Page 73 of Holiday Vibes

“Yes!” she shouts, hands in the air. “I won!”

The room is silent for half a second before bursting into polite applause. Everyone goes back to their conversations because someone crying out that they won isn’t unusual at a Folly.

I groan. “Another bet?”

Mina grins.

Fuck my life.

“It’s not just a little bet.” She concedes in a quiet voice. “Timothy came up with this surprise wedding to throw you two together and—”

I round on her. “I swear to god if the two of you faked your wedding—”

“We didn’t fake anything.” She assures me with a pat on the arm. “What I’m trying to say is you and Nic have obviously been dancing around this for years. It was inevitable.”

Christ.

“The inevitable being a no-strings sex deal lasting until the holiday is over before we go our separate ways?” I raise an eyebrow. My brother, the evil genius.

Mina frowns. “But—”

“That’s all it is.” I down my drink and my stomach heaves in response, so I excuse myself, ducking into a bathroom. The velvet of my dress is itchy over my chest and back and I tug at the fabric.

Timothy put us under the same roof, with adjoining rooms. Like lighting a firecracker and tossing it into a pile of gasoline-soaked rags. I’m about to have my heart destroyed thanks to my goddamned twin.

It was easy to hate Nic because his indifference hurt me, to pick any little excuse to feed the grudge that kept my head above water. Forcing us into close proximity like my brother did wrecked that for me. Hell, I would’ve married Camden and clung to him like a life preserver, just to avoid acknowledging this.

I’m drowning now.

How could I be this stupid? I walked into a no-strings sex hell and gave Nic the key to lock me in. Sure, he’s opened up to me, he’s been surprisingly affectionate, and heused tohave a crush on me, but he hasn’t done or said anything to give me any indication this is more than sex for him. I am screwed and I don’t know how to hide it.

The rest of the night, I stick to the edges of the party, slipping in and out of conversations I make no effort to contribute to. Everything becomes a blur of ugly Christmas apparel. Dinner passes. The night gets loud. Avoiding Timothy is easy if I stick to the quieter pockets. Nic catches my eyes a few times, but he doesn’t approach me because we agreed we’d be careful.

Still, I miss his steadiness as I drift through the Folly.

My mother’s excited voice cuts through my haze. “Jessie! Mistletoe!”

I’m standing in the doorway—the one place I’ve carefully avoided all night.

A young guy with dark hair and an ugly green Christmas sweater takes a tentative step forward.

Nic’s fingers brush the back of my neck. I can’t see him, but I know his touch through some internal bullshit where my heart aligns itself to seek him out as my true North. He tugs and my body complies, falling gracefully as he dips me low, his kiss lasting long enough for me to relax into him, for him to relax into me. Longer than can be excused as platonic or melodramatic.

He kisses me like it means something for a handful of glorious seconds before he rights me. When he walks away, my world follows, while I stand in the doorway, unable to move.

Chapter twenty-five

Nic

AllnightI’vebeenkeeping tabs on Jessie. She’s been quiet, disappearing into the background, and Jessie never disappears. She’s always bold and bright, with that mega-watt smile and her expressive face, so something must be bothering her, but I can’t ask.

I hate that I can’t ask. That I can’t wrap my arms around her and rub my fingers against the soft velvet of her dress. I want to walk her into the kitchen and out just so I can kiss her under the mistletoe again and again.

Shit. That’s why she’s mad. I kissed her in front of everyone when we are keeping this a secret. That’s fair, but no way was some random guy kissing her.

It’s impossible to follow any conversation while I’m scanning the room for her, so I give up and go looking. She’s not in her room, or my room. Not in the attic or downstairs or outside. Her rental car is still in the driveway.

I’m standing alone in the kitchen—everyone else is in the great room being serenaded by a group of drunks wearing only mostly well-placed Santa hats or stockings—when I hear it. The scrape of fork tines on a plate.

---