Page 178 of Filthy Rich Santas

Standing in front of the mirror, wrapped in a fluffy towel, I eye the dress I’d originally planned to wear. It’s nice enough, I suppose. Demure. Parent-approved. Exactly what’s expected of me and chosen specifically to meet my parents’ standards.

But I’m not that girl anymore.

Instead, I reach for the garment bag tucked in the back of the closet. Inside is a dress I picked up during our road trip, encouraged by Ryder’s wolfish grin and Beckett’s approving nod. It’s a deep emerald green that makes my eyes pop and hugs my curves in all the right places. The neckline is just low enough to be enticing without being scandalous, and the hemline hits mid-thigh, showing off my legs.

As I slip it on, I feel a surge of confidence. This is me. The real me. The one Tristan, Ryder, and Beckett fell for.

I take a deep breath and head downstairs, the click of my heels on the hardwood announcing my arrival before I’m even visible.

I can already hear the low hum of conversation and the quiet clink of glasses over the tasteful Christmas music my mother has playing. As always, the decorations are worthy of a magazine spread, and I know I’ll find all of the city’s most influential people mingling below.

My parents have been throwing this Christmas Eve party ever since I was a little girl, and they always make sure the guest list is a who’s who of everyone they might want to network with.

As I descend the staircase, I see my parents first. Their eyes widen, and I can practically feel the waves of disapproval rolling off them. Mom’s lips purse, while Dad’s brow furrows in that way that always made me feel two inches tall as a child.

I’d be lying if I said it didn’t still make my stomach clench a bit, but then I catch sight of the three men who’ve changed everything for me.

Tristan is mid-conversation with Caleb, but he stops mid-sentence when he sees me, his eyes darkening with unmistakable heat. Ryder, leaning casually against the wall, straightens up, a slow smile spreading across his face that makes my insides flutter. And even Beckett, ever the stoic one, can’t quite hide the way his gaze rakes over me, his jaw clenching in that way I now know means he’s fighting for control.

Their reactions, subtle as they are, bolster my confidence. I lift my chin, meeting my mother’s disapproving stare with a serene smile.

“Is everything alright, Mom?” I ask innocently when she comes forward to meet me at the bottom of the stairs.

She clears her throat. “Lana, dear, don’t you think that dress is a bit… much for your figure?”

I shrug, the movement causing the fabric to shimmer in the light. “I think it’s perfect for a Christmas party. Festive, don’t you think?”

Before she can argue further, the doorbell chimes, announcing the arrival of more guests. Dad shoots me one last disapproving look before plastering on his host smile and moving to answer the door.

As I move farther into the room, Ryder sidles up next to me, his voice low as he murmurs, “You look absolutely stunning, love.”

A blush creeps up my neck. “Thank you. I’m glad you approve.”

“Oh, I more than approve. In fact, I’m already planning out all the ways I want to get you out of that dress later.”

My clit throbs, and I have to resist the urge to kiss him in front of everyone. Instead, I offer him a coy smile. “Patience is a virtue, you know.”

He grins wickedly. “And virtues are overrated.”

I shiver at the promise in his eyes, but as the party gets into full swing, I find myself swept away from my men in a whirlwind of greetings and small talk. Old family friends exclaim over the effort my mother put into the party, ask politely about my life in L.A., and not-so-subtly brag about their own successes.

I paste on a smile and nod along. I’m used to it, and regardless of the slightly critical looks my mother keeps shooting me, I know how to play my part and represent my family at these kinds of events.

Still, I’m acutely aware of Tristan, Ryder, and Beckett’s presence. No matter where I am in the room, it’s like I can feel their strength grounding me.

When I spot Vivian arriving with her family, I use it as an excuse to gracefully remove myself from a conversation with one of my father’s friends and head over to greet her.

Vivian looks impeccable as always, and her husband Kyle looks as polished as ever in his tailored suit. Oliver is adorable in a miniature version of his father’s outfit, and he takes in the array of Christmas lights with avid interest.

“Vivian! Kyle,” I greet them, leaning in to air-kiss my sister’s cheek. “You all look wonderful.”

Oliver tugs on my dress. “Is Beckett here, Auntie Lana?”

I laugh, and as soon as I point him in the right direction, he lets out an excited whoop and darts off into the crowd.

Kyle’s lips pinch. “Vivian, did you forget to speak to him about manners?”

I roll my eyes since he’s not looking at me. Sure, Oliver’s excitement was a little loud, but he’s a child, and it’s Christmas.

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