The next morning is Christmas Eve, and I wake up to an early Christmas present in the form of a very shirtless Sebastian Slater sprawled out beside me in bed.
And… wow. I must be on the nice list this year.
I take a moment to admire his sleeping form. He’s dressed in only a pair of gray sweatpants and is lying on his side, one arm flung over the pillow wall, one tucked under his head. His face is peaceful, almost angelic, as he dreams, his mouth ajar and his eyelids fluttering. Which would be the cutest thing I’ve ever seen… if I wasn’t so preoccupied staring at the expanse of tanned skin stretched taut over long planes of muscle. There are two freckles to the right of his belly button, decorating one of his ridged abdominal muscles.
I feel weirdly pleased to be in possession of this knowledge.
There’s definitely nothing cute about Seb’s big, manly, athletic body. It’s a landscape that should most definitely be appreciated in all its natural glory.
I wonder at what point in the night he ended up shirtless. Not that I’m complaining. When we were getting into bed, he told me that he sleeps hot, but I wasn’t really listening. I was much more focused on making sure that I donned my huge, inherently non-sexy flannel PJs, wooly socks, and a sleeping mask. And building the pillow wall between us as high as I possibly could.
Not because I was worried about him trying anything… I actually thought that sleeping next to all that hotness—especially after he insulted Adam’s, ahem, pickle—might make me do something crazy. Like try to kiss him.
He’s been such a gentleman about making sure that I feel safe and comfortable. Meanwhile, I’m reeling myself in from jumping the poor guy’s bones.
But I’m not sure that it’s only my husband’s attractiveness that’s making me feel this way—I’ve always thought that he was gorgeous. He’s always made me blush with his inappropriate jokes.
This feels… different than simply lust. It’s more like an invisible string pulling me into his orbit. The way he knows if it’s a hug or a joke that I need to feel better. The way we’ve been here for only one night and he defends me before I even know I want to be defended. The way that, for the past couple of weeks, I’ve been excited to come home every night and spend time with him.
I swallow.
Frick.
The last thing I need to do is catch freaking feelings. There is no place for feelings in this marriage. It’s strictly business, with a side of ogling appreciation for the particularly spectacular specimen of the male human form that is Sebastian Slater.
That’s it.
I swallow and reach for my water bottle on the nightstand. Drain it. Because yes, I’m freaking thirsty right now.
I slip out of bed as quietly as possible. The closest bathroom is across the hallway, so if I play my cards right, I’ll be able to creep over there, brush my teeth, do all my skincare and my hair, and then slide back into bed and pretend I “woke up like this.” With dewy, plump skin, sleek hair, and fresh, minty breath.
Probably the same way that all the women Seb has shared a bed with actually wake up.
But, I’m not going to think about them right now, because it’s Christmas Eve. And I’m the one waking up next to this glorious sight.
Fa la la la la la la la la.
I tiptoe across the room and let myself out the door. I’m practically prancing across the hallway, high on the beauty of this particularly festive season, when a big, muscled, tattooed arm shoots out and grabs me. Drags me into the bathroom by the buttoned-up collar of my flannel PJ shirt.
“Hey!” I squawk, glaring up at Jax, who’s dressed in jeans and a gray T-shirt. His eyes are bright and his cheeks are red from the cold. My guess is that he’s been up for hours—by choice—for an early morning hike in the snow. By choice.
Like I said, my brother is a total weirdo who makes very questionable life choices.
“What the hell is going on?” Jax demands, glaring down at me like I’m the Grinch who stole Christmas.
Although, on second thought, he would probably high-five the Grinch—he’s a bit Grinch-y himself with his lack of holiday enthusiasm.
“Well, I was on my way to brush my teeth. But then, some jerk pulled me into the bathroom and started hassling me.”
“Ha ha,” Jax deadpans. His face is a mask of complete and total unfunniness. Closer to fury, really. “I got in late last night and found your mom still up, pacing the floors in her nightgown like some kind of Victorian house ghost, and she told me that you’re here with your new husband, Sebastian Slater. And now, she’s upset because you won’t try to win Adam back like you planned.”
Wow. There is so much to unpack in that sentence.
I start by rolling my eyes. “Like she planned.”
“What?” Jax hisses.
“Mom planned for me to try and win Adam back. I never wanted to win Adam back.”
He nods. This is believable to him. He fires the next question, “And you got hitched to Seb Freaking Slater how, exactly?”
I hate lying to Jax. So, I stick to what actually happened. “Drunken night in Vegas.”
“WHAT?”
“Yup.” I try not to smile at how positively flapped my entirely unflappable brother is right now. “Elvis married us, so it was all very official. We woke up the next morning and decided we’d give it a try. At least, for a while.”
I mean, it’s not not the truth.
Jax’s face paints a picture of a thousand words—none of them nice ones—but he only utters a single syllable: “Why?”
I shrug. “After all the crap that happened with Adam, moving on and leveling up with a pro hockey hubby seemed like a good option.”
My brother’s gray eyes narrow to slits. “So, what you’re actually saying is that you got married to get back at Adam.”
“Umm… not no?”
His dark, slanted brows fly up his forehead. “Maddie, in all the absolute…”
What follows is a string of entirely unfestive four-letter curses, interspersed with words like “idiotic,” “ridiculous,” “harebrained,” and—my personal favorite—“preposterous.”
Big word for the grizzly barman.
But clearly, he has never tried Revenge Marriage (trademark pending). Which is a shame, because I ten out of ten recommend it. It’s very soothing for the jilted romantic’s soul.
I yank my arm out of his grip so that I can cross my arms over my chest. “What’s preposterous is that you actually give a damn why I got married. You don’t even believe in marriage. Or love. So why do you even care why I chose to do this?”
His face softens, his slate eyes lightening a touch.
“Because I love you, silly,” he says on an exhale. “I care about your happiness. And you believe in love so much that it’s to your detriment sometimes, I think. Therefore, the thought of you being married for anything but love makes me upset for you. Especially with a hockey player who’s known for his commitment to nothing and nobody but hockey itself.”
“Jax,” I say confidently, grabbing his hand. “Put aside all of your feelings about love, marriage, and what you’ve read about Seb. The question is, do you trust me?”
“Of course. I just worry about you.”
I shake my head. “Well, don’t. I’m happier than I’ve been in a long time.”
This, at least, is the full truth.
Jax closes his eyes. Breathes in slowly through his nose and out again. “Fine. But tell me, is he being good to you?”
A smile splits my face. “Honestly, he’s the best. He treats me way better than Adam ever did.”
“Good. Because while I will choose to back down and support you in this madness for now, I also have no problem stabbing Sebastian Slater with his own hockey stick if he hurts you. Understand?”
I laugh. “Relax, Michael Myers. Seb is one of the good ones. You’ll see.”
And with that, I steer my brother out of the bathroom and shut the door in his face.
By the time I exit the bathroom—hair straightened and breath fresh as could be—my “I woke up this sexy” plan is foiled. Because the bed is Seb-less.
Which I totally blame Jax for, by the way.
I get dressed in a cute pair of leggings and an oversized cream-and-black fleece sweater with a zipper. Very cabin chic, I think.
I’m feeling pleased with my choice until I bounce downstairs and the first thing I see is Elizabeth leaning against the kitchen counter looking all svelte-like and catalog-modelly, dressed in one of those all-in-one ski suits with a belted waist and fur-lined hood. It’s a mauve color that looks great on her, but would probably make me look like I have cholera.
Her shiny black hair is French-braided and she’s wearing the perfect amount of makeup to emphasize her natural beauty while avoiding the freshly-scrubbed and pink look my complexion is currently sporting.
“Maddie.” She gives me a tight smile. “You’re finally up. We were just talking about today’s plan.”
As she says this, she gestures to the long, elegant dining table where Mr. and Mrs. Plumlee, Dot, my mom and stepdad, Adam, Jax, and Seb are currently sitting. There’s a spread of croissants, preserves, Danish pastries, juices, and cut-up fruit laid out in front of them.
Great. Of course I’m the last person down to breakfast. Seb must’ve located the other bathroom at the far end of the hall, because he looks freshly-showered and, quite frankly, delicious, in a diesel-blue beanie hat and black Patagonia fleece.
I note with pleasure that he’s sitting next to Jax, and Jax doesn’t look like he’s about to stick a fork in his eye.
I also note with pleasure that Adam is sitting across from them, and has clearly been watching them talk with an expression that’s halfway between disbelief at Seb being here, and jealousy that Seb and Jax are talking to each other, and not him.
Jax never cared for Adam, and while he was never blatantly rude, his distaste was always somewhat apparent. Which irked my ex to no end.
But my jolt of pleasure is short-lived. As I walk to the empty seat on Seb’s other side, my mother frowns at me. “You look tired, Madelyn. Do you need some of my concealer?”
Elizabeth presses her lips together, and the rest of my confidence slides straight into my under-eye bags, filling them up bigger and mauver than ever. Santa’s sacks of eyebags.
I slide onto my seat with my tail between my legs, but as my butt hits the cushion, Seb already has an arm around me, pulling me close.
“Morning, my love.” He presses a kiss to my forehead that’s featherlight and flutter-inducing, then smiles at me before declaring, “You look beautiful today.” He turns to my mom and adds, “If she looks tired, Mrs. Grainger, it’s probably because I kept her up late. We were having a really interesting debate.”
He’s giving Mom this endearing, earnest smile that must prompt her to ask, “What about?”
“How effective The Great Wall of China has been for, erm, border control.” He gives me a secret little look, and I’m sure my entire head turns blistering red.
“I didn’t know you were interested in ancient history,” Adam says.
“Oh, she’s not at all. Maddie’s much more interested in current events.” Seb gives him a jaunty wink. “Told me all about it last night. Three times, in fact.”
Adam’s normally alabaster-pale cheeks redden and Jax snorts into his water glass. Which is as good a signal as any that Seb has won my brother over, once and for all.
I knew that Seb Slater charm would get to him, just like it gets to everyone else.
“Well, I think it’s lovely that you two have so much to talk about that you chat into the wee hours of the morning,” Alicia says pleasantly, the double entendre of the conversation entirely lost on the old folks at the table (thank goodness). “But I hope that means that you’re not too tired to ski today.”
I groan inwardly, especially when I see Seb’s face light up and his blue eyes sparkle.
This is one of the more insufferable Plumlee-Grainger Christmas Eve traditions. If the weather allows it, the whole crew of us—including the parents and the grandparent—hit the slopes for the day before après-ski fondue.
I like the cheese part. A lot. What I don’t like is the slipping and falling down a mountain like a graceless idiot with two left feet, while everyone else perfectly, effortlessly carves their way through the snow.
I’d say that I never took to skiing… but it’s more like skiing never took to me. The whole sport and I have a mutual loathing, and it’s been that way since the time I slipped while coming off the chairlift and it whacked me on the back of the head.
I’d much rather curl up in front of the fireplace with a good book, any day.
“It’s going to be such fun.” Elizabeth sparkles as she spreads a thin layer of blueberry jam on her croissant. “I’m itching to get out there and hit some black diamond runs.”
Of course she is.
“Do you ski, Seb?” my stepdad inquires. “Growing up in Canada, I’d assume you ski or snowboard.”
“Both,” he replies easily. “I grew up near a ski resort, and when I wasn’t skating, I spent my entire childhood on skis or a board. I love skiing, but I like snowboarding even more.”
“Excellent.” Elizabeth’s lips curve upward. “We’ll have one more expert to join us more daring members of the family today.”
Adam gives a jolly chuckle. “Yes. You’ll have to come with Elizabeth, Jax, and myself. I’m sure you’ll be bored spending all day with Maddie falling on the bunny hill, as usual.”
Elizabeth laughs like a tinkling bell at this, and my dislike for her only grows.
“I’m skiing alone,” Jax responds immediately, the look on his face communicating that the thought of spending any time with Adam is the most repugnant thing he can possibly imagine. Which I appreciate.
Meanwhile, I force my face into a pleasant, neutral smile. “I think I might sit this one out… Seb’s right, I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
I’d much rather impale myself on one of Elizabeth’s ski poles than have her laugh at me sliding face-first down the ski hill.
Dot shoots her grandson a look before tilting her head my way kindly. “Nonsense, deary. You must come. I can keep you company in the beginner area.”
Lizzie and Adam snicker behind their hands. Because while Dot is clearly only trying to help, an eighty-year-old wizened woman with bad hips offering to join me on the bunny hill for my sake is… well, humiliating.
“Oh, no. I’ll just—”
“Make Christmas cookies with me,” Seb supplies. He looks around the table. “As much as I love to snowboard, there’s a clause in my contract with the NHL that doesn’t allow me to take to the slopes.” He grins. “Guess my limbs are too valuable to risk breakages. And Maddie was nice enough to offer to forgo skiing today to keep me company. An offer I very much accept.”
“Oh, well in that case, of course. You newlyweds enjoy some alone time.” Dot taps her nose knowingly.
Adam looks miffed. At best.
And I feel… like I’m on top of the world.
Because I know that Seb doesn’t have a contract right now.
Which means he is choosing me over snowboarding today.
