Lucian’s is last. I get up and hand him the small box. “Yours,” I say, suddenly wondering if it’s ridiculous.
He eyes it with mild suspicion, then opens it. Inside is a bottle filled with sand.
“I have a matching bottle,” I say quickly. “It’s from the beach you tookme to when we first landed in California. To mark the start of all the rest of our days out. You’ll have to come up with a souvenir for the next one.”
Lucian’s gaze drops to the bottle again. He turns it in his hand. His jaw works just slightly before he sets the bottle back inside and closes the box with care. “Thank you, Gracie,” he says, reaching out to hug me. He squeezes me and kisses my hair before letting go.
Across from us, Maeve is beaming, and Jace’s eyes are on me in that grounding way he has. I take my seat back next to Jace and the room starts talking again. Jace leans back, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he reaches for a flat, rectangular box from behind him.
“This one’s for you,” he says, holding it out. “And no—it’s not jewelry, so don’t start guessing.”
I take the box and shake it lightly. Whatever’s inside doesn’t make a sound.
Suspicious.
I peel the paper back slowly, revealing a black leather photo album with my initials embossed in gold on the cover. My fingers trace them before I lift the cover.
The very first page holds a single printed photo, slightly creased at one corner. I blink, trying to place it. We’re all there—me, Jace, Luca, Noah… andTex.
We’re standing in the middle of one of the Guild training rooms, flushed and sweaty, our shirts damp and clinging. My hair is a messy knot. Luca is on one side of me, his arm slung over my shoulders, winking. He looks so photogenic, it's unfair. Noah grins next to him with Tex at the end. And Jace—Jace is on my other side, looking at me.
I don’t remember this moment being captured. And yet… here it is.
My chest tightens painfully, the edges of the photo blurring until I blink hard. I run my thumb over Tex’s grin, over the frayed edge where the image meets the paper.
“I thought…” Jace’s voice is careful. “You should have all the moments. Even the ones you don’t remember. And there’s room for more.”
I swallow hard, forcing a small smile as I meet his eyes. “Thank you,” I whisper, and it means so much more than those two words can hold.
By the time the last scraps of wrapping paper have been shoved into a trash bag, the coffee’s gone cold and the fire’s burned down to a lazy glow. Someone suggests hot cocoa, and ten minutes later we’re migrating toward the home theater, each of us balancing steaming mugs topped with an unreasonable amount of whipped cream.
The theater is ridiculous. Floor-to-ceiling velvet curtains, plush reclining seats, and a screen so big it could probably double as a billboard. A Christmas movie is already queued up—something Dakota calls “mandatory holiday viewing.”
We settle into a loose sprawl, half in the recliners, half on the oversized couches that take up the back of the room. I end up in the corner of one couch, legs tucked under me, my cocoa warming my hands.
Jace drops down beside me with a low grunt. He doesn’t say anything at first—just shifts until his arm is behind me, pulling me into his side. I go willingly, letting his warmth sink into me.
Luca claims the recliner front and center like it’s his throne, tossing popcorn into his mouth with precision. Maeve curls up cross-legged on a couch recliner with a blanket, Noah stretched out behind her with one arm draped over the back of her seat like he’s keeping watch. Dakota takes a single recliner on the side with a large fluffy blanket draped over her legs.
The movie starts with cheesy dialogue and snow-covered scenery, but the only thing I’m really aware of is the slow rhythm of Jace’s breathing. Every so often, his thumb brushes against my shoulder, a tiny, grounding motion that makes my chest ache in a way I can’t explain.
Halfway through, I lean into him fully, my head resting against his chest. His arm tightens around me instantly, like he’s been waiting for me to give in. The scent of his cologne is faint but familiar, mixing with the smell of cocoa and popcorn, and I close my eyes for a beat just to capture the moment.
“Comfortable?” he murmurs, low enough that only I hear.
I hum.
He makes a quiet sound that might be a chuckle, then tilts his head so itrests lightly against mine. We don’t need to talk. Not right now. The warmth of him, the movie’s soft glow on our faces, the muffled laughter from the others—it’s everything.
The long diningtable at Ashthorne Hall is all warmth and glittering light—gold-rimmed china, the deep green of holly garland, the soft glow of candles reflected in crystal glasses. The air smells like roasted turkey and cinnamon, the kind of scent that feels like it should belong to some perfect holiday memory.
Brenda is telling a story about burning an entire batch of Christmas cookies when she was Maeve’s age, and everyone laughs, even Lucian. Adrienne and Dakota went to her parents house for dinner. But my chest feels full as I look around the table—at Jace leaning back with his drink, Luca gesturing wildly as he argues with Noah about the best Christmas movie, Maeve rolling her eyes but smiling.
And then my phone vibrates against the polished wood beside my plate.
Once. Twice.
I glance down.
