The first reason I don’t want to go is my heart; the second is Lauren. After everything she’s done for me, leaving her alone at Christmas feels downright cruel. And honestly, if I’m being real with myself, I’d much rather spend the holiday with her than with my entire family. That realization hits me like a punch to the chest.I want to spend time with Lauren.Fuck, I’m worse off than I thought. Christmas is just days away, and all my communication with Lauren has been through cold, professional emails—like she’s an actual secretary. And I hate it. I need more than this distant, business-like formality. I need closeness.
“Don’t worry, I’ll go,” I say into the phone, grinning to myself. “But I might bring someone along.”
Luca’s laugh echoes through the line, and I can’t help but smile mischievously.
New York in the winter is a special kind of unbearable. That’s why I’m wrapped in a knee-length black coat, leather gloves, a scarf, and, yes, even a beret. But despite all that, I can still feel the cold seepinginto my bones as I walk through the drafty hallways of Lauren’s building. In my hand, I carry a peace offering—and a proposal I hope she won’t turn down. I knock on her door, my heart pounding, watching the shadow shift under it. She’s probably peeking through the peephole, so I cover it with my hand. No way I’m letting her pretend she’s not here. If she pulls that move, my plan falls apart. Well, that’s not entirely true—I’d kick the damn door down if I had to.
Lauren’s going to be the perfect distraction. My family won’t know what hit them when I show up with her, and they’ll be so surprised that any questions about my business or my health will vanish into thin air.
A stress-free Christmas, thanks to Lauren.
Simple and perfect.
“Who’s there?” she asks cautiously from the other side.
“It’s me,” I say, adjusting the gift under my arm.
“Me who?” she responds, playing along, and I can’t help but roll my eyes before remembering it’sLauren.
“Your boss,” I say with a hint of bitterness. I’m still not entirely over our last conversation.
The door creaks open slowly, and there she is—Lauren, in a ridiculous but oddly charming winter pajama set covered in tiny Christmas trees. She’s wearing a pom-pom hat and gloves, clearly feeling the cold in this drafty building. She looks festive, cozy, and utterly unprepared for me standing here.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, blinking up at me.
“Can I come in?” I ask, trying to keep my tone casual, though I can tell she’s suspicious.
Her gaze flickers between the gift under my arm and my face before she finally sighs and steps aside, nodding as she opens the door wider. Christmas carols play softly in the background, the smell of freshly brewed coffee fills the air, and there’s a small tree with lights on her desk. The sense of home is palpable and inviting. This shoebox of an apartment is far more pleasant than my penthouse now that I think about it.
“What happened to your heating?” I ask, already feeling the cold seep into my bones.
“It’s broken,” she says with a sigh. “They can’t fix it until next week.” Before I can comment on the temperature, she adds, “How are you?”
Honest answer:Bad. My place feels empty without you. The sunrises are just meaningless streaks of color, and I miss falling asleep next to you.
But what comes out is, “I’m good, actually. I’m heading to the Hamptons to my parents’ house, but I wanted to give you this first ... ” I hand her the gift, hoping it hits the mark. “I hope you like it.”
Lauren smiles—a smile just for me. She grabs the box and rushes to the couch, practically beaming like a kid on Christmas morning. It’s infectious, watching her like that. I wonder what her Christmases were like as a child. Did she get what she wanted, or did she have to pretend to like things she didn’t? When did she find out Santa wasn’t real, and how did she handle it?
She opens the box, inspecting it closely.
“Cristiano released a new Christmas collection, with organic, one hundred percent cotton clothing. It’s eco-friendly and soft, just the way you like it.” I cross my arms, trying to calm the anxiety bubbling in my chest and lean against the wall, watching her as she runs her fingers over the fabric.
It’s a black dress, but it’s apparentlythedress of the season. Still, I know what matters to her—the fact that it didn’t harm the environment and that it’s soft enough to feel like a hug.
“It’s beautiful,” she says, her expression hard to read but sincere. “Thank you.”
“Merry Christmas, Lauren,” I whisper, suddenly finding the floor very interesting.
She stands up, walks over to me, and without warning, rises onto her toes to plant a quick kiss on my cheek. “Merry Christmas, Silas.”
Her proximity does the same thing it’s always done to me. As a kid, it felt like suffocating, but now I realize it awakens something deeper—a need to touch her, hold her, feel like we’re one. It’s overwhelming, like I’m running out of air just standing this close. I lookinto her green eyes, seeing the same vulnerability and confusion I’m feeling. I know why. She feels the spark between us, too.
“And I have something for you, too,” she says with a smile.
Tell me it’s you. Tell me it’s you.
An image of Lauren wearing nothing but a bow flashes through my mind, and I swallow hard, forcing myself to focus. “Oh, really?”
