Under the Mistletoe

"Merry Christmas!"

The door to Ariana’s room flew open with a bang. Cami bounded in like a whirlwind of energy, wearing fuzzy reindeer slippers and a massive grin. She jumped onto the foot of Ariana’s bed, oblivious to the way Ariana winced as her sore muscles protested the sudden movement.

"Ugh, you’re still in bed? It’s nearly ten!" Cami laughed, pulling the duvet back. "The house smells like cinnamon and pine, the maids have laid out the most incredible brunch, and I’m pretty sure Dad actually bought us real presents this year instead of just stock options."

Ariana sat up, pushing her tangled hair back. The memory of the night before—the desk, the leather couch, the feeling of Mateo filling her—was so vivid it felt like it was tattooed on her skin. She looked at Cami, her best friend, and felt a sharp, jagged pang of guilt.

"Merry Christmas, Cami," Ariana said, her voice slightly raspy.

"How’s the ankle? Dad said you really did a number on it last night." Cami leaned over, inspecting Ariana’s foot.

"It’s... it’s okay. A bit stiff, but I can walk," Ariana lied, sliding her feet into her slippers.

The two girls spent the next hour in a flurry of "normalcy." They opened stockings, laughed about the ridiculous gossip from the Gala, and helped each other get ready for the day. For a moment, Ariana almost convinced herself that the night before was a dream. She felt like the old Ariana—the one who belonged with Cami, watching movies and drinking hot cocoa.

"Come on," Cami said, grabbing Ariana’s hand. "Let’s go down. I think I heard Dad in the library."

As they descended the grand staircase, the mansion was glowing. The massive Christmas tree in the foyer was surrounded by perfectly wrapped boxes. The staff moved about with relaxed smiles, wishing them a happy holiday.

They found Mateo standing by the fireplace in the library, a glass of orange juice in his hand. He looked casual yet imposing in a dark cashmere sweater, the firelight catching the sharp angles of his face.

"Merry Christmas, girls," he said, his voice a calm, deep rumble. His eyes slid to Ariana, lingering just a second too long on her lips before returning to Cami.

"Merry Christmas, Dad!" Cami ran over and gave him a quick hug, which he returned with a stiff but fond pat on the shoulder. "Ari says her ankle is feeling better. Maybe we can go for a walk in the gardens later?"

"Actually, Camila," Mateo said, his gaze finally fixing on Ariana, "I need to discuss some... administrative details with Ariana regarding her stay. Why don’t you go check if the caterers have brought the holiday hampers to the kitchen? You know how the head chef gets if he isn't supervised."

Cami rolled her eyes. "Fine, fine. Always business, even on Christmas. Don't be too long, Ari! I want to open the big boxes!"

The second Cami’s footsteps faded down the hall, the atmosphere in the room changed. The "wholesome" Christmas spirit evaporated, replaced by a thick, magnetic tension.

Mateo didn't speak. He walked to the library door and turned the lock with a quiet click.

Ariana stood in the center of the room, her heart beginning to hammer. "Mateo, Cami is just down the hall—"

Before she could finish, he was in her space. He grabbed her by the waist and hauled her against him, his mouth crashing down on hers with a hunger that felt even more desperate than the night before. This wasn't a gentle Christmas morning greeting. It was a reclaiming.

Ariana let out a soft moan into his mouth, her hands flying to his chest, her fingers digging into the soft cashmere. He tasted like expensive coffee and dark promises. His tongue explored her mouth with a possessive rhythm, reminding her exactly who she belonged to.

He broke the kiss just an inch, his forehead resting against hers, his breath hot. "You look beautiful in the light, Nina," he rasped. "But you look even better with my marks on your skin."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, velvet-lined box. He opened it to reveal a delicate gold chain with a single, pear-shaped diamond that looked like a frozen drop of fire.

"Turn around," he commanded.

Ariana obeyed, her breath hitching as she felt his large, cool fingers brush against the back of her neck. He fastened the necklace, the diamond resting perfectly in the hollow of her throat.

"It’s beautiful," she whispered, her hand rising to touch the cold stone.

"It’s a collar," Mateo corrected, leaning down to bite gently at the junction where her neck met her shoulder. Ariana gasped, her knees going weak. Every time you look in the mirror, I want you to remember whose hand put it there. And whose hands were on you while the world was watching the sky."

He turned her back around, his hands sliding down to her hips, pulling her flush against his arousal. He didn't move to take her further—he just held her there, letting her feel the power he had over her.

"Now," he whispered, his eyes dark and obsessive. "Go back to my daughter. Play the part of the perfect guest. But remember, Ariana... the second the sun goes down, the holiday belongs to me."

He unlocked the door and stepped back, his face instantly smoothing into a mask of paternal calm. Ariana stood there, the diamond heavy against her skin, her body thrumming with a heat that no winter chill could touch.