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Part of me wants to argue back, to fight against that reality. I think about the jealousy in Hayden’s eyes when he found someone hitting on me that night at the party. I remember how Ford pulled me possessively into his side and played with my hair like he couldn’t help himself. I consider how well Gabriel knows my preferences, how he picked out that perfect dress.

“No,” I whisper sternly to my reflection. I sit up and swing my legs out of bed, pulling the sheets up to make it properly. I know there are staff who handle the linens, but doing it myself makes me feel more grounded.

I refuse to ruin this incredible thing for myself—or for them—by hoping for more than what I’m getting. I’ve already gotten so much more than I ever expected. How many women can say they have three gorgeous men who love to worship their body and go out of their way to take care of them? I’d be a fool to wreck this by demanding a fairytale romance on top of everything else.

They’ve looked after me financially, and they’ve made it clear they want to protect me. They’ve ensured I’m comfortable with every boundary while giving me the most mind-blowing sex of my life. I should be grateful for this unexpected Christmas gift, not spinning romantic fantasies I know will never come true.

I take a long shower, trying to avoid dwelling on last night and the dangerous images that keep crowding into my mind. Pictures of taking turns sleeping in each of their beds, or spending more evenings curled up together drinking expensive whiskey and talking until late. I’d love to cook for them, making sure they eat healthy even when they’re buried in work. And in this little scenario, I know they would all make me feel special and cherished, like maybe I finally don’t have to handle everything alone for once.

That’s all these feelings are, I tell myself firmly as I step out of the shower and reach for a towel. You’re tired of being solely responsible for yourself, and you want someone else to share the load sometimes.

Completely understandable, but that doesn’t mean I should read more into this situation or indulge fantasies when I know they’ll never become reality. That’s just setting myself up for heartbreak.

When I make it downstairs, I feel more centered and ready to embrace the opportunity in front of me without letting emotions complicate things.

As if the universe is sending me a sign, I reach the bottom of the stairs and see all three men—but they’re not buried in laptops as I expected.

Instead, they’re all wearing the most spectacularly ugly sweaters I’ve ever seen in my life.

“What?” I burst into laughter so hard I nearly double over. “What on earth are you wearing?”

The colors don’t look as jarring to me as they probably do to others given my red and green color blindness, but Gabriel’s sweater is purple and orange in a combination that has to be visible from space. Ford’s sweater features what I think are supposed to be reindeer crocheted across the front, although they look more like misshapen blobs with antlers. Hayden’s creation is so covered in glitter and sequins that he’s literally shedding sparkles with every movement.

“Ugly Christmas sweaters,” Gabriel announces with the dignity of a man wearing couture.

“And you’re getting one too,” Ford adds with obvious satisfaction. “It’s family tradition.”

“Do you just keep a collection of these lying around the house?”

“Actually,” Hayden says with the tone of a man facing execution, “yes, we do. And you have to pick one out.”

His expression is so mournful it makes me laugh even harder.

The sweater selection is laid out in the family room like some kind of textile horror show. They’re all slightly too big for me, and I have to roll up the sleeves, but at least the fabric isn’t itchy like I feared.

I choose one featuring a massive snowman rendered in blue and white, colors I can actually distinguish properly, although that doesn’t help with the fact that this snowman looks more like Frankenstein’s monster, with stick limbs that are way too long and a misshapen head that might actually be two heads stacked together. The buttons and carrot nose light up when I press them, which is both ridiculous and oddly charming.

While I would never call it attractive, there’s something endearing about how spectacularly ugly it is. The same goes for all the other sweaters. I wish I could say I’m surprised that Elaine has collected these monstrosities, but it seems like exactly the kind of thing she’d do.

When I enter the dining room, I discover the rest of Ford’s family already eating breakfast, all sporting their own hideous holiday sweaters. I grin wide, my heart swelling with unexpected emotion. This is exactly the kind of silly family bonding tradition I always longed for but never experienced growing up.

Honestly, however this arrangement ends, this time with Ford’s family has genuinely helped heal something broken inside me. I need to make sure I tell Elaine and Lydia how much this means to me before we leave. That gratitude is real and honest, even if my engagement to Ford isn’t.

Feeling festive in my ridiculous sweater, I head to the kitchen to grab some of the eggnog Hayden perfected for me. Hayden follows close behind. “What are you up to, Keller?”

“Getting the eggnog. You went to all that trouble making it specifically for me, after all.”

“For breakfast? Really?”

“Live a little, Russo,” I shoot back with a grin.

I open the refrigerator and grab the container I labeled ‘MINE’ in thick black marker out of pure habit. Hayden spots my handiwork and snorts with amusement. “Do you honestly think someone’s going to steal that? You’re the only eggnog enthusiast in this house.”

“Try telling that to Ford,” I say just loudly enough that I know he can hear from the dining room. Sure enough, he chokes on his eggs.

“It’s not my fault you bring incredible food into the office,” Ford calls back.

“Even when I clearly label it as mine?”