26. Duke
TWENTY-SIX
DUKE
Metal scraped against ceramic, and it was the only sound that filled the dining room.
I sneaked a glance to my right and noticed Sylvie’s warm eyes were downcast to her plate.
She shifted in her seat and pushed the untouched food around in circles.
She looked as though she was a half second from bolting to the door and escaping into the wintry mix of freezing temperatures and whipping December wind.
I felt about the same.
Despite the fact that it felt like my soul was being sucked through my eyeballs on Christmas Eve, I was only here for Sylvie. Doing it for her.
She was twenty-one weeks pregnant and had a glow about her that seemed to light up every corner of my house.
As the days passed, I realized that this feeling—this warmth and poking tenderness beneath my ribs—was so much more than just friendship or impending fatherhood.
Every night I curled around her and wished things could have been different.
That instead of a Sullivan and a King, we could have just been two people who collided and were tumbling into this adventure together.
But those ridiculous thoughts were locked up—stashed away like precious treasures I wouldn’t show the world. No one around here would understand it anyway.
Thanksgiving apart had been miserable, and based on the number of new holiday decorations that seemed to show up at the house every day, I had a sneaking suspicion that Christmas was important to Sylvie.
Memories of Mom flooded my brain—she had always loved Christmas too. Even in the lean years, she took pride in picking out the perfect gift for everyone. I realized now that my parents likely went without in order to make those Christmas mornings so memorable.
So I could suck it up and suffer through a Christmas Eve dinner with Sylvie’s brothers scowling at me from around my table if it meant it brought her happiness.
Christmas sucks.
At least, it had before Sylvie crashed into my life and upended it.
Winter had settled over the farm like a cozy blanket, the air tinged with the scent of pine and the frosty bite of the night air.
All but Cisco and a few of his family members had moved on to other farms in the South, and I wouldn’t see their familiar faces until spring.
That was, if they chose to come back at all.
A flash of little Nico’s face went through my mind, and I wondered if I’d see his gap-toothed smile come thaw, if he’d be grown or changed or even remember me.
Abel cleared his throat from across the table, and my eyes whipped to his. He didn’t look up as he settled his napkin back into his lap. A chair groaned under Royal’s weight as Ed let out a contented sigh from the living room.
The tension was palpable.
My instincts screamed that these people were worlds apart from my own family. As I glanced around the table, I caught JP’s scowl and his eyes flicking between me and his little sister. I stifled a laugh and placed my hand on her thigh, just to piss him off a little.
I caught Sylvie’s eye, and she gave me a wobbly, forced smile.
She looked past her brothers. “Dad?”
JP leaned back and shook his head. “Work.”
Her brows pinched together. “On Christmas?”
“You don’t take over the world by taking a day off.” Royal jumped in, while Abel only offered a grunt.
I might like that guy.
I didn’t miss the way Sylvie’s face fell slightly at the realization that her own father had chosen work over his family. I suspected it wasn’t the first time.
Bug’s voice cut through the awkwardness, acting as a diversion as she smiled at her niece. “Dinner is lovely, Sylvie.”
The words were simple, but they were like a lifeline, momentarily drawing attention away from the charged atmosphere. Sylvie’s aunt had the uncanny ability to defuse tension with a single sentence, and I sent her a small, grateful nod.
As I surveyed the room, taking in Abel’s perpetual scowl and the wary looks exchanged between siblings, I couldn’t help but think that maybe Sullivans and Kings had more in common than we’d ever give them credit for.
Protecting what was theirs seemed to be a universal trait, even if it was born out of a centuries-old rivalry.
Abel’s scowl deepened, and I couldn’t help but chuckle inwardly. He was like a bulldog guarding its territory, perpetually on edge. I caught his eye and lifted a brow in silent acknowledgment, a truce of sorts passing between us. Perhaps, deep down, he was just as tired of the animosity as I was.
The charged glances exchanged across the table were like a silent conversation in itself.
JP’s stern expression, Royal’s half-amused, half-concerned grin, and even Three-Legged Ed’s grumbling from the living room—it was like a symphony of family dynamics playing out before me.
I had to hand it to them—they were loyal to a fault, even if that loyalty came with a side of tension.
My eyes drifted down to the Jell-O mold Bug had provided.
It came straight from a round, pistachio-green mold that was older than I was, and she had plopped it on a white platter with a wet slurping sound.
The deep red Jell-O was now actively melting on the table, and whatever the hell was floating in it looked like straight-up barf.
Royal had scooped a portion onto his plate and was cautiously poking it while Sylvie’s fork scraped across the loose Jell-O, picking out whatever the hell was inside it.
Feeling a strange burst of bravery, I cleared my throat and shifted in my seat, capturing the attention of the room.
All eyes turned to me, and I flashed a grin that I hoped looked more charming than nervous.
“Well, since we’re all here staring at each other like a cow looking at a new gate, how about we call a truce? Just for the night.”
The room fell into a stunned silence, the weight of generations of hostility hanging in the air. And then Bug’s laughter bubbled forth, a sound so contagious that even Abel cracked a smile. Sylvie’s eyes sparkled, and she reached for my hand under the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
Royal smirked and raised his glass, his dark tattoos seeping out onto the backs of his hands. “To truces, no matter how temporary.”
“To truces,” the chorus rang out, glasses clinking in a collective toast that felt like a small victory against the tide of history.
Sylvie’s aunt beamed at me, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “You know, Duke, there were probably other ways to break the cycle than setting your sights on our Sylvie.”
I chuckled, feeling a warmth spread through me that had nothing to do with the roaring fire in the fireplace.
I glanced down at the weeping Jell-O in front of me. “Well, Bug, if breaking cycles involves surviving your cooking, then I think I’m up for the challenge.”
I took a hearty scoop of Jell-O and shoved it in my mouth.
Huh. Not half-bad . . .
Wide eyes stared at me as laughter erupted around the table, the tension of the evening dissipating like mist in the morning sun.
As the tension dissolved, the Kings shared stories, teased one another, and engaged in a lively debate about the merits of holiday desserts while I sat back and quietly watched it unfold.
I realized that maybe—just maybe—this Christmas Eve had the potential to be the turning point we never saw coming.
In the midst of the banter and laughter, I stole glances at Sylvie.
Her eyes held a depth of emotion that mirrored my own, a silent acknowledgment that we were in this together, no matter the odds.
As the evening wore on, I found myself falling even harder for her, my heart inexplicably tied to the woman who had turned my world upside down.
Once everyone left, we stood side by side in the kitchen. Sylvie refused to sit after the dinner, so I propped her on the counter, and she kept me company while I rinsed and stacked dishes into the dishwasher.
“Thank you for tonight.” She glanced over at me. “Having my family over, I mean. We could’ve just done something separate.”
I shook my head and dumped the silverware into the basket in the dishwasher.
She smiled, her hand resting on her belly as if the baby could hear her. “I know my family can be... difficult. But it means a lot to me that you were willing to do this.”
I gave her a half smile, my heart thudding a bit too loudly. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing Bug has a sense of humor, huh?”
Sylvie snorted and fell into a full belly laugh, a melodious sound that made everything seem a little brighter. “I couldn’t believe it.” She laughed again and let it fall into a sigh. “That Jell-O has been haunting us for years . It’s so... odd.”
I had returned to the dishes with a smile when Sylvie gripped my arm. “Oh!”
My concerned eyes searched her face as she leaned forward and ran her hand down my arm, capturing my hand and pressing my palm into her belly. I searched her features to try to figure out what was wrong.
Then I felt it.
Tap-tap-tap.
My eyes flew to hers and back down again. “Was that— Is that the baby?”
Her hand squeezed my wrist, then shifted my palm to another area of her belly. “Did you feel it? The baby always goes wild around you.”
My fingers spread wider, my hand encapsulating a large portion of her belly as I searched again.
Come on, kid. Just one more time . . .
I waited, not daring to take my eyes off Sylvie.
Tap-tap-tap.
My breath exited my lungs, and my knees shook. I looked up at Sylvie, stunned into silence.
Her hand found my cheek. “Merry Christmas, Duke.”
I stepped between her knees, pressing my forehead to hers and weaving my fingers through her silken hair. I sucked a breath in through my nose, selfishly taking a hit of her scent and letting it soak into me.
I stood, looking into her honey-flecked eyes before reaching into my back pocket and pulling out my wallet. She looked down, confusion shifting to awareness as she recognized the small slip of paper from Dr. Hokum’s office.
“You’ve been carrying it around this whole time?”
I nodded. “I didn’t look, I swear. I was just too nervous to lose it.”
I handed her the paper and she held it, turning the small square over in her hands. “Do you want to know? I think I want to know.” She shrugged. “To be prepared.”
“I want what you want.” The words were pure gravel as they squeezed past the lump in my throat.
“Okay.” Sylvie’s whisper was barely audible as she looked me in the eyes and unfolded the paper.