14. Silas
Silas
“ W hy did Lauren free up your calendar?” Luca’s voice cuts through my phone, sounding way too curious for my liking.
I sigh and rub my forehead, already annoyed. Since when do I owe anyone an explanation? But I know Luca’s calling as a brother, not the owner of Property Group Miami. Still, it grates on me.
“I’m taking this week off,” I say flatly. That’s all the explanation he’s getting. He doesn’t need to know about my little ‘incident.’ If the family found out, Dad would have a field day questioning whether I’m fit to be CEO. And my brothers? They’d circle like sharks smelling blood in the water.
Luca stays quiet for a few seconds—too long for my taste. “A week off, huh?” His tone is suspicious, like he’s waiting for me to slip up.
“What?” I snap, already defensive.
“Nothing,” he says, but I can hear the smirk in his voice. “It’s just, since you took over, you’ve never taken Christmas off. You always say it’s the busiest time of the year.” He’s mocking me now, and it pisses me off.
It is the busiest time of the year. Fuck!
“Yeah, but Lauren said that?—”
“You don’t need to explain anything to me, brother,” Luca interrupts, his voice shifting back to that cold, distant tone I know all too well. “The Greens usually have that effect.”
The Greens?
“Are you messing around with Emma Green again?” I shoot back, now the one grilling him.
“ No, ” he replies, way too quickly. “The company she works for is collaborating with us here, and I see her often, but not in the way you think.”
“You remember what happened with her, right?”
“I remember.” He sighs heavily, the weight of the past hanging in the air. “No need to walk down memory lane, brother. After all, we were both screwed over by them.”
I don’t miss the edge in his voice. Emma Green—just hearing her name brings back too much, and not the kind of memories I want to dwell on. I never knew the full story of what went down between Luca and Emma. He’s always been a reserved guy, but anyone could see from a mile away how wrecked he was after losing her. It was the only time I’d ever seen him that vulnerable.
I stand up from my chair and head to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, my hand immediately reaches for a cold can of beer, but just as my fingers graze the metal, I can practically see Lauren’s face hovering over my shoulder—shaking her head in disapproval, twisting her mouth like she does whenever she disagrees with something .
That damn look. It always gets to me.
I smile, rolling my eyes at the mental image of her, and switch to grabbing a bottle of water instead.
“Did you talk to Mom about Christmas?” I ask, fumbling with the bottle as I balance the phone between my shoulder and ear, collapsing into the armchair.
“Yeah, she’s expecting us like she does every damn year.”
“What do you think she’ll be like if I don’t go?” I ask, taking a sip from the bottle right as Luca responds.
“Don’t you even think about it, Silas,” he warns, his voice dead serious. The way he says it makes me laugh so hard, I end up spitting water everywhere. “Don’t leave me hanging on this,” he adds, like it’s a real threat.
The first reason I don’t want to go is my heart; the second is Lauren. After everything she’s done for me, leaving her alone at Christmas feels downright cruel. And honestly, if I’m being real with myself, I’d much rather spend the holiday with her than with my entire family. That realization hits me like a punch to the chest. I want to spend time with Lauren. Fuck, I’m worse off than I thought. Christmas is just days away, and all my communication with Lauren has been through cold, professional emails—like she’s an actual secretary. And I hate it. I need more than this distant, business-like formality. I need closeness.
“Don’t worry, I’ll go,” I say into the phone, grinning to myself. “But I might bring someone along.”
Luca’s laugh echoes through the line, and I can’t help but smile mischievously.
New York in the winter is a special kind of unbearable. That’s why I’m wrapped in a knee-length black coat, leather gloves, a scarf, and, yes, even a beret. But despite all that, I can still feel the cold seeping into my bones as I walk through the drafty hallways of Lauren’s building. In my hand, I carry a peace offering—and a proposal I hope she won’t turn down. I knock on her door, my heart pounding, watching the shadow shift under it. She’s probably peeking through the peephole, so I cover it with my hand. No way I’m letting her pretend she’s not here. If she pulls that move, my plan falls apart. Well, that’s not entirely true—I’d kick the damn door down if I had to.
Lauren’s going to be the perfect distraction. My family won’t know what hit them when I show up with her, and they’ll be so surprised that any questions about my business or my health will vanish into thin air.
A stress-free Christmas, thanks to Lauren.
Simple and perfect.
“Who’s there?” she asks cautiously from the other side.
“It’s me,” I say, adjusting the gift under my arm.
“Me who?” she responds, playing along, and I can’t help but roll my eyes before remembering it’s Lauren .
“ Your boss, ” I say with a hint of bitterness. I’m still not entirely over our last conversation.
The door creaks open slowly, and there she is—Lauren, in a ridiculous but oddly charming winter pajama set covered in tiny Christmas trees. She’s wearing a pom-pom hat and gloves, clearly feeling the cold in this drafty building. She looks festive, cozy, and utterly unprepared for me standing here.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, blinking up at me.
“Can I come in?” I ask, trying to keep my tone casual, though I can tell she’s suspicious.
Her gaze flickers between the gift under my arm and my face before she finally sighs and steps aside, nodding as she opens the door wider. Christmas carols play softly in the background, the smell of freshly brewed coffee fills the air, and there’s a small tree with lights on her desk. The sense of home is palpable and inviting. This shoebox of an apartment is far more pleasant than my penthouse now that I think about it .
“What happened to your heating?” I ask, already feeling the cold seep into my bones.
“It’s broken,” she says with a sigh. “They can’t fix it until next week.” Before I can comment on the temperature, she adds, “How are you?”
Honest answer: Bad. My place feels empty without you. The sunrises are just meaningless streaks of color, and I miss falling asleep next to you.
But what comes out is, “I’m good, actually. I’m heading to the Hamptons to my parents’ house, but I wanted to give you this first ... ” I hand her the gift, hoping it hits the mark. “I hope you like it.”
Lauren smiles—a smile just for me. She grabs the box and rushes to the couch, practically beaming like a kid on Christmas morning. It’s infectious, watching her like that. I wonder what her Christmases were like as a child. Did she get what she wanted, or did she have to pretend to like things she didn’t? When did she find out Santa wasn’t real, and how did she handle it?
She opens the box, inspecting it closely.
“Cristiano released a new Christmas collection, with organic, one hundred percent cotton clothing. It’s eco-friendly and soft, just the way you like it.” I cross my arms, trying to calm the anxiety bubbling in my chest and lean against the wall, watching her as she runs her fingers over the fabric.
It’s a black dress, but it’s apparently the dress of the season. Still, I know what matters to her—the fact that it didn’t harm the environment and that it’s soft enough to feel like a hug.
“It’s beautiful,” she says, her expression hard to read but sincere. “Thank you.”
“Merry Christmas, Lauren,” I whisper, suddenly finding the floor very interesting.
She stands up, walks over to me, and without warning, rises onto her toes to plant a quick kiss on my cheek. “Merry Christmas, Silas.”
Her proximity does the same thing it’s always done to me. As a kid, it felt like suffocating, but now I realize it awakens something deeper—a need to touch her, hold her, feel like we’re one. It’s overwhelming, like I’m running out of air just standing this close. I look into her green eyes, seeing the same vulnerability and confusion I’m feeling. I know why. She feels the spark between us, too.
“And I have something for you, too,” she says with a smile.
Tell me it’s you. Tell me it’s you.
An image of Lauren wearing nothing but a bow flashes through my mind, and I swallow hard, forcing myself to focus. “Oh, really?”
She disappears into her room and returns with a small black box. “I didn’t have time to wrap it. I was going to give it to you when we resumed work.”
I don’t even care what’s inside. The fact that we both thought of each other for Christmas is enough. A smile creeps across my face. Lauren thought of me.
I open the box.
“It’s a bracelet that measures your blood pressure and heart rate,” she explains, a bit nervous. “When it hits a certain number, it tells you to stop and guides you through breathing exercises or meditation. I know it’s not your style, but it’s discreet and?—”
“I love it, thank you.” And I mean it.
Now it’s my turn. I lean in and place a kiss at the corner of her lips—deliberate, careful, subtle.
Lauren stays completely still, and for a second, I know that if I pushed just a little more, she’d let me kiss her fully. But I hold back.
Patience, Silas.
“It’s a shame I don’t have any elegant events to wear the dress to, but my cousin is getting married in a few months, so I’m sure?—”
“Actually …” I interrupt, clearing my throat. “I think it would be amazing if you wore it tomorrow.”
Her brow furrows, clearly confused. “Tomorrow?”
“I’m inviting you to come with me to the Hamptons.”