She chuckles, the soft sound connecting to my romantic side, the one I always do my best to suffocate. But Sophia has a way of bypassing all my defenses. I’m in too deep. And I don’t know how to pull myself out.
17
SOPHIA
The week leading up to Christmas turns out to be a whirlwind—a delicious, chaotic whirlwind that leaves me breathless and more confused than ever. Ray and I steal moments wherever we can, sneaking around like teenagers; our chemistry crackling with an intensity that borders on reckless. Every kiss, every touch, every heated encounter leaves me craving more, even as I know I should be pulling back. It’s like he’s carved a space in my life that I never meant to give, and now I can’t imagine how I’ll fill it when I leave tomorrow.
Late one night, I find myself pressed against the cold metal of his truck, hidden in the shadows of his garage. Ray’s hands are firm yet gentle as he tucks a stray lock of my hair behind my ear, his breath warm against my skin in the freezing night air. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” I whisper, but my hands betray me, gripping the front of his jacket as though he’s the only thing keeping me upright. His smirk is dangerous, his voice a low rumble. “Tell me to stop, Sophia, and I will.” When I don’t, he covers my lips with his, kissing me as he lifts the hem of the wool skirt I’m wearing. I wrap my legs around his narrow waist and we lose ourselves in one another, oblivious to the risk of being caught. The rest of the world ceases to exist when we’re in one another’s arms.
Another stolen moment comes in the middle of the crowded Christmas market, where the scent of cinnamon and roasted chestnuts fills the air. Ray lingers beside me as I pick out gifts, his hand brushing mine in a way that feels anything but accidental. When no one’s looking, he pulls me into a secluded alleyway between two stalls. The laughter and chatter of families fade into the background as his lips find mine, and for a moment, there’s no past, no future—just us.
Then there’s the time he shows up unannounced at my parents’ house under the guise of returning something I supposedly left at his place—a flimsy excuse at best. My mother barely bats an eye as he steps inside, but the way he brushes his hand against my back, low enough to send a jolt of heat up my spine, doesn’t go unnoticed. Later, when I open the “forgotten” item—a book I haven’t touched in years—a note flutters out:Can’t stop thinking about you.
Each encounter only deepens the ache in my chest, a mix of longing and dread. The boundaries between what’s right and what I want blur with every glance, every stolen kiss. It’s reckless and impossible—but for now, it’s ours. And I’m enjoying every second of it.
Christmas morning dawns soft and quiet. Snow blankets the ground outside my parents’ house, turning the world into a postcard-perfect winter wonderland. I wake to the sound of laughter echoing up from the living room, my family already bustling with holiday cheer. But my thoughts aren’t on the presents under the tree or the smell of French toast wafting from the kitchen. All my thoughts are on Ray.
I pull myself out of bed, wrapping a robe around me as I pad to the window. The view of the sun painting the snowy peaks in shades of rose is breathtaking. But I can’t focus on any of that. All I see is him—his crooked smirk, the way his blue eyes darken when he looks at me, the warmth of his arms when he pulls me close. My chest tightens, and I press a hand to the glass, the cold biting at my palm.
This isn’t how it’s supposed to feel. It’s too much, too fast, and yet it’s the most natural thing in the world. And that terrifies me because I’m going back to my real life tomorrow. Although San Francisco is only three hundred miles away, it might well be in another galaxy. My world and Ray’s couldn’t be more different, more in opposition. My name might not be in the marquee but I live in the limelight, in a way. Ray’s position in his mafia organization requires anonymity and stealth, especially after his wife was killed in front of his son and he’s seeking revenge.
With a vigorous shake of my head, I go into the bathroom to shower and get ready to join my parents, Ben, Cassy and Mark. The newlyweds just returned home from their brief honeymoon in New York to spend Christmas with us.
The day passes in a blur of family traditions—opening gifts by the roaring fireplace, helping my mom prepare lunch, laughing at my dad’s terrible jokes. It’s the kind of Christmas I’ve missed for years, the kind that makes my heart ache with both joy and regret.
But even as I soak it all in, part of me is somewhere else. Every time my phone buzzes, my pulse quickens, only to deflate when it’s not Ray. By the time lunch is over, I’m a ball of nerves, my emotions tangled in a way I can’t seem to unravel.
The doorbell rings, sharp and unexpected, cutting through the lazy post-lunch haze. I glance up from the couch where I’ve been sitting with Cassidy and chatting about the week she spent with Mark in New York.
Cassy raises an eyebrow at me. “Expecting someone?” she teases, her tone light but curious. “I know him?”
I dismiss her innuendo with a wave of my hand, but my heart is suddenly pounding. Mom appears in the doorway, her expression unreadable as she looks at me. “Sophia,” she says, her voice softer than usual. “There’s someone here to see you.”
I stand, my legs feeling unsteady as I make my way to the door. Every step feels heavier than the last, my breath catching as I round the corner. And then I see him.
Ray.
He’s standing in the entryway, the soft glow of the Christmas lights casting shadows over his sharp features. His hair is tousled, like he’s been running his hands through it, and he’s holding a small, neatly wrapped box. His eyes find mine, those deep blue pools locking onto me with an intensity that makes my knees weak.
“Merry Christmas,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough.
I can’t move, can’t speak. All I can do is stare at him, my heart racing, my ears buzzing. He steps closer, holding the box out to me, and I take it with trembling hands. The silver and gold paper is smooth under my fingers, the red ribbon tied in a perfect bow.
“Open it,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.
I nod, my fingers fumbling with the ribbon as I carefully peel back the paper. Inside is a small frame, and when I turn it over, my breath catches in my throat. It’s a photo of me and Ray, as kids, sitting on the swings at the park. I’m grinning, my hair wild and messy, while he looks at the camera with that same quiet intensity he has now. It’s different from the one I have in my room, but just as precious.
“I found it a couple of days ago,” he says, his voice breaking the silence. “Thought you might like it.”
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes as I look up at him, the weight of the moment crashing over me. “Ray,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “I don’t... I don’t know what to say.”
His gaze softens, and he steps closer until I feel the heat radiating from him. “You don’t have to say anything,” he murmurs. “But I need to say this.”
I nod, unable to tear my eyes away from his.
“I’ve no right to ask you to give me a chance,” he begins, his voice low and rough with emotion.
My heart stutters so hard I press a hand to the base of my throat.
