Sixteen
Isla
W hy did I ask him to stay?
The mirror offers no answer. My reflection stares back at me, cheeks flushed and eyes wide.
I ran into Asher’s en suite under the guise of washing my hands, but no amount of soap can rinse away the humiliating truth: I made myself come to the fantasy of the very man my mind and body are supposed to be boycotting.
And he definitely knows.
Gripping the edge of the sink with both hands, I lean against the cool porcelain and beg my nerves to chill the hell out. My breaths are shallow as my heart rate puts in overtime. I’m equal parts mortified and turned on.
That combination alone should’ve been enough to make me kick the man responsible for this entire mess out of the room. Instead? I begged him to stay and help with the one thing that—without fail—shreds my heart to pieces every December.
Groaning, I splash my face with cold water, savoring its icy bite. It brings a flash of clarity, but it’s short-lived. When I straighten, the pressure on my lungs intensifies.
By the time I step back into the bedroom, Theo has shifted the ornament box so it sits next to the tree.
He stands beside it, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans.
The pastel glow of the Christmas lights bathes his features in soft hues, catching on the sharp angles of his jaw, the firm line of his mouth, and the furrow in his brow.
He glances over as I approach, his expression unreadable. For a moment, neither of us speaks, but the air between us thrums with anticipation.
Finally, he breaks the silence, tilting his chin toward the box. “Didn’t want to touch anything until you were ready.”
“Thanks,” I manage, my voice steadier than I feel. “Though I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready. This part always feels like ripping off a Band-Aid just to purposefully poke at the wound.”
I sink to the floor, dragging the box closer and flipping back its flaps. The scent of worn paper and faded paint wafts up, catching in my throat. Its sharp sting is a reminder of everything I’ve lost.
At the sound of my abrupt inhale, Theo lowers himself beside me. I hardly register the move until his shoulder brushes mine. It’s the lightest contact—hardly a touch—but it sends a sharp jolt of awareness through me.
I push the sensation aside, my attention back on the ornaments. The first one I pull out is a vintage baby cradle, its pink and gold paint chipped from years of handling. I hold it up to the light, tracing the birth date engraved on the bottom.
“‘Our greatest adventure begins,’” Theo reads aloud. “‘Welcome, Baby Isla!’” His velvet voice is a smooth caress, urging me to keep going.
The next ornament is a porcelain tooth fairy, her delicate wings outstretched as she holds a pillow in one hand.
He scans the caption. “‘First tooth.’”
A small laugh escapes me. “The actual tooth is inside the pillow.” I demonstrate how it opens, careful not to jostle the fragile hinges.
“Impressive,” Theo praises, the word steeped in genuine admiration. “Your mom’s design?”
I nod. “She made all of them. Ninety-three ornaments across eighteen years.”
I rifle through the box, retrieving more memories. Piece by piece, the story of my happy childhood spills out. A miniature replica of our house. The Eiffel Tower with the slogan: Bon voyage, Greene Family! An enormous bowl of shave ice from our Hawaii vacation.
There are less monumental ones, too: a snowman with mismatched buttons, a mini model of my science fair project, my dad’s dream boat that forever remained just a dream.
Each memory is a small, precious shard of a world that no longer exists.
When I pull out the graduation cap ornament, my fingers linger on the tassel. Con-GRAD-ulations, Isla! The words are written in my mom’s neat handwriting.
The last ornament Celeste Greene ever made.
Theo watches me without speaking. Like all those years ago, I’m grateful for the peace his silence brings .
“She was such a talented artist, but I still teased her about crafting so many ornaments,” I murmur.
“I thought it was silly to commemorate every little thing that went down in our lives. But now…” My voice cracks, and I swallow, trying to push down the lump in my throat.
“Now, these stupid things are all I have left.”
Theo doesn’t offer empty platitudes. He just sits beside me, quietly passing each ornament with tender care. That kind of gentleness from a man made of stone is startling.
When he hands me a tiny brass bell—the last ornament in the box—I take it with trembling fingers. The note etched into its side marks my first Christmas recital, and I roll my eyes at the memory that resurfaces.
Theo’s lips curl into a subtle smile. “I remember you telling me about this one. The kindergarten production that ended in a dramatic kiss.”
“Maverick Prescott. The cheery elf who took his role a little too seriously. I swear I can still feel the cold smear his snotty nose left behind on my cheek.” I grimace, swiping at the spot that’s suddenly tingling. “Every year, my mom joked this trinket should be renamed Isla’s First Kiss .”
“Such trauma doesn’t belong on this tree.” He reaches out and gently taps the bell still resting in my hand. “ Isla’s Best Kiss , though? Definitely branch-worthy. Prime placement, in fact.”
I open my mouth, ready to joke about how I’d first need to acquire one of those—but the words stall on my tongue. For a split second, I forgot I’m supposed to be madly in love with his brother.
The thought stings, but the dark bruise on my heart has nothing to do with my lack of love life.
Theo frowns, all humor draining from his face. “What’s wrong? ”
“There won’t be any more ornaments,” I whisper, staring at the bell in my hand. “No best kiss awards. No travel adventures. No job promotion trophies, father-daughter wedding dances, first grandbaby baubles… nothing . Ever again.”
Tears prick my eyes, but I keep them at bay. A few deep breaths later, I focus on carefully fastening the final ornament to the tree. Every year, I make sure the graduation cap isn’t left until the end, but I know the order doesn’t matter.
Eventually, it’s all over.
“Somehow, even almost a hundred of these stupid things aren’t enough.” My vision blurs as my emotions threaten to spill. “I’m greedy.”
Theo doesn’t hesitate. His hand bridges the space between us, long fingers threading through mine. “You’re allowed to be greedy when it comes to the people you love. It’s fair to want more than what you’ve been forced to settle for, Isla.”
“Wanting more won’t change the past.” Blinking rapidly, I try to regain control, but a soft whimper escapes my lips.
And that’s when it happens.
I don’t know who moves first—him pulling me in or me reaching for something solid—but I land in his lap, legs draped across his thighs. My side molds to his chest, and his hand grips my hip, grounding me against him.
“You’re okay,” he murmurs into my hair. “I’ve got you, Sunshine.” The rumble of his words vibrates through me, and I shut my eyes, letting the sensation wash over me.
His strong frame surrounds me like a shield, and for the first time tonight, my thoughts quiet. I inhale the scent of his skin and press closer, my cheek brushing the fabric of his shirt. His heartbeat is a steady metronome, coaxing mine toward a calmer rhythm .
Relaxing against him, I slip into a stillness where neither my past, present, nor the future matter.
Minutes stretch. Time blurs. Lulled by the warmth of his embrace, my muscles loosen, and my breathing slows.
Without realizing what I’m doing, I let go—surrendering to the wave of drowsiness rolling in.
Just as sleep starts to pull me under, my eyes snap open. The haze vanishes, ripped away in a single, brutal gasp. I shake my head, forcing myself to surface.
Swim up. Wake up. Sober up.
“Shit.” I scramble to get off Theo’s lap, but the way we’re tangled only ends with me driving my ass harder into him.
When I try to rise again, his chin drops, digging into the curve of my shoulder in a silent order.
Stay.
A flush burns up my neck. “ Crap . Sorry—”
“Don’t move.” The rough command scrapes across my skin. “And don’t be fucking sorry. It’s okay to be angry at the past. It’s okay to grieve what you’ve lost. It’s okay to miss what you can’t have.”
“And it’s okay to be doing all that on your lap?” My watery laugh trembles at the edges.
His thumb brushes soothing circles along my ribs. “More than okay. I’ll stay right here. As long as you need.” Then, in a tone loaded with meaning, he adds, “For whatever you need.”
There’s no way he misses my shiver.
“What exactly are you saying?” I whisper.
He doesn’t answer my question. Instead, he lowers his mouth to my ear, his breath a combination of mint and mayhem. “Is that what you wear to bed with Asher?”
While practical, my sleep tank and shorts aren’t on the modest side. But with Asher crashing at Sienna’s and Evangeline cranking the furnace to full inferno mode, the goal is to dress for survival.
“Of course not,” I murmur.
Theo’s muscles ease beneath me.
Then, to recoup some control, I hit him with: “When I sleep with your brother, I wear nothing at all.”
The growl that rumbles from his chest is satisfying. Maybe a little too satisfying. “You expect me to buy that bullshit?”
“Makes it easier for us to get… close .”
I’m getting a disturbing amount of enjoyment out of pushing him. Probably because playing with fire is more fun than crying over ornaments.
“Such a pretty mouth. You sure you want to waste it on dirty lies?”
The thread of sternness in his tone flips my stomach, and I squirm, adjusting my weight in his lap. His arm bands around my waist, holding me down.
“I’m telling the truth. Asher and I are very happy together.” I try to sound convincing, but my stupid heart is tripping all over itself, utterly out of sync with my brain.
His lashes lower, eyes hooding, as he leans in. “And does my brother know whose name you moan when you touch yourself?”
“I—” I clear my throat. “I don’t—” One more try, damn it . “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“No?” The wicked curl of Theo’s smirk douses me in heat from head to toe.
“If my outfit is an issue, that’s totally on you,” I snap once I regain my voice. “Mrs. Claus is in the laundry, and someone”—I level him with a look—“kidnapped Sexy Santa.”
“Found anything to trade me for it yet?” he challenges.
“What do you want, Theo? ”
His gaze drops to my lips. “What are you offering, Isla?” The question tunnels through me, landing low in my core.
I grind against his thigh. It’s an unintentional move, but no less damning.
“ Isla …” His fingers flex at my waist. Release. Grip. Repeat . “I—”
“I’m dating Asher!” The words burst out on a breathless pant.
“Try again.” His palm slides higher, fingers splaying across my ribs, and I bite down on my lip to stop another incriminating sound from getting out. “The truth, this time.”
“The truth is that you made it clear I wasn’t enough for you!”
Theo’s expression softens. “You were more than enough, Isla. But you were also—”
“Yeah, I know!” I cut him off, the flush in my face now mingling with a sharp sting of humiliation. “Too young. Too vulnerable. Too… whatever .”
“Can you blame me for wanting us on equal footing before asking you to get on your knees for me?”
The words slam into me, flattening my lungs. I scramble for a retort—something sharp, clever—but my mind is full of static.
With a rough groan, Theo pulls away, guiding me off his lap. “Whenever you’re ready, come get your shirt from my room.”
I gaze up at him. “What do you want in return?”
“One too many things, Sunshine,” he says darkly.