Chapter 22- Santa
Will woke up Christmas morning and made coffee the only way he knew how now: sugar prayed over by someone who loved him.
He carried two cups back to bed. Lizzie was tangled in his sheets, curls everywhere, looking like the best present he’d ever unwrapped.
She blinked up at him, sleepy and perfect. “Did Santa come?”
Will handed her the colada. “I got me exactly what I wanted.”
“Lucky you,” she murmured, taking a sip. Then, quieter, “Merry Christmas, Will.”
He sat on the edge of the bed, suddenly serious. “I need to say something before my brain melts from how beautiful you look right now.”
Lizzie raised an eyebrow. “Okay…”
“My father pulled me aside at Thanksgiving. Said if we do this — really do this — people will talk. Every contract you win, every award, every headline… they’ll say it’s because you’re sleeping with me. He’s not wrong. I spent the last few weeks trying to figure out how to protect you from that.”
Lizzie set her cup down, crawled into his lap still wrapped in the sheet, and straddled him. “Will. I’ve been doubted my whole life. Too Cuban for the boardroom, too curvy for the influencers, too loud for the quiet girls. Let them talk. I’ll just keep winning louder.”
He exhaled like she’d pulled a weight off his chest. “So you’re not scared?”
“Only of finding out this is a dream.” She kissed him slowly, filthy, morning-breath-be-damned. “Well, that and sharks. Now stop worrying and devour me again.”
He did.
Twice.
Later — much later — they finally dragged themselves to the Benítez house for Christmas Day.
Abuela opened the door in a new housecoat and immediately started crying when she saw Will’s arm around Lizzie’s waist.
“?Por fin, Virgen Santa!” She grabbed Will’s face and kissed both cheeks hard enough to leave lipstick prints. “You bring a gift?”
Will grinned and jerked his chin toward the driveway, where a brand-new AC unit sat wrapped in a giant red bow.
Abuela screamed. Actually screamed. Then dragged him inside, shouting, “?El americano trae nuevo aire acondicionado! ?Y a mi nieta también!” (The American brought me a new AC, and my granddaughter)
Lidia wandered out in pajamas, took one look at them holding hands, and deadpanned, “So I guess the yacht was a bad idea.”
Lizzie snorted. “You think?”
That evening, they went to the formal Pemberley Christmas party — crystal, string quartet, Carolina in pearls, looking like she’d swallowed a lemon.
Will never left Lizzie’s side. Introduced her as “my Lizzie — the woman who saved the company and then saved me.”
Carolina’s smile froze so hard it could’ve cracked the champagne flutes.
When the quartet started a slow song, Will pulled Lizzie onto the dance floor, pressed his mouth to her ear, and whispered, “Still want to know how much fun we can have with fewer clothes?” Lizzie responded with a tender nibble on his earlobe.
Lizzie reminded him of that line later back at his place, as she pulled her dress over her head and led the way to his bed in just a thong and heels.
Will watched breathless. Thanking God, Santa, and Charles for bringing Lizzie into his life.