Page 16 of Holidays and Handcuffs

I don’t hesitate, despite every bone in my body screaming that I hate being around her family. I know my presence will cause a problem. But I’m not about to let her go through it alone.

“Of course I will,” I tell her, my voice low. “I’m not letting you face them on your own.”

Her eyes glisten with gratitude. “Thank you!” She wraps her arms around me tighter, burying her face in my chest. I kiss the top of her head, my hand stroking her back in slow, soothing movements.

But beneath the tenderness, there’s anger simmering. Anger that I haven’t protected her from her family all these years, that she’s had to deal with their bullshit alone for so long.

“I’m going to make sure they don’t hurt you again,” I whisper fiercely against her hair.

She pulls back slightly, looking up at me with soft eyes. “Do you mean that?”

I tighten my hold on her. “I fucking mean it, Princess.”

*****

The next morning, I wake up with Emily still wrapped in my arms. It’s Christmas, and for once in years, I actually feel like celebrating it. Slowly, I slip out of bed without waking her and head to the kitchen, deciding to make us breakfast.

I scramble some eggs, cook a few slices of bacon, and toast some bread. By the time I’m done, she pads out dressed in my shirt, her hair a beautiful mess, and smiles when she sees me in the kitchen.

“Morning,” she says softly, her voice carrying a warmth that wraps around me like a blanket.

“Morning, Princess,” I reply, motioning to the plates of food on the counter. “Figured I'd start our Christmas with a decent breakfast.”

Her eyes light up. “I’m famished.”

“Good thing I made enough,” I say, grabbing the plates. “How about we eat by the fireplace?”

“Yeah, that sounds perfect,” she replies, giving me a soft smile as she helps set everything up. We settle on the couch, blankets draped over our shoulders, the fire crackling beside us as we dig into breakfast.

“This is really good, Jack,” she says. “I was starving.”

“It’s not a gourmet Christmas breakfast, but I promise, next year we’ll do it right—French toast, cider…anything you want.”

Her smile widens, her eyes softening as she looks at me. “Honestly, this is my best Christmas ever.”

“Then I have a lot of work to do.”

We eat in comfortable silence for a while, the sounds of the crackling fire and the occasional clink of silverware filling the air. She leans back against the couch after finishing, a contented sigh escaping her.

“So, what do you usually do on Christmas?” I ask, genuinely curious.

Emily shrugs, her eyes distant. “Not much. Paint, mostly. I like painting places I wish I could visit. Or the kind of family I wish I had.”

I make a mental note of that. I’ll need to take a look at her paintings, and I’ll make damn sure she visits those places one day.

“What about you? What do you do on Christmas?”

“I mostly spend it with my parents except for times when I’m away on assignment.”

“I take it that you’re close. You and your parents?”

“Yeah, I talk to them every weekend, they are currently globetrotting. Dad is retired and it has been a dream of theirs. They are currently in Paris for the holidays.”

“Nice,” she says with a sigh.

I glance over at her, noticing the wistfulness in her expression. That sigh, soft as it is, holds a world of longing.

“Yeah, they're having the time of their lives,” I respond, leaning back against the couch. “Dad spent years planning for this. It’s great to see them living it up.”

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