Years.Lily glanced at her mother; the woman’s brows were tightly knit, and Lily wondered how long it would be before the woman saw through the lies she’d told.
Philip shifted in his seat. “It was a complicated situation.” There was tension in his voice now, like he’d been forced to improvise after having memorized a speech.
“Not that complicated. You explained it to the children in less than a quarter hour.”
“There wasn’t a good time.”
“Not a single good time in eight years?”
Lily’s mother recoiled. “Eight years? But yousaid—”
Lily pushed to her feet, dropping the fork on the table with a clatter. “I beg your pardon,” she choked out, “but I need to—I need—”
She made the mistake of looking at Philip—Whit,then, and something deep in her chest, the place where she’d taken her anger and fear and implacable sadness and locked them away, cracked open, the monsters inside bursting free.
“Where are you going?” her mother called, slightly louder than the rush of concerned,pityingwhispers from her sisters and their spouses.
Her legs were moving without her consent, and she flicked the moisture away from her eyes as she fled the dining room. She heard motion behind her, and just as she reached the doorway, a warm hand closed around her wrist.
“Lily, wait.”
She froze in place, letting her eyelids fall shut. There was no need to look at who held her; his pine and smoke scent hadn’t changed in their years apart. The hold on her arm, the fingertips pressing against her thrumming pulse, gave her permission to stop, to let someone else tell her what to do. For so long, she’d pretended to be invincible, that she didn’t mind Philip’s absence. She needed no one, no help, no guarding, because she was better off alone.
And now, with his grip solid on her arm, she wanted to crumble into his embrace, even when she knew it would destroy her.
She was saved from that utterly humiliating outcome by the ringing of silver against crystal, and she jerked her gaze to the table.
“You’re under the mistletoe!” Aunt Margaret declared. “Kiss her!”
Her stomach swooped, and when she glanced at Philip, his dark gaze held hers before she looked up. How the bundle of dark green leaves and white berries mocked her, the scarlet velvet ribbon holding the greenery together so innocuous.
“I won’t, Lily,” he whispered, his thumb passing in arcs over the pounding pulse in her wrist. “Unless you want me to.”
As soon as she opened her mouth to express her desperate desire nottobe kissed, Matthew’s tinkling laughter reached her ears. “Mama,” he hissed, “are they going to kiss?”
“Of course they are,” Reggie replied, not bothering to regulate his volume.
She glanced behind her to where her family leaned forward, as though this wretched moment were a theatrical display instead of abject humiliation. Her throat tightened at the hopeful look in her mother’s eyes, Aunt Margaret’s wry smile, her nephews’ barely contained glee. A kiss wouldn’t hurt her any more than Philip had, and she had already inserted far too much tension into what should have been a perfect dinner.
A kiss to keep the Christmas magic alive.
She lifted onto her toes and braced one palm against his chest before bringing her mouth to his.
Such simple contact shouldn’t have sent her insides blazing, his mouth igniting a fuse that blazed through her like a match set to kindling. He flattened his hand over hers on his chest, and she was grateful for the stability because shewaveredon her feet, like adebutante at her first cotillion. A low gasp, just shy of a moan, slid from her throat, but he heard it. The caress of his lips deepened as he brought one arm to the small of her back.
In that moment, she had everything she’d wanted but refused to acknowledge for the past eight years. The security of his arms, the knowledge that she had to do nothing but let him care for her, pleasure her, warm her bed when it had been cold and lonely for so damned long.
The hand at her back tensed, his fingertips pressing into her flesh with glorious strength, and she wanted more, craved more, and she—
A low whistle sounded from the dining room, and she pushed away as if she’d been shocked.
Shehadbeen shocked. Her hand flew to her lips, as though she could wipe off the pleasure of his touch while hiding her flushed cheeks.
“That was a good kiss,” Aunt Margaret proclaimed, lifting her empty sherry glass in a salute.
“So romantic,” her mother said, and her sisters nodded their agreement, leaning in towards their spouses. She looked to Ben, the only one at the table who had stood by her, but he flattened his lips and turned to his wife.
She was alone.Again.
