Page 108 of Filthy Rich Santas

Before I can stop myself, I ask, “What about you? Have you dated anyone seriously recently?”

I’m veering into dangerous territory and I know it. This isn’t any of my business, and unlike speculating about the two men who aren’t in here right now, opening up this conversation with Tristan directly almost feels like too much of a confession about my own deepest desires.

It takes him so long to answer that I almost think he won’t, but his hands never stop moving over my head, massaging my scalp, dragging in a slow, drugging rhythm through my hair that keeps any anxiety at bay.

“No, I haven’t. Not really,” he finally says quietly. “Grandma Meg always had plenty of advice about finding love, and I guess I took it to heart. She told me not to settle. To look for someone who made the world better,myworld better, just by being in it. Someone who would light me up every time I see her. And since I hadn’t really found anyone who did that…”

Our eyes lock as his voice fades away, and for a moment, the air between us feels charged. Then the intensity of the moment is broken by a crash from the other room, followed by Ryder’s muffled cursing and faint, rumbling laughter from Beckett.

Tristan sighs, a fond exasperation in his voice. “For fuck’s sake. I’d better go check on the children out there.”

I laugh, waving him off. “Go, go. Make sure they haven’t destroyed anything.”

As he leaves, I sink back into the water, my head full of everything he just shared. Given the ways in which Beckett and Ryder have already opened up to me, Tristan’s theories on those two feel spot on, and my heart aches for both of them.

But it’s Tristan’s words about his own relationship status that keep replaying in my head. About how he wasn’t dating anyone seriously because he hadn’t found anyone who met Grandma Meg’s criteria.

Hadn’tmet anyone.

Past tense.

My heart races, and I close my eyes and sink all the way under the warm water, trying to tell myself not to read too much into it.

It could have been just a slip of the tongue.

It could have meant anything, or nothing at all.

But with my hair softly swirling around my face and the lingering sensation of his touch fanning the flame of hope deep inside my heart, I can’t quite squash the tiny voice inside reminding me that there’s a third option too.

It could have meant…something.

25

LANA

I’m morerelaxed than I can remember being in ages when I finally emerge from the bathroom wrapped in a fluffy robe, my hair still damp. I don’t actually realize I’m hungry until the scent of food hits me, though.

I smile as my stomach growls, quickly changing into soft lounging clothes before heading out to join the guys in the front room of the suite.

“Perfect timing.” Ryder grins, gesturing to a truly impressive spread they’ve laid out. “Beckett insisted on getting you some actual food, not just room service. We found a place that claims to specialize in comfort food.”

“And delivers,” Tristan adds, leaning against the back of the couch with a takeout container in one hand and a fork in the other. He gives me a sheepish look, raising the fork. “Just taste testing.”

I laugh softly, my heart doing a little flip. “It all looks delicious.”

And Beckett was the one who insisted. For me.

“Thank you,” I murmur as he finishes arranging the rest of the steaming containers on the table, buffet style. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Beckett grunts, not meeting my eyes. “You need real nutrients, not overpriced hotel crap.”

I smile at his gruff concern.

“Why don’t you get comfortable on the couch,” Ryder suggests. “I’ll make you a plate, and we can eat there.”

They’re treating me a bit like I’m made of glass, and although I don’t want my diagnosis of lupus to change anything, the truth is, it has. And right now, it feels good to be pampered a little.

“Okay,” I agree, settling into the soft cushions. “Does this mean another Christmas movie marathon?”

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