Chapter 31 Full Circle （Eden）
FULL CIRCLE (EDEN)
How the hell did I let Nate Russo talk me into spending Christmas under one roof with both our families? This isn’t a romantic getaway. It’s a full-blown hostage situation with garlic bread.
Salt air clings to my skin as we turn down the narrow lane, the boardwalk chatter fading behind us. His house looms ahead, all glass and sleek lines. This isn’t the sun-faded beach shack from our childhood. He razed the old one to the ground and rebuilt it bigger, better, flashier.
He looks completely unbothered, his cashmere coat doing nothing to hide the hard lines and defined edges of his powerful build.
He and Leo are shoulder-checking each other, joking about surviving Antonio’s cooking without blowing their macros.
They’re laughing easily, falling right back into the rhythm that used to make me feel a bit out of place no matter how much they tried to include me.
I was always the kid sister tagging along.
The door flies open, and Janice Russo beams at us.
“You’re finally here, baby!” Her Southern lilt wraps around the words as the smell of bacon drifts out.
She engulfs Nate first, planting a kiss on his cheek before pulling me into her orbit without hesitation.
“Eden, sugar, would you just look at you? All grown up and downright stunning.” Her stare flicks between me and Nate, stitching us together in her mind.
“Lord have mercy, it’s been forever since I’ve seen that pretty face.
I swear, you two showing up together makes this house feel right. ”
Before I can answer, Antonio appears, flour dusting his forearms, waving a wooden spoon. “Finally, the city crew made it. You hungry? Sit, sit, I’ll feed you.”
“City crew?” Leo laughs, hugging Janice and dropping his duffel by the door. “You make us sound like a gang.”
The living room hums with chaos. Two sugar-fueled banshees are tearing laps around the room.
Ryan is sprawled on the couch, new-parent exhaustion pouring off him, while his wife corrals the terrors and gathers stray blocks.
My parents rise from their spots by the fireplace and pull Leo and me into hugs that carry cinnamon tea and home.
Over my shoulder they trade matching grins—karma is best served warm.
Payback for every sleepless night Ryan ever handed them.
Mom sips her tea, smug and serene; Dad folds his arms and settles in for the show.
“Alright now,” Janice claps her hands, in her relentless organizer mode, “Antonio and me are down here in the master. Carvers, y’all are settled in the other ground-floor suite.”
Which leaves… Of course it does.
“Upstairs for the rest of you,” she sings. “Two bedrooms left…and three of y’all.” She lets it breathe, eyes jumping between Nate and me.
My cheeks heat. Oh God.
Janice smiles at my brother. “One solution is two of you sharing a room?”
Leo clears his throat. “Or Eden could stay with Ryan’s family at Dmitri’s place. More space. The kids would love it.”
Janice waves that off. “Nonsense. You’ll go stay with your brother. Eden needs to be here—she’s training with Nate, and he’s up early. Easier if she’s close.” A pat to my arm. “And Antonio’s already promised to sit down with her to set up her books. He can’t resist breaking out Accounting 101.”
Leo’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t argue. He knows better than to cause a scene with both families watching. I drag my suitcase upstairs, my brother’s glare burning through my sweater. When I glance at Nate, he raises one brow.
“Does she know?” I whisper.
He shrugs and disappears into his room. “I’ll see you in thirty, Trouble. Gym.”
How did I let Nate Russo drag me into this clusterfuck?
Trust Nate to turn a beach house into a training facility. The gym takes up half the first floor, glass walls pouring winter light across the dunes. Squat rack, free weights, heavy bag. Everything is perfectly organized and functional.
When I walk in, they’re already at it—Nate, Leo, and Ryan in formation, a testosterone-soaked Christmas display.
Barbells clang; shoulders flex; veins pop.
Shirtless, obviously. My brothers barely register.
But Nate? A single glance lands low. Muscle cut clean, movement precise, efficient and unfair.
Then the reel hits: him over me, chest to chest, breath at my ear, control gone the second he touched me.
Avert your eyes, Eden. Pretend you’re not drowning in whatever nuclear-grade pheromones he’s pumping into the air.
“Yo.” Leo catches me looking and frowns. He snatches a T-shirt and whips it at Nate’s chest. “Put something on before you blind my sister.”
Ryan snickers, tugging his own shirt on. “Yeah, place is practically an icebox.”
Sure. The AC. Mystery solved.
Nate pulls the T-shirt on slow, eyes on me over the collar. “Hey there, Trouble.” I try to pretend this doesn’t affect me.
Ryan lasts another twenty minutes before bowing out. “I’m officially retiring from pretending I can keep up with these two freaks of nature,” he declares. “I’ll supervise.”
“Supervise?” I arch a brow.
“Absolutely. I’ll make encouraging comments like ‘nice form, bro’ and ‘wow, your veins look insane’. It’s an important role.”
I laugh, then roll onto one of the mats for hip bridges and BJJ drills. Ryan watches. “Damn. That’s some serious ninja stuff, baby sis.”
“It’s called shrimping.”
He chokes on his water. “Sounds dirty.”
“It’s a grappling movement.” I swat him with my towel.
On the squatting platform, Nate adjusts his grip on the bar, shoulders bunching, and I notice immediately that his form is a little off—too much strain through his lower back. Without thinking, I stand, crossing the floor.
“Pause,” I say, and both men freeze. Nate looks at me with raised brows, sweat dripping down his temple.
“You’re overloading your lumbar. Tighten your core, brace through here.” I set my hands on his waist. “Yes. There. Now drive up through the heels.”
The weight rises smooth, steady. Satisfaction floods through me.
I feel Leo’s stare, sharp and assessing, clocking how my hands linger, how Nate’s focus flicks down at me. But he doesn’t say a word.
Ryan does, though. “Man,” he drawls, voice all faux innocence, “it’s like watching a real-life Nike commercial. Except hornier.”
I nearly drop my water bottle. Nate just grins, resets the bar, and wipes the sweat off his neck with a towel.
“Your turn,” he says, nodding at me.
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“You’re not sitting this gym session out, Trouble. Drop on the mat. Dead bugs and hollow holds. I want to see you lock that core in.”
The way he says “I want to see you” makes my stomach flip. I roll my eyes, but I do as I’m told. Nate crouches beside me, one hand braced on his knee, the other hovering over my ribs, ready to adjust me at any second.
“Press your back into the mat,” he instructs me, low, close enough that I feel his breath at my ear. “Good girl.” A smirk. “Now hold.”
Every nerve in my body sparks. I keep my face neutral, forcing a laugh. “Bossy much?”
He leans closer, his gaze dragging over my form. “Making it extra hard for you.”
My cheeks flame. Ryan whistles under his breath as if he’s watching a soap opera.
Leo picks up the rope and snaps into a fast boxer step. Heel-toe, light on the balls of his feet, rope hissing through the air. He drops a quick burst of double-unders, eyes never leaving us.
I finish the set. Nate offers his hand. His grip is tight, thumb stroking once across my palm before he lets go. Heat shoots up my arm.
Leo doesn’t break rhythm. The rope cracks once against the mat, deliberate. “Form looked fine from here.”
“You can be next, then,” Nate tosses back with a cocky grin.
And just like that, they’re back to their old rhythm—benching, spotting, pushing each other harder—two alphas circling, except I can feel the charge under every rep.
Ryan catches me watching and shakes his head. “One day. Maybe two. Before Nate’s got you spread across his bed. And don’t even try to deny it—I’ve had front-row seats to this show for years.”
I drop my voice, leaning close, grin curling wicked. “One step ahead of you, big brother.” I let it hang a beat, then add, sweet as sin, “Been there already.”
For a second, he blinks. Then his mouth splits into a wolfish grin. “Well, hell. Good for you, E.” He claps my shoulder as if I scored the winning goal. “About damn time, girl.”
He slings his towel over his shoulder, eyes glinting with mischief. “In that case? I give Leo twenty-four hours before he blows a gasket.”
By evening, the house buzzes. Antonio’s holding court in the kitchen with Dad as sous-chef, the two arguing about the merits of Himalayan versus coarse sea salt. Janice drifts between them and Mom, all easy laughter, tea swapped for wine.
I smooth my green silk dress as I step downstairs. A ripple of silence spikes my pulse as the chatter dips and heads turn my way.
Noticing the change in the air, Nate looks up. His stare locks on me, dark and starving, flashing as it sweeps over my cleavage, hips, thighs. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, feigning composure.
This is not casual or friendly. It’s clear, unmistakable want.
Fire floods my face even as goosebumps chase across my skin.
Ryan chokes on his drink. “Well, would you look at that.”
“Ryan!” His wife laughs, smacking his arm.
“What? She cleans up nice.” He wiggles his brows, cutting glances between me and Nate, hungry to narrate every second of the collision.
Leo doesn’t share the joke. His chair screeches across the floor as he straightens, jaw locked, eyes pinned on Nate in silent warning.
Our parents stay measured, but I catch the truth in their faces. My dad buries a smile in his glass. Mom busies herself with napkins, glittering with knowledge she’s not sharing. Janice, meddler to the bone, lifts her phone and snaps a picture before anyone can stop her.