Prologue
Boston
Past
I try to focus on the lyrics ofAll I Want for Christmas Is Youplaying in the background, but my treacherous eyes keep drifting back to the man who came with Ethan.
“Amos Cooper-Hayes,”my brother said when introducing him. And as always happens when I’m around strangers, I couldn’t hold his gaze for long.
Well, not exactly a stranger—Ethan’s known him since they were teenagers. They went to school together, apparently. But it’s the first time he’s ever been here.
I sneak another glance at him.
Jesus, he’s hot. Dressed all in black, messy hair, and a face that could easily belong to a model—sharp jawline, straightnose, and golden skin that would make even beach-town residents jealous.
Despite the whole package being enough to make any red-blooded girl go weak in the knees, it’s his eyes that strike me the most—they’re yellow, like a cat’s.
There’s something hypnotic about them.
Not just the unusual color, but the coldness in them.
There’s no warmth in that man.
I’ve been watching him like an addict all night. He stays away from the other guests, just like I do, so I guess we have that antisocial streak in common.
How old is he, anyway? Probably around Ethan’s age—ten years older than me.
Every time he catches me staring, he looks right back. But he doesn’t smile. And that makes my cheeks burn with embarrassment because it feels like he can read exactly what I’m thinking.
A strange kind of heat has been building in my body ever since he walked into my mother’s Christmas party. I’ve got butterflies dancing in my stomach.
It’s not like I’ve never been around good-looking men before. I don’t go to a convent school anymore. I’ve been meeting guys since I started studying fashion in Paris a few months ago, and I’m not awannabe nun, no matter what Martina says just to tease me.
I sigh, wondering when this party will finally end. It’s been a long time since I visited my mom, but even though I just got here a few days ago, I already want to leave. I’m tired of fake smiles and repeating the same things over and over.
Yes, I study fashion in Paris.
Yes, I love the city.
Yes, I’m thrilled to be living near the Eiffel Tower.
I doubt anyone here actually wants to talk to me. They’re just being polite because I’m the hostess’s daughter.
I scan the room—and Amos is gone.
He hasn’t left yet, that’s for sure, because Ethan is chatting with some brunette, and they arrived in the same car.
I doubt he went outside, either, because it’s snowing like crazy.
I should stay put . . . but curiosity gets the better of me, and I start walking down the hallway on the first floor to see if I can find him.
I hear voices coming from the library and head that way but stop at the partially open door when I realize Amos and my mother are inside—alone.
Nora says something softly, leaning toward him, which is weird because when he first arrived, she called Ethan’s friend “a savage in expensive clothes” because of his unkempt hair.
I beg to differ. Amos is the most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on—and there’s somethingmore.
Some kind of magnetism that pulls me toward him, no matter how much I tell myself it’s rude to stare.
