Page 98 of Juliet & Her Romeos

Handmade ornaments are strung around the room in contrast to the expensive furniture: dried orange slices, bundles of cinnamon sticks, and pine cones covered in glitter.

Who took the time to make them? I bet that it’s not Ambrose.

Is he indulging Benedict? Vito?

Did he do this for Swan and me…?

The entire room is done out in gorgeous greens, burgundy, and gold.

Scented candles are burning on the coffee tables. They warm the room, making it look cozier. The foraged pine and eucalyptus branches that are hung around the antique mirrors have the same effect.

I scrunch up my nose at the spicy scent of cinnamon and cloves that wind from the scented candles.

Outside the high windows that look out over the walled garden, the wind is fiercely blowing the snow against the glass.

The glass is frosted with intricate ice patterns.

I shiver at the howl of the wind.

It feels isolated here.

Cut off.

Romeo Hall is at the very top of the mountain, surrounded by the forest. It’s above even the academy.

This entire room feels like a set inThe Nutcracker.

I stare up at the focal point in the room: the gorgeous fir tree. It’s not as large as the one that we put up in the foyer every year at the ranch but it’s more expensively dressed in reds, greens, and golds. Robins hop between branches that drip with glass baubles like bubbles, gilded ribbons, strands of gold beads, and hundreds of rose shaped paper decorations that look like the notes Ambrose once gave me.

On top of the tree sits a fairy who is dressed like a ballet dancer.

She looks lonely up there.

Trapped.

In many ways, the Beta ballet dancers in the company are like the pretty ornaments on the tree. Am I like that fairy who has reached the pinnacle — the one everyone looks at and admires — but am equally as unable to climb down?

Like the fairy, I’ll only be relevant for a brief, beautiful moment, before it’s all over.

I won’t dance again. I’ll be put back in my box.

Except, isn’t that fairy more lucky than me because at least she knows that she’ll be taken back out again next Christmas?

Transfixed by the fairy, I skirt around the couch toward the tree.

Then I freeze.

Underneath the tree and almost hidden by its lower branches, Ambrose is sitting adjusting the huge pile ofberibboned gifts. He’s so focused on the task that he doesn’t lift his head and notice me.

The candles are strong enough to mask our scents.

I stand still, watching him.

It startles me out of my shock, however, because Ambrose is only wearing a dressing gown over black pajamas as well. His dressing gown is an elegant rich brown silk withARmonogrammed on the pocket.

I can’t look away from Ambrose’s gorgeous ankles and bare feet for a long moment.

I’ve never seen him like this before.

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