Chapter 13
We don’t win.
We don’t even come close.
Twentieth place out of forty-seven couples, and honestly?
I’m thrilled. My lungs are burning, my legs feel like jelly, and there’s tinsel wrapped around my ankle that’s somehow survived the entire mile without breaking.
Alexander’s hand is still gripped in mine, both of us breathing hard, and I can’t stop laughing.
“Twentieth,” Alexander says, his voice tight with controlled frustration as the announcement echoes through the speakers. “We came in twentieth.”
I look up at him, still catching my breath, and see the disappointment etched across his features. His jaw is set, a muscle ticking I’ve learned means he’s annoyed with himself. His eyes are fixed on the winners—a couple in their sixties who crossed the finish line looking barely winded.
“Alexander,” I tug on his hand. “Life isn’t always about winning.” His gaze drops to mine, one eyebrow raised. “Sometimes,” I continue, grinning despite my exhaustion, “we should just have fun.”
Before he can respond, Mom and Dad descend on us like a whirlwind of enthusiasm and camera phones.
“That was amazing!” Mom gestures for us to huddle together. “You two looked wonderful out there!”
“We came in twentieth, Carol,” Alexander points out, but there’s less edge to his voice now.
Dad puts his hand on Alexander’s shoulder, grinning. “You beat Chase and Amber. That’s what counts.”
I glance over to see Chase and Amber near the back of the crowd, both red-faced and arguing in hushed tones. Their matching pink sweaters are now damp with sweat, and their expressions are sour.
“Smile!” Mom commands, and suddenly we’re pressed together—Dad’s arm around Alexander’s shoulders, Mom squeezed between us.
The camera clicks multiple times, and I feel Alexander’s arm slide around my waist, pulling me closer against his side. His body is warm despite the cold air, solid and reassuring.
“One more!” Mom insists. “Alexander, Olivia, just you two this time.”
Dad steps back, and Alexander turns me to face him slightly, his hand still on my waist. I loop my arms around his neck without thinking, and when the camera flashes, I’m smiling up at him instead of at the lens.
“Wait! One with me, too!” Sophie appears, wedging herself between us. “I want to be the tallest. You two have to kneel down!”
The flash goes off as soon as we adjust our positions, and Mom laughs. “Sophie!”
I look over to see what she’s done, and in the picture where we are crouched beside my sister, Sophie’s fingers are making bunny ears behind both our heads. Wanted to be tallest, my foot!
“Sophie!” I groan.
She snickers. “You guys are so dumb.”
“I’ll keep that in mind when I change our running route tomorrow,” Alexander pats her shoulder. “We’ll increase it by another twenty minutes.” Sophie gives him a betrayed look.
“Beautiful,” Mom sighs, already scrolling through the photos. “These are going in the Christmas album.”
We start untying the tinsel carefully—it’s somehow still intact, a small miracle. Alexander works the knot loose from our ankles, and I watch as he carefully winds the silver strand around his fingers before tucking it into his coat pocket.
I blink. “You’re keeping it?”
His eyes meet mine, and his expression is serious. “Souvenir.”
Something tender unfurls in my chest, blooming like warmth spreading through cold fingers. He’s keeping the tinsel. The fragile, ridiculous piece of Christmas decoration that tied us together for a mile.
My stomach growls—loud enough that Alexander hears it, and his lips twitch.
“Food?” I suggest.
“Food,” he agrees.
We follow my family toward the Christmas Market stalls that line town square. The race marks the official opening of the market, and the transformation is immediate and magical.
Wooden vendor booths stretch around the perimeter of the square, each one draped in evergreen garland and twinkling white lights.
The sweet scent of roasted pecans and walnuts fills the air, mixing with pine and woodsmoke from the braziers positioned at intervals.
Steam rises from hot cocoa stands, and the sound of Christmas carols drifts from speakers hidden among the decorations.
It’s like stepping into a European Christmas market, except everyone here knows everyone else’s name.
“Hot cider!” a vendor calls out, holding up a steaming cup. “Fresh pressed this morning!”
“Gingerbread cookies! Three for five dollars!”
We pass a stall selling hand-carved ornaments, another with knitted scarves and mittens in every color imaginable. A man demonstrates how to make wreaths from fresh pine boughs, his hands moving quickly. Children run between stalls, their laughter bright against the backdrop of holiday music.
Alexander’s arm is still around my waist, and I feel him start to relax. His shoulders drop, the tension bleeding out of him as we weave through the crowd. His thumb traces absent circles on my hip through the sweater, and I’m acutely aware of every point where our bodies touch.
“This is nice,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear.
I lean into him. “Told you it would be.”
We stop at a food stall; Antonio’s Pizza has set up a booth selling hot slices and garlic knots. The smell alone makes my mouth water.
“Two slices of pepperoni,” I order, then glance up at Alexander. “You want anything?”
“Same,” he says, already pulling out his wallet. I try to protest, but he gives me a look that says arguing is pointless so I let it go. We find a spot near one of the braziers, the heat from the flames cutting through the December chill.
The pizza is perfect—crispy crust, tangy sauce, cheese that stretches when I bite into it. I make an embarrassing sound of satisfaction, and Alexander’s eyes darken slightly as he watches me.
“Stop looking at me like that,” I mumble around my mouthful.
“Like what?”
“Like you want to eat me instead of the pizza.”
His smile turns wicked. “Maybe I do.”
My cheeks burn, and I focus intently on my food. My family is just a few feet away, completely oblivious to the way Alexander’s looking at me. Dad’s talking to someone about the race, Mom’s taking more pictures of the decorations, and Sophie’s already wandered off to find her friends.
“Day after tomorrow,” I say, desperate to change the subject, “they’re opening the ice-skating rink. We should go in the evening.”
“I’m not good at skating.”
I blink at him. “What?”
“Ice-skating.” He looks uncomfortable admitting it. “I never learned.”
The image of Alexander Castellano, CEO, billionaire, master of every boardroom he enters, wobbling on ice skates makes me smile. “I’ll teach you.”
“Olivia—”
“Come on.” I nudge him with my shoulder. “It’ll be fun. You said you wanted to learn Christmas traditions, right? Ice-skating at the town rink is tradition.”
He studies me for a long moment, something sly flickering in his gray eyes. “Alright. But if I fall and break something, you’ll have to play nurse with me.”
I grin. “It’s okay. I’ll tie a cushion to your tushy so you don’t hurt yourself.”
His eyebrow arches. “Tushy?”
“Very cute tushy,” I say, my grin widening.
“I’m a grown man. Don’t call my ass a tushy.” His brows knit together.
I make a show of glancing at his backside, then meet his eyes again. “Sorry. It’s a tushy, alright.”
His hand finds the small of my back, pulling me close enough that his breath brushes my ear. “If you don’t stop, I’ll make sure you can’t sit because of my handprint on yours.”
My eyes widen, and I hiss, “You wouldn’t.”
“Keep talking, and you’ll find out.”
He wouldn’t really do that. Would he? And do I want to test him? Once he has his hands on me, I can’t seem to tell him no. I shut up immediately, focusing very intently on my pizza. He just chuckles.
We finish eating and wander through more of the market. Alexander stops at a stall selling handmade candles, picking up one that smells like nutmeg. He buys it without comment, tucking it into his coat pocket.
“For your mother,” he explains when he catches me watching. My heart does a stupid, little flip.
We pass a hot chocolate stand, and I get us both cups—peppermint for me, dark chocolate for him.
The cups are warm in my hands, steam rising in the cold air.
The market is getting more crowded now, families spilling out from the race to explore the vendors.
Silver bells chime from somewhere nearby, the sound clear and musical against the backdrop of conversation and laughter.
A group of carolers has set up near the town square, their voices lifting in harmony as they sing about silent nights and holy nights.
Alexander’s arm tightens around me, pulling me closer against his side as we walk. I can feel the solid warmth of him through our ridiculous sweaters, and something in my chest loosens.
This feels real.
Too real.
But I push that thought away and let myself enjoy the moment—the smell of sausages being grilled at the bratwurst stations, the twinkling lights reflecting off the snow, and the feel of Alexander’s arm around my shoulders.
* * *
That night, I’m still thinking about it.
About how natural it felt to have his arm around me. How right it felt to lean into him, to let myself be held. How much I wanted to stay there, wrapped in his warmth, pretending this wasn’t temporary.
The bathroom mirror is fogged from my bath, and I wipe it clear with one hand while using the other to towel-dry my hair. My robe, a soft terry cloth that’s seen better days, hangs loose around me, tied at the waist with a simple sash.
I left my clothes in the room. Damn it.
I should go back and get them. My parents are out for dinner with some friends, and Sophie’s at a sleepover.. It’s ten at night, and the house is empty except for Alexander and me.
And it’s not like he hasn’t seen me naked.
So I pad down the hallway in just the robe, the fabric brushing against my bare skin with each step. I rub the towel through my hair, still attempting to dry it.