Page 30 of The Billionaire's Christmas Wish

Her words hit me like cold water, snapping everything into focus.

I needed the nudge—a final push to topple over any lingering doubts. “You’re right.”

“This seems like a good time to let you know I got a job up north. I’m moving out after Christmas,” she proudly announces.

I stare at her in disbelief, stomach twisting. “Wow. You weren't kidding about leaving home after the holidays.”

“Nope,” she replies firmly, her lips set in a straight line. “One-way ticket.”

“That's a big step. Do you think Mom and Dad will accept it?”

Ivy rolls her eyes so dramatically that I'm surprised they don't get stuck.

“I expect guilt trips, but it's my life. I’d rather start fresh without the family drama.”

I'm stunned. While I'm glad she's following her passion, our parents will be devastated. Telling them about Luca feels like stepping into a minefield now.

I pull Ivy into a tight hug, fighting back tears. I’m going to miss her like crazy.

We've been talking for so long that I lost track of time. I need to get back to Luca soon before Mom and Dad return.

“Did you hear the kitchen timer go off?” I ask Ivy.

“Nope.”

She hooks her arm through mine as we walk downstairs, but unease washes over me.

Ivy's face scrunches up, and we exchange a worried glance.“Ugh, do you smell that?”

We hurry to the kitchen, where thick smoke is pouring from the oven. I wave away the stinging haze and yank out the blackened casserole.

“So much for helping Mom. She’s going to kill us.”

“There goes Christmas,” Ivy moans.

“We’ll figure something out. Open the windows.”

Ivy rolls her eyes. “Sure. Maybe she won't notice the smoke if we turn the place into an ice box.”

There's no way to salvage the food, and it's so awful it's funny. Soon, we’re laughing so hard we’re doubled over, clutching our stomachs.

Mom bursts in, panicked. “What happened?”

Hot on her heels, Dad lunges for the fire extinguisher mounted under the sink.

“Stand back,” he warns before spraying foam everywhere. The kitchen becomes a surreal white-covered mess.

“Yum,” Ivy says.

She’s patting her stomach, which sets off a new wave of hysterical laughter.

My phone chirps with Luca's ringtone. I mumble an apology and dash outside, barely able to hear him over the blaring fire alarm. The call cuts off abruptly.

I leave Luca a hasty voicemail, promising I'll be home soon, before returning inside.

I put on cheerful Christmas music, trying to lighten the tense mood. Dad sweeps up foam debris while Mom scowls at the blackened remains of dinner.

A knock at the door. Dad pauses, broom in hand. We share a look.

---