“Where are we going, then?” “To see Santa.” “What?” “Do you trust me?” “Yeah, of course, but—” “’Kay, then stop talkin’, get ready, and meet me in the lobby. I’ll check you out of your room.” He plants a last, chaste kiss on my lips and strolls away, whistling “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” “But my suitcases—” “They’re at the front desk,” he hollers over his shoulder, adding in a booming voice, “but I told you already, Barbie, you’re not gonna be wearin’ any clothes for a few days.” My cheeks burn as I seek out the housekeeper, hovering by her cart with her head down, pretending she didn’t
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