We pass a stall selling hand-carved ornaments, another with knitted scarves and mittens in every color imaginable.A man demonstrates how to make wreaths from fresh pine boughs, his hands moving quickly.Children run between stalls, their laughter bright against the backdrop of holiday music.
Alexander’s arm is still around my waist, and I feel him start to relax.His shoulders drop, the tension bleeding out of him as we weave through the crowd.His thumb traces absent circles on my hip through the sweater, and I’m acutely aware of every point where our bodies touch.
“This is nice,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear.
I lean into him.“Told you it would be.”
We stop at a food stall; Antonio’s Pizza has set up a booth selling hot slices and garlic knots.The smell alone makes my mouth water.
“Two slices of pepperoni,” I order, then glance up at Alexander.“You want anything?”
“Same,” he says, already pulling out his wallet.I try to protest, but he gives me a look that says arguing is pointless so I let it go.We find a spot near one of the braziers, the heat from the flames cutting through the December chill.
The pizza is perfect—crispy crust, tangy sauce, cheese that stretches when I bite into it.I make an embarrassing sound of satisfaction, and Alexander’s eyes darken slightly as he watches me.
“Stop looking at me like that,” I mumble around my mouthful.
“Like what?”
“Like you want to eat me instead of the pizza.”
His smile turns wicked.“Maybe I do.”
My cheeks burn, and I focus intently on my food.My family is just a few feet away, completely oblivious to the way Alexander’s looking at me.Dad’s talking to someone about the race, Mom’s taking more pictures of the decorations, and Sophie’s already wandered off to find her friends.
“Day after tomorrow,” I say, desperate to change the subject, “they’re opening the ice-skating rink.We should go in the evening.”
“I’m not good at skating.”
I blink at him.“What?”
“Ice-skating.”He looks uncomfortable admitting it.“I never learned.”
The image of Alexander Castellano, CEO, billionaire, master of every boardroom he enters, wobbling on ice skates makes me smile.“I’ll teach you.”
“Olivia—”
“Come on.”I nudge him with my shoulder.“It’ll be fun.You said you wanted to learn Christmas traditions, right?Ice-skating at the town rink is tradition.”
He studies me for a long moment, something sly flickering in his gray eyes.“Alright.But if I fall and break something, you’ll have to play nurse with me.”
I grin.“It’s okay.I’ll tie a cushion to your tushy so you don’t hurt yourself.”
His eyebrow arches.“Tushy?”
“Very cute tushy,” I say, my grin widening.
“I’m a grown man.Don’t call my ass a tushy.”His brows knit together.
I make a show of glancing at his backside, then meet his eyes again.“Sorry.It’s a tushy, alright.”
His hand finds the small of my back, pulling me close enough that his breath brushes my ear.“If you don’t stop, I’ll make sure you can’t sit because of my handprint on yours.”
My eyes widen, and I hiss, “You wouldn’t.”
“Keep talking, and you’ll find out.”
He wouldn’t really do that.Would he?And do I want to test him?Once he has his hands on me, I can’t seem to tell him no.I shut up immediately, focusing very intently on my pizza.He just chuckles.
