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Sixteen
Movement drew his attention to the staircase. Stef, wrapped in a thick gray bathrobe that she must have found in the back of his closet, held up the yards of extra material and came down the steps like royalty holding her robes.
My queen.
Her frown was evident, the ends of her blond hair dark and wet.
“I heard the phone ring earlier. Which one of my overprotective family members was it?” She clomped over and sat on the couch next to him; the robe balled up and she tucked her legs under her. “Let me guess. The one you serve like he knighted you.”
He didn’t respond since she’d guessed right.
“That fire feels nice.”
Taking advantage of her nearness, he wrapped an arm around her. He wasn’t much of a cuddler, but where Stefanie was involved he was coming to realize the only place she belonged was in the protection of his arms.
“You don’t have a single string of tinsel,” she pointed out.
He looked around with her at his utilitarian style, the palette of earthy browns and concrete grays, exposed earth-toned brick walls. The decor was a complete antithesis of her style. It was like she’d been sent from a castle to live in a cave with the dragon.
His fingers brushed her shoulder, the thick terry cloth keeping him from her bath-warmed skin.
“You don’t have to stay here.”
“I didn’t mean that.” She gave him a playful shove, not picking up on the shadow that’d stretched over his soul. “I understand why you didn’t deck the halls.”
He felt the weight of her ocean-blue stare on his profile. He turned to meet her eyes.
“Where is your dad now?”
“Probably at home. Or at a bar.”
“Do you see him much?”
Emmett shook his head.
“Do you want to?”
Another head shake.
“I’m sorry.” He could hear the sincerity in her voice.
“Don’t be. It is what it is.” He touched one of her cheeks with his knuckle.
“Well, you have to admit this is the most unique Christmas you’ve ever had.” She smiled, pleased with her joke. Damn if he couldn’t help a small smile of his own.
“Unforgettable,” he agreed.
He would never forget her. In the event Stefanie started feeling too much for him—more than he could return—then he would let her go home to her family and exile himself in the process.
Part of him howled in protest, the reverberation of that silent cry shaking him to the core. When it came to letting her go, he didn’t have a choice.
He’d do it to protect her. He’d do it for her.
He’d do it...even though he didn’t want to.
The Dallas Duchess. That slimy wench.
The gossipy blogger had swiped the Tweet Stefanie posted this morning, but rather than offer her congratulations, she’d slapped the wedding picture of Emmett and Stefanie on her website alongside a saucy, tawdry headline.
