Page 189 of Filthy Rich Santas

His claws skitter on the floor for a moment, and with a shrill yap, he makes a beeline for Lana.

“Oh, hey, you,” she says, her face lighting up.

The ugly little fucker yaps at her again, then hops up onto her lap, curling up there like he thinks he owns it. He gazes up at her with big, soulful eyes that I’ve gotta admit are pretty cute.

“Very festive,” Lana says, stroking the hot pink and neon green Christmas sweater he’s wearing.

“Baldwin just loves the holidays,” Meg says, making me snort since we all knowshe’sthe one who chooses his daily sweaters.

Tristan meets my eyes, holding back a fond smile, but Meg and Lana carry on talking about the dog like they don’t notice, Lana’s body relaxing more and more as she pets the little guy.

“Did Tristan tell you why, um, why we’re here?” Lana asks Meg after a minute.

Meg pats her knee, her expression warm. “A little bit. I don’t need any details you don’t want to share, though. You’re always welcome here.”

Lana looks down at Baldwin. “I think I’d like to share them, if you don’t mind. I feel a little… raw right now.”

“And sometimes talking helps,” Meg says with a nod.

Lana smiles at her, brushing away a tear that wells up in her eye, then starts to recount all the shit we just went through again, getting it off her chest. As she fills Meg in on what happened, I marvel at the easy acceptance radiating from Tristan’s grandma. There’s no judgment in her eyes, just concern and love.

Seeing that kind of support does something to me. I think it does something to Lana too, because as she winds down, a change comes over her.

“I’m proud of you.” Meg pulls her close, making Baldwin grumble and scramble off Lana’s lap as they hug.

“Thank you,” Lana says, her tears drying up as Meg lets her go, replaced by a fierce determination that lights up her eyes. She sits up straighter, her chin lifted slightly, and I can practically see the weight of her parents’ expectations falling away from her shoulders as she takes a deep breath and exhales.

“And I’m… I’m done,” she says, her voice steady and strong. “I’m done trying to please them, done living my life by their rules.”

She said it before. Hell, she said it straight to their faces. But something about the conviction in her voice right now feels like it just sinks into my soul.

Our relationship coming to light like that may have been rough, but I don’t doubt for a second that she meant it when she said she doesn’t regret it. Seeing her come into her own like this is sexy as hell, and it has my chest tightening up with a mixture of pride and admiration. Watching her find this inner strength, this resolve to stand up for herself and what she wants, is fucking incredible.

It’s inspirational.

My relationship with my own parents is so messed up that I know it’s beyond redemption, and I’ve grappled with that—with their indifference and neglect—for years. The pain of growing up in a house full of wealth but devoid of warmth, raised by a revolving door of nannies while my parents lived their lives as if I was just an afterthought, has left scars inside me just as deep and permanent as the ones Tristan wears on his skin.

The shit Lana has gone through with her own parents is a different flavor, but the same damn recipe. They never outright neglected her, and they were there for her in some ways, but they did neglect the most important thing. Her heart.

“What?” she asks, catching my eye and blushing the sexiest fucking shade of pink I’ve ever seen. “You’re smiling at me like…”

“Like you’re incredible? That’s because you are.”

Her dimple pops out as she grins, and Meg gives me a fond look as she rises to her feet.

“And on that note, let me get us all something to snack on.”

Tristan hops up, offering to help her, but before either one of them can make a move toward the kitchen, the doorbell rings.

We all freeze, exchanging glances.

“Grandma?” Tristan says. “Are you expecting someone else?”

“Expecting? No. But I’ll never turn away carolers,” she says as Baldwin goes zipping toward the door, yapping away.

It’s not carolers, though. It’s Caleb.

Lana’s body stiffens with tension as Meg leads him into the living room, giving him a welcoming pat on the shoulder as she urges him to join us.

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