS flickered and glowed through the glass of the front windows. The porch had been decorated entirely in lights—winding around the balcony, threaded above the roof, spiraling past the steps. They illuminated the entire front yard in flickering neon colour.

Tasha held her breath. Waiting.

Beside her, Gloria hovered so close to the glass her breath made a faint, foggy cloud. She exchanged a grin with Tasha. The tension between them tightened, pulled taut.

On the porch, Rory had propped up a ladder against the roof. It teetered dangerously as she climbed up, unscrewing a neon red light bulb. Her face awash in glimmering colour, she winked in the direction of Tasha and Gloria's hiding spot. Tasha gave her a thumbs-up.

You got this, she mouthed, but Rory wasn't even paying attention anymore.

The plan had officially been set in motion.

From behind the couch, hidden in a swath of curtains, only their eyes peeking out through the window, Gloria squeezed Tasha's hand. Tasha's heart pounded, roaring so loud she could barely hear it as Rory shouted, "Paris!"

The urgency in Rory's voice must have worried Paris, because Tasha heard her hurry from the kitchen to the front door. The coat hanger fell over, clattering to the ground. Paris slipped into snow boots—not bothering with a jacket, even though it must have been freezing—and closed the door behind her.

Now, Tasha watched through the window as Paris came into view.

"What's wrong, baby?"

Rory, on top of the ladder, grinned. Paris hugged her arms to herself, already shivering.

"Can you pass me that light bulb?" It was the red one Rory had unscrewed just minutes ago.

"Is that all?" Paris bent down. "I thought something was actually wrong, you moron."

"No, everything's alright. Really alright."

A snicker escaped Tasha. Gloria's lips twitched. Really alright? thought Tasha. So much for being a playboy princess.

"If you say so." Paris reached up to pass Rory the lightbulb, and something must have caught her attention—she froze, withdrawing for a second. "Hey, something's rattling inside this thing. Is that supposed to happen?"

"No, what is it?"

"Well, it looks like—" Paris stopped. Then glanced up at Rory, who was grinning like an arsonist with a match and an unlimited supply of gasoline. "It looks like—"

"Like what?" said Rory, suddenly the portrait of innocence.

"A—"

She probably would have finished saying a ring, which had been Tasha's idea, but the ladder fell and Rory crashed to the ground.

Tasha clapped her hands over her mouth. Her breath fogged the window.

"Do we interrupt?" Gloria whispered frantically.

"No," said Tasha, holding Gloria back. "Not yet."

Paris had caught Rory's fall. Both of them were lying on the porch, the red light bulb shattered beside them. Rory, on top of Paris, braced her hands on either side of Paris's face.

"Did you hit your head?" Rory murmured, and it somehow sounded seductive. "Any injuries?"

"No, but are you hurt? How's your leg? I should check to make sure your dislocation—"