Page 179 of Filthy Rich Santas

Vivian gives him a bland smile, plucking two champagne flutes off a passing server’s tray and handing one to her husband. “Isn’t that Brent Tennyson from First National Bank over there?”

Kyle turns to look, his spine straightening, and mumbles something about needing to talk to the man, leaving me alone with Vivian.

An awkward silence settles between us, and I scramble to fill it.

“Oliver’s getting so big,” I say, smiling. “He’s absolutely adorable in that suit.”

Vivian nods, her lips curving into an almost-smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “He is. Thank you.”

I take a deep breath, deciding to make a real effort. “You have such a beautiful family, Viv. Truly. I’m really happy for you.”

Her eyes flick in the direction Kyle went for a moment, her placid expression and perfect smile never faltering.

“Thank you,” she repeats, her tone cool.

There’s another moment of silence before she takes a sip of her drink, and my heart sinks a little at her disinterest in… well, in truly being sisters. We’ve always had a bit of a strained relationship, but if I could, I’d love to have a real connection with her. She’s family.

I take a sip of mine too, searching for something else to say. Before I can, she empties her champagne flute and grabs another one when a server walks past.

I blink when she empties half of that one in one go too. “Vivian, is everything okay?”

She seems to catch herself, glancing down at her drink and then smoothing her features into a neutral expression. “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be? If you’ll excuse me, I should go mingle.”

Before I can respond, she’s gone. I sigh, reaching for a glass of champagne for myself, and turn back to the party.

I scan the room for Ryder, Tristan, or Beckett, and spot Beckett with his arm slung around Oliver’s shoulders. He’s crouching down, talking to him with a smile on his face, and my heart melts at the sight. But before I can head in their direction, a woman who serves on the board of one of the nonprofits my mother is active with pulls me into conversation, and I’m once again swept up into small talk.

“Lana,” my mother says, coming to find me after a bit and pulling me away to murmur quiet instructions. “Please go into the kitchen and ask the caterers about the dessert trays. They should be out by now. Your father and I need to attend to our guests, and we can’t be seen to be neglecting them.”

“Of course.”

I take care of that quickly, startling when I turn around to leave the kitchen and find Ryder leaning against the counter, out of the way of the staff, smiling at me.

“Sneaking off?” he asks with a grin.

I couldn’t stop my smile if I tried. “Not very well, since you’ve found me,” I tease him. “What are you doing in here?”

His eyes roam over me appreciatively. “I’ve been watching you all night. Can’t seem to take my eyes off you.”

“You did pick out the dress,” I remind him, smoothing my hands over it.

Ryder grins, taking a step closer but still maintaining a respectable distance. “Trust me, love. You look incredible in it, but it’s not the dress that’s got my attention.”

I want him to come closer. I want him to touch me. I want to sink into his arms, then find Tristan and Beckett and actually enjoy this party, the amazing food, the beautiful holiday decor.

But even if I chose to wear what I wanted instead of something my parents’ would approve of, I’m still very aware that my purpose at this party is to keep up appearances for them.

When Ryder’s hot gaze softens into something more tender, I know he understands.

“How are you holding up?” he asks.

“The nap was refreshing,” I assure him. “I really do feel good.”

“Oh, believe me, I know,” he says, heat flaring in his eyes.

“I meant energy-wise.”

I laugh as I speak, realizing that for all my good intentions about keeping my distance, I’ve drifted closer to him.

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