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So I could suck it up and suffer through a Christmas Eve dinner with Sylvie’s brothers scowling at me from aroundmytable if it meant it brought her happiness.
Christmas sucks.
At least, it had before Sylvie crashed into my life and upended it. Winter had settled over the farm like a cozy blanket, the air tinged with the scent of pine and the frosty bite of the night air. All but Cisco and a few of his family members had moved on to other farms in the South, and I wouldn’t see their familiar faces until spring. That was, if they chose to come back at all.
A flash of little Nico’s face went through my mind, and I wondered if I’d see his gap-toothed smile come thaw, if he’d be grown or changed or even remember me.
Abel cleared his throat from across the table, and my eyes whipped to his. He didn’t look up as he settled his napkin back into his lap. A chair groaned under Royal’s weight as Ed let out a contented sigh from the living room.
The tension was palpable.
My instincts screamed that these people were worlds apart from my own family. As I glanced around the table, I caughtJP’s scowl and his eyes flicking between me and his little sister. I stifled a laugh and placed my hand on her thigh, just to piss him off a little.
I caught Sylvie’s eye, and she gave me a wobbly, forced smile.
She looked past her brothers. “Dad?”
JP leaned back and shook his head. “Work.”
Her brows pinched together. “On Christmas?”
“You don’t take over the world by taking a day off.” Royal jumped in, while Abel only offered a grunt.
I might like that guy.
I didn’t miss the way Sylvie’s face fell slightly at the realization that her own father had chosen work over his family. I suspected it wasn’t the first time.
Bug’s voice cut through the awkwardness, acting as a diversion as she smiled at her niece. “Dinner is lovely, Sylvie.”
The words were simple, but they were like a lifeline, momentarily drawing attention away from the charged atmosphere. Sylvie’s aunt had the uncanny ability to defuse tension with a single sentence, and I sent her a small, grateful nod.
As I surveyed the room, taking in Abel’s perpetual scowl and the wary looks exchanged between siblings, I couldn’t help but think that maybe Sullivans and Kings had more in common than we’d ever give them credit for. Protecting what was theirs seemed to be a universal trait, even if it was born out of a centuries-old rivalry.
Abel’s scowl deepened, and I couldn’t help but chuckle inwardly. He was like a bulldog guarding its territory, perpetually on edge. I caught his eye and lifted a brow in silent acknowledgment, a truce of sorts passing between us. Perhaps, deep down, he was just as tired of the animosity as I was.
The charged glances exchanged across the table were like a silent conversation in itself. JP’s stern expression, Royal’shalf-amused, half-concerned grin, and even Three-Legged Ed’s grumbling from the living room—it was like a symphony of family dynamics playing out before me. I had to hand it to them—they were loyal to a fault, even if that loyalty came with a side of tension.
My eyes drifted down to the Jell-O mold Bug had provided. It came straight from a round, pistachio-green mold that was older than I was, and she had plopped it on a white platter with a wet slurping sound. The deep red Jell-O was now actively melting on the table, and whatever the hell was floating in it looked like straight-up barf. Royal had scooped a portion onto his plate and was cautiously poking it while Sylvie’s fork scraped across the loose Jell-O, picking out whatever the hell was inside it.
Feeling a strange burst of bravery, I cleared my throat and shifted in my seat, capturing the attention of the room. All eyes turned to me, and I flashed a grin that I hoped looked more charming than nervous. “Well, since we’re all here staring at each other like a cow looking at a new gate, how about we call a truce? Just for the night.”
The room fell into a stunned silence, the weight of generations of hostility hanging in the air. And then Bug’s laughter bubbled forth, a sound so contagious that even Abel cracked a smile. Sylvie’s eyes sparkled, and she reached for my hand under the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
Royal smirked and raised his glass, his dark tattoos seeping out onto the backs of his hands. “To truces, no matter how temporary.”
“To truces,” the chorus rang out, glasses clinking in a collective toast that felt like a small victory against the tide of history.
Sylvie’s aunt beamed at me, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “You know, Duke, there were probably other ways to break the cycle than setting your sights on our Sylvie.”
I chuckled, feeling a warmth spread through me that had nothing to do with the roaring fire in the fireplace.
I glanced down at the weeping Jell-O in front of me. “Well, Bug, if breaking cycles involves surviving your cooking, then I think I’m up for the challenge.”
I took a hearty scoop of Jell-O and shoved it in my mouth.
Huh. Not half-bad . . .
Wide eyes stared at me as laughter erupted around the table, the tension of the evening dissipating like mist in the morning sun.
