40. Maeve
MAEVE
When I wake up the next morning, the other side of the bed is warm but empty. Ford is already up and gone.
That doesn’t surprise me too much, considering he and the others are still working on the merger. If the past few days have proven anything, it’s that these men’s dedication to their business really is absolute—even when they’re supposed to be relaxing.
I stretch lazily, my body humming as I remember those incredible kisses from last night. Nothing more than that happened, unfortunately. By the time Lydia was ready for bed, exhaustion had caught up with me too, and we all agreed we needed sleep to be ready for whatever Elaine had planned today.
But god, those kisses were still fantastic.
I bite my lip as I replay every heated encounter I’ve had with these men so far.
Now that we’ve addressed the jealousy issue and established what they want from this arrangement…
the thought of all three of them touching me at the same time, whispering filthy things in my ear, sends heat flooding through my entire body.
They’re all so devastatingly attractive and skilled at reading my body. They know exactly how to make it sing in ways I never thought possible. Even if I had imagined such pleasure existed, I never would have believed men like these three would ever be interested in someone like me.
Turns out they are, and it’s opened up a whole new world of possibilities.
Even though we didn’t do more than kiss last night, that conversation was important.
We needed to make sure we’re all on the same page about expectations.
And I genuinely enjoyed just spending time with them—talking and laughing, bonding, learning more about who they are beneath their powerful exteriors.
I could get used to that kind of intimacy, I realize, and my heart stutters dangerously in my chest.
As much as last night felt like something deeper, something real and lasting, I have to be ruthlessly honest with myself. That’s not what’s happening here. This arrangement has a clear expiration date, and we all know it.
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?”
“Well, that’s practically a dare. How could I possibly resist?” Ford winks at me when I turn to glare at him.
Hayden heads back to the table while I pour myself a generous glass of eggnog. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Liam get up and walk over to the refrigerator. He peers inside for a moment, apparently doesn’t find whatever he’s looking for, and closes it again.
“Eggnog, huh?” he says quietly, positioning himself close enough that the others won’t overhear.
“Hmm?” I finish pouring and return the container to the fridge.
“You like eggnog. It fits you perfectly.” Liam’s voice drops to an intimate tone that makes my skin crawl. “Sweet but rich, with hidden layers…”
“What?” I close the refrigerator door and stare at him in disbelief. What the hell is he trying to say? He can’t seriously be hitting on me after I made my feelings crystal clear. What is this nonsense?
I grab my glass and head toward the table, but Ford is already standing. He pulls me into his arms, plucks the glass from my hand to set it at my place between him and Gabriel, and kisses me with unmistakable possession.
I grip his shoulders as he kisses me thoroughly. And then keeps kissing me. And keeps kissing me some more.
“Seriously?” Lydia asks with mock outrage. “Right in front of my bacon?”
Ford finally pulls back, and I laugh while covering my burning face with my hands. Lydia winks at me to show she’s not genuinely annoyed—though she might be slightly grossed out watching her brother claim me so thoroughly.
We eat breakfast while Elaine enthusiastically outlines all her plans for the day. I should have known that giving us one lazy day yesterday meant we’d be back to full throttle today.