Page 61 of His for Christmas
The afternoon finds us in the library, a fire crackling in the hearth, the massive Christmas tree glittering with the lights and ornaments we placed together just days ago—though it feels like a lifetime has passed since that moment of growing connection. Outside, snow continues to fall intermittently, creating a hushed, private world that feels separate from ordinary reality. We've had brunch, exchanged gifts (his to me far more extravagant than mine to him, though he seemed genuinely touched by the hand-painted ornament depicting his collection room where we first met), and now we're sharing this quiet interlude before the Christmas dinner the chef will prepare later.
I'm curled against Dominic on the leather sofa, his arm around my shoulders, a comfortable silence between us that feels as intimate as any conversation. He's been uncharacteristically relaxed today—laughing more freely, the perpetual intensity that animates his features softened into something warmer, more approachable. This glimpse of Dominic without the weight of Sterling Enterprises on his shoulders, without the armor he wears in the business world, feels like the most precious gift of all.
"I want to talk about something," he says suddenly, his voice quiet but carrying purpose that makes me look up at him. "About us. About what happens after the holidays."
I shift slightly to see his face better, sensing the importance of whatever he's about to say. "I thought we'd established that I'm staying," I remind him gently. "That this isn't ending when the decorations come down."
"Yes," he agrees, his fingers tracing patterns on my shoulder. "But there's more to discuss than simply your physical presence here. There are...aspects of myself I want you to understand more fully. Promises I need to make to you about our future."
The seriousness in his tone captures my complete attention. "I'm listening," I tell him, sensing his need to express something significant.
He takes a deep breath, his gaze fixed on the fire for a moment before returning to me. "My possessiveness," he begins, addressing directly the issue that created our most significant conflicts. "It comes from a place I'm not proud of, from fears I've never fully acknowledged to anyone, including myself."
The vulnerability in this admission touches me deeply. "Tell me," I encourage softly.
"When my mother left," he continues, his voice carefully controlled though I sense the emotion beneath it, "she didn't just leave my father. She left me. No explanation, no contact afterward. As if I simply ceased to exist in her world." His arm tightens slightly around me, an unconscious gesture. "My father responded by teaching me that attachment was weakness, that control was the only protection against abandonment. That lesson...shaped me more thoroughly than I realized until I met you."
My heart aches at this glimpse of the wounded child beneath the controlled man. "Dominic," I murmur, covering his hand with mine. "I'm so sorry."
"I don't tell you this for sympathy," he says, his eyes holding mine with characteristic directness. "I tell you because I want you to understand that my need to possess you, to controlaspects of your life, isn't simply domineering nature. It's fear disguised as strength. Fear that if I don't hold tightly enough, you'll disappear as completely as she did."
The honesty of this confession—the raw exposure of vulnerability from a man who values control above almost everything—moves me beyond words. I turn more fully toward him, taking his face between my hands. "Thank you for telling me," I say simply. "For trusting me with this."
His hand covers mine against his cheek. "Now I need to make you a promise," he continues, his voice gaining strength. "I will work every day to balance that fear with trust. To remember that love freely given is stronger than anything extracted through control. It won't be perfect—I'll falter, I'll revert to old patterns when feeling threatened. But Holly—" His eyes hold mine with unwavering intensity. "I will always try to be better. For you. For us."
The sincerity in his voice, the determination in his expression, fills me with both hope and a need to offer equal honesty in return. "I should tell you something too," I say, letting my hands drop to rest on his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath my palm. "When things were at their most intense between us, when your possessiveness frightened me, I nearly walked away. Not because I didn't care for you, but because I was terrified of losing myself in your gravity."
He nods, accepting this truth without defensiveness. "I know. I felt it happening."
"But what I realized," I continue, needing him to understand this crucial point, "is that the problem wasn't your intensity itself. It was the purpose behind it—possession rather than protection, control rather than care. When that shifted, when I began to recognize your intensity as love rather than ownership, it stopped frightening me."
A small smile touches his lips. "When did that shift happen for you?"
I think back through our journey together. "It was gradual, but I think I first truly understood it that night in the library when you told me about your father. When I saw the vulnerability beneath your strength." I meet his gaze directly. "And I knew for certain last night, when you showed me the studio—when I realized you'd created space for my independence within your world rather than trying to eliminate it."
His expression softens at my words. "I'm still learning what love actually means," he admits. "The practical expression of it beyond the emotion. It's...unfamiliar territory."
"For me too," I confess, leaning closer. "I've never felt this deeply for anyone before. Never had a relationship with this intensity, this significance. We're both learning as we go."
He brushes a strand of hair from my face, the gesture tender. "What do you want from our future, Holly? Beyond the immediate decision to stay here."
The question deserves careful consideration. "I want to maintain my business," I say after a moment. "To continue creating and designing, using the studio you've given me as my base. I want to preserve my friendships, to have both independence and connection." I take a breath, then add the most important element: "And I want to build a life with you that honors both who we are as individuals and what we become together."
Satisfaction spreads across his features. "Perfect alignment with my own desires," he observes. "I want you to flourish, Holly. To grow your business with whatever support I can provide without overwhelming it. To maintain the connections that matter to you. To be yourself fully while also being mine."
The possessive word—mine—no longer triggers wariness as it once did. Now it feels like recognition of connection rather than a claim of ownership. "And I want you to remain who you are," I tell him honestly. "Your intensity, your focus, your occasional terrifying competence—they're essential parts of the man I've fallen in love with. I don't want to diminish those qualities, just to ensure they're balanced with the tenderness I know you're capable of."
He pulls me closer, his forehead resting against mine. "This won't always be easy," he says quietly. "My nature won't transform overnight. There will be times my possessiveness emerges in ways that challenge you."
"And there will be times my independence frustrates you," I counter. "When my need for space feels like rejection even when it isn't."
"So we'll talk," he concludes, his voice gaining certainty. "We'll be honest when patterns emerge that concern us. We'll remember this conversation when conflicts arise."
The practical approach, so characteristic of his problem-solving nature, makes me smile. "Yes. We'll talk. We'll be honest. We'll work through whatever arises."
"Together," he adds, the word holding more significance than its simple syllables might suggest.
I wrap my arms around his neck. “I can thin of something else we can do together.”
