“Damn,” Andrew muses, feigning disappointment. “So, you mean to tell us you just fell into his arms?”
My grip on Olivia’s waist tightens fractionally. “It’s where she belongs,” I reply curtly.
Russell chuckles and shakes his head. “Relax, Nate. We’re just admiring your good taste.”
“Admire from a distance.”
Russell and Andrew exchange knowing grins but, thankfully, relent, redirecting the conversation elsewhere. Still, my muscles remain taut beneath Olivia’s touch.
She must notice, because she leans into me, her hand resting against my arm, soothing me.
I exhale slowly.
Fine.I’ll allow them their amusement—for now.
With the initial mingling done, the family moves into the grand dining room.
The space is breathtaking—a sweep of polished mahogany and candlelight, winter roses spilling from silver vases, thechandelier throwing gold across crystal and glass. Every detail gleams, a study in perfection.
The meal, as expected, is extravagant. Course after course of flawlessly plated dishes, each one presented with seamless precision.
And yet, I barely taste any of it.
I’m too distracted by Olivia.
The candlelight casts a golden glow on her skin, softening the sharp angles of her collarbone, catching in her hair when she tilts her head. Every time she shifts, the slit of her dress rises up just a little higher, revealing a teasing glimpse of her thigh. I can barely look away.
And as I watch Olivia laugh at something my aunt says, and listen intently to my uncle recounting some old family tradition, I find myself relaxed at a family gathering for the first time in years.
I’m actuallyenjoyingthis.
And it’s all because of her.
Once dinner concludes,the family filters into the lounge for drinks and continued conversation. The atmosphere is lively, voices mingling over the soft notes of a classic holiday song. But I have no interest in lingering.
As soon as attention shifts elsewhere, I quietly take Olivia’s hand, slipping away from the gathering. There’s no need for words—she follows me easily, as if she already understands that I need this, that I needher.
The chatter of my relatives fades behind us as I lead her up the staircase, toward my childhood bedroom.
As the door clicks shut behind us, Olivia’s curious gaze sweeps over the space, taking in the remnants of a boy I can barely recall.
This is the second time I’ve brought her here.
The first was on a night of confessions, when my vulnerability bled into my immense need for her, culminating in a desperate and consuming intimacy that neither of us could resist.
It was the night I finally told her about Alexander, the accident and how his death had shattered the foundation of my life. I let her seeme. And instead of turning away, sheheldme.
On that same night, I proposed to her—but I wasn’t going to let my mind go there, not right now.
What matters is that, for the first time in years, this room doesn’t feel like a mausoleum. For years, it was sealed in grief and expectation. But with Olivia beside me, the air feels lighter.
Thanks to her, I canbreatheagain. She’s the oxygen in my lungs.
She drifts toward the shelves, curiosity sparking in her eyes. “I didn’t get to look around last time,” she muses, her tone light and teasing. “Now’s my chance to snoop.”
I lean against the doorframe, arms crossing over my chest. “Is that so?”
She glances over her shoulder at me, a mischievous glint in her eyes.God, I love it when she’s like this.Playful. Open.Mine.
