“DO YOU REALLY EXPECT ME TO WEAR THIS?”
CHRISTMAS EVE
“Oh, Vinny, it’s beautiful!” Briella gushes over the sweater I knit for her.
Proud heat pulses through me when she removes her long-sleeved shirt, giving all of us a nice view of her pretty breasts in the thin, lacy bra before she pulls the sweater over her head, tugging it down to her thighs. Delicious thighs in those red leggings. It’s more of a sweater dress. The black brings out the purple in her curls.
Seth snaps his head to me with a sly smirk. “Hey, Vincent, you got any more sweaters she can take off and put on?”
Briella laughs softly, then settles between us on the plush rug in the family room again. The fire in the hearth casts golden light across her cheeks. Thanks to Seth, her braid is intricate and lovely as he’s become a master.
The big and obnoxiously bright Christmas tree glows in the corner near the window, decked out in pine cones from the woods, bows she crafted herself, and countless ornaments. She carefully unwrapped each one like sacred treasures. Especially the box of hand-carved ones Seth surprised her with.
It seems like another cabin, another world, with the garland coiling around the mantle and the stair railing. Her touch is everywhere, like she stitched the whole damn holiday into the bones of this place.
She gave us each a present.
New axe for Seth, but she carved her initials on the side.
Jude loved the new leather medical bag with a few books inside.
Rory was certainly impressed when she found his clan crest. Seth helped her melt down a little of the gold bar, which she used to make a crest pendant. He’s still wearing it on the chain.
New knitting needles and yarn for me. But most meaningful was the hoodie. A new hoodie, much like the old one, but brand new. She said it might bring me more luck because she bought it for me.
She’s right.
Seth lounges on one side of her; I’m on the other. Jude is sitting in his chair behind me, closer to the fireplace, occasionally turning a page in his open book. Rory’s half-asleep with his head tipped back on the couch, and I’m sitting cross-legged, just watching her gush at the sweater like I handed her the damn moon.
And maybe I did.
Because this is the first real Christmas any of us has ever had. Not just the decorations or the tree or the smell of cinnamon and pine—but the joy. Her joy.
It was in the way her face lit up when she decorated. Or the sword fight battle she challenged Seth to—with candy canes. Or made paper snowflakes with Jude since he’s as good with scissors as he is with a scalpel. And eating Rory’s shortbread cookies, maybe stealing a few too many, leaving nothing for him. He bent her over the counter, flipped up her skirt, and spanked her bare bottom while she finished eating the last one.
Most of all, the way she laughed when Jude and I lifted her onto our shoulders so she could place the star on top of the tree. Like she’d been waiting all her life for that exact moment—and somehow, so had I.
And now she’s here, warm and glowing in my sweater, in our home, wrapped in us.
Wrapped in everything we never knew we needed, never believed could happen.
All because of Raphael, who’s sitting in his usual chair, dressed in his finest suit, swirling what looks like brandy, but it’s just Christmas punch since Raphael doesn’t drink, just like me. I’m a mean fuck when I drink.
Seth just gets more Sethy. And we let Rory drink whenever he wants because he ironically gets nicer, more relaxed, and more normal. As normal as Rory can get.
“Open mine next, Briella Darling,” Seth urges, handing her a long but narrow box with a gold bow.
She blushes with excitement and tears off the bow, removing the lid. Her hands freeze.
I peer over her shoulder. Holy mother of lumberfuck.
This could go one way or the other.
Inside lies a hand-carved cane. It’s rich wood, so polished, it practically gleams in the warm light all around us. He even took the time to carve intricate patterns of spiraling chains and flowers all over the shaft, winding together like something both bound and free. The handle curves into the shape of a queen’s chess piece—strong, regal, and unmistakably hers.
She gazes down at it, breath caught, and I know Seth didn’t just make her a gift. He gave her a fucking monument. Raphael doesn’t tense in his chair, but he does fixate on her.
At first? Silence.
