Page 23 of Christmas Vows with the Devil

"You could’ve stayed at the lodge," I say, breaking the silence.

"I needed a break." Her voice is tight. Distant.

I can't blame her. It seems like neither of us wants to be here all that much. I take the opportunity to push through.

"Matteo," I start slowly. "He’s what, six?"

Her shoulders stiffen, but she nods. “Yeah, six.”

I keep my voice casual. "Smart kid."

“He is.” She’s quick to say it. She’s too defensive.

"He reminds me of someone."

Her eyes snap to mine, narrowing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I shrug. “He just...looks familiar.”

Gia shifts in her seat, her hands balling into fists in her lap. "Lots of kids look like other people. Doesn't mean anything."

She’s avoiding it. Typical Gia. Always running, always hiding. But I’m not letting it go this time.

"I’m just saying," I continue, trying to keep things light, “his smile, his eyes…”

"Stop." Her voice is sharp, cutting me off.

I hold up my hand up in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. Just making conversation."

Her jaw tightens, and she turns back to the window. "Talk about something else."

Fine.

For now, I let it drop, but the thoughts linger. Matteo. Six years old. Born not long after she left. The pieces are starting to click into place, but I need more.

I need her to admit it.

I’m terrified that he’s mine. I’m terrified that he’s not.

It’s a lose-lose situation any way you look at it. The idea of Gia being with someone else so soon after she left me sends a pulse of anger through me, but the thought of having a child is almost scary to me.

The snow falls more heavily as we drive, the road narrowing ahead. My struggling windshield wipers can’t keep up, and the car jerks as we hit a patch of ice. Gia grips the door handle, her knuckles white.

“Careful,” she mutters.

I smirk. “Don’t trust my driving?”

“I don’t trust this weather,” she snaps back.

The storm’s picking up, and visibility’s getting worse. I lean forward, squinting through the snow. We barely make it into town before I notice that the streets are deserted.

“Everyone must have hunkered down for the storm,” she says, pressing her face to the glass to get a better look.

As I pull up in front of the first shop, Gia lets out a groan. “It’s closed.”

“Great,” I mutter. “One down, four to go.”

We drive to the next place. Closed. The next one is too.

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