Chapter 10

10

TRISTAN

The cool marble presses into my back as I lean against the counter, a little dazed. The kitchen door swings shut behind Nina.

But even now that she’s gone, my mind spins out of control. Every nerve ending under my skin still humming from the feel of her body pressed against mine. What am I doing? I’m an idiot, an idiot playing with fire.

Seeing Nina Thompson naked has scrambled my brain. The way I cornered her just now, my hands on either side of her hips, it’s unacceptable. She’s Dylan’s little sister. Off limits. Untouchable. Always has been.

So why can’t I stop staring at the loose strands of hair framing her face? Why does my chest tighten every time she looks at me?

I press my lips together and push away from the counter. This can’t happen again. No more pranks, no more provocations. I’ll avoid her for the rest of my time here if I have to. My new motto is: do not engage. I only have to survive the holidays, then I can go back to pretending she doesn’t exist.

Easier said than done. My traitorous mind is not ready to let go of the memory of how she felt trapped between my body and the counter, the warmth of her skin seeping through my T-shirt, her breath catching as I leaned in close. The way her eyes darkened, lips parting in invitation?—

“Enough.” I slam my fist on the counter, gritting my teeth. She’s not for me. I have to remember that.

When I head into the living room, the entire Thompson family is already there, opening dusty boxes they must’ve just retrieved from the attic. Right. I should’ve remembered from my other Christmases with them that they always decorate the tree together. But it’s been a few years since the last time I was here for the holidays. Still, my memory is fresh enough to know there’s no escaping the tradition. I’m trapped in a room with Nina once again. At least we’re not alone.

I’ll just keep as far away from her as possible. Or as far as two people working on the same—albeit giant—fir tree can be. I position myself opposite her. From her corner, Nina alternates between openly glaring at me or blatantly ignoring me.

At least that’s the act she’s putting on. But I also catch her sneaking glances at me when she thinks I’m not looking. And I can’t help but notice the blush that stains her cheeks when she realizes I am looking in fact. Interesting.

No, it’s not interesting. It isn’t anything.

Because Nina Thompson is off limits. Her brother has hated every single one of her ex-boyfriends, punched at least two—they deserved it, and he’s not going to make an exception for me.

With that reminder fresh in my head, I busy myself hanging colorful, uncoordinated ornaments on the higher branches, trying to ignore Nina’s presence on the opposite side of the tree. But it’s impossible. I can sense her gaze on me like a physical touch, my skin tingling with awareness. My brain tracks her every movement, tuned like a radar with an enemy ship— or, more worryingly, a moth drawn irresistibly to the glow of a warm, flickering flame. But I’m smarter than that. I don’t wish to get burned.

Nina is the shortest person in the house, but she still insists on doing the top of the Christmas tree, dragging an old, rickety ladder to her side on which she balances precariously.

She’s fixing the lights on the taller branches when Dylan bumps her ladder, sending Nina tumbling into the tree with an “oof!” I am at her side in an instant.

“You okay?” I grasp her waist to steady her, concern overriding my good intentions to stay away.

She blinks up at me, tinsel tangled in her hair, eyes wide. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

I realize I am still holding her and settle her on her feet, jerking my hands back as soon as she’s stable. Clearing my throat, I take a deliberate step backward. “Good. Just… be more careful.”

Nina arches a brow. “What’s wrong, Tristan? You prefer your victims fresh before you torture them?”

“You’re not my—” I bite off the rest of the protest, refusing to rise to her bait. I’ve sworn no more responding to provocations—I just have to add no more rushing in for chivalrous rescues and I should be fine.

“It’s okay.” She pats my arm in a patronizing way. “I won’t tell anyone your dark little secret.”

What is she talking about? Does she know? She can’t know.

I scowl at her. “The only thing I care about is making sure you don’t ruin the tree with your clumsiness.”

“Sure, bull in a China shop, elephant near a Christmas tree… same thing, right?”

I’m about to snap again that last night’s comment wasn’t about her when she almost unconsciously fluffs her hair to make sure her ears are covered. Has Nina always been so self- conscious about them? Is that why she hated me calling her Gremlin so much? Did she think the pet name was a jab at her jug ears?

Horror dawns on me. Oh, fuck! I’ve been a total jerk for years. No wonder she hates my guts. I always called her Gremlin affectionately, because she was so small and cuddly and, well, yes, prone to mischief. But I never meant to offend her.

At the shock on my face, her eyes narrow, and she hisses, “At least try to hide the disgust, Montgomery.”

Again, not what I was thinking, but maybe it’s better to put up more barriers between us. It’ll be easier if she assumes the worst about me.

I take a step back. “Just try to keep upright this time.”

I don’t correct her assumptions and retreat to my section of the tree, hating myself a little.

Nina huffs and turns away as well, adding more distance between us, her shoulders tense. I watch her go, lost in my own thoughts. How have I never noticed how sensitive she is about her ears? They’re not even that big. I must’ve been a real asshole when I was a teenager.

I sneak a glance at her as she finishes untangling the lights from their clew. Her expression is a mask of indifference, but her back is still stiff. As if sensing my gaze, she stares up at me, and if looks could kill… I’d be six feet under right about now. Her eyes are like two icy daggers that pierce through my soul. I try to look away, but I can’t. I’m mesmerized by their fury. And then, in a flash, the frosty rage is gone. Replaced by a flicker of something else. Hurt?

Now I hate myself more than just a little.

Regret washes over me in chilly waves. I’m such an idiot. I never meant to hurt Nina. I always thought our bickering was a silly game. But now I realize that it’s been anything but that for her. I’ve been cruel, and I’ve made her feel like she isn’t perfect just the way she is.

I watch her fixedly, my mind racing. And then, as fast as the hurt appeared, it’s gone. Her eyes go dull again, and she turns back to the tree, untangling the lights with forced nonchalance.

She aggressively ignores me until the tree is nearly done—an explosion of colors and mix-matched decorations that make it look like an elf high on Christmas spirit vomited all his joy on top of it. Nina stands triumphantly on her tiptoes, balancing on the highest step of the ladder. Almost as if she was daring me to reprimand her, to tell her to be more careful as she applies the finishing touches to the tree top. I should scowl, but I can’t help staring like a fool, admiring the way the holiday lights illuminate her rosy cheeks while her green eyes sparkle with determination. She seems so innocent at this moment that I almost forget about how merciless her retaliations can be.

I’m almost scared to find out what she has in store next. But I’m pretty sure that between the toothpaste Oreo and the elephant comment I let slide uncorrected, she’s going to go for the throat next time. I’ll just have to be the bigger person for once and not react.

She catches me staring again and steps down from the ladder with unnecessary acrobatics, again as if she was daring me to tell her off.

Nina stares at me challengingly for a heartbeat, but when I don’t say anything, she bends over an empty box of decorations, sticking her pert butt in the air while she rummages inside. I should look away.

For the life of me, I can’t.

When she finally straightens up, I let out a breath. Just when I think my suffering is over, she turns my way with a sly glint in her eyes that belies the innocent smile on her lips. I narrow my gaze suspiciously. What is she up to now?

She brushes past me and I relax slightly, thinking I’m in the clear. But then she whirls around at the last second, yelling, “Boo!”

A puff of pink glitter explodes in my face. I sneeze violently, stumbling back in surprise. My elbow knocks into something and a loud crash echoes through the living room.

Blinking the glitter from my eyes, I stare at the shattered remains of one of Mrs. Thompson’s antique vases scattered across the floor—the white of the porcelain stark against the dark hardwood. The entire family gapes in shocked silence.

“Nina!” Mrs. Thompson scolds. “Look what you’ve done!”

“Me?” Nina’s mouth falls open in outrage. “I didn’t break it, he did! You can’t blame me for this.”

Mrs. Thompson crosses her arms. “You scared him half to death. What did you expect to happen?”

“It’s not my fault if he startles easily,” Nina huffs.

“That was your grandmother’s vase.”

“I know, I didn’t break it on purpose. Don’t make me responsible for his clumsiness.” She points a finger at me.

“You’re still accountable for your inhospitality and your childish pranks,” Mrs. Thompson retorts with a stern look that has even me straightening my posture out of respect. “This is not the spirit of Christmas.”

As their argument escalates, I rub the lingering glitter from my eyes. Leave it to Nina to literally blow up in my face and somehow make it my fault. I suspected she had something planned, yet here I am, still caught unaware—dazzled and disoriented once again.

But as I watch her cheeks flush with indignation, blonde hair falling in fiery waves around her face, I can’t help but feel a twisted admiration.

Mrs. Thompson throws her hands up in exasperation. “I can’t believe you, Nina. That vase was a family heirloom!”

“Again, not my fault it broke.”

I bite back a smirk, but Mrs. Thompson is far from amused. “That’s enough. Apologize to Tristan right now.”

Nina’s green eyes flash with defiance. “Apologize? For what? It’s not like I pushed him into the table!” She turns to me, hands on her hips. “Well? Aren’t you going to say something? Or are you just going to stand there and let them gang up on me as usual?”

I raise my hands in surrender, knowing better than to get in the middle of a Thompson family showdown. “Hey, I’m just an innocent bystander here. You’re the one who assaulted me with a glitter bomb.”

“Assaulted?” Nina scoffs. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. It was a harmless prank, and you know it.”

Me not admitting it’s my fault she blinded me with craft supplies and made me flounder seems to be the final straw.

“You know what? I’m done,” Nina declares, stomping her foot in frustration. “I’m so sick of no one ever being on my side in this family. I’m out of here.”

With that, she storms off, her footsteps echoing up the stairs before the slam of her bedroom door punctuates her exit. An awkward silence descends over the room in her wake.

I sigh, running a hand through my hair and sending a shower of glitter to the floor. Maybe I should’ve stepped in. Said something. This is my fault, too. We’ve both been caught up in this game of one-upmanship, but she’s the one dealing with the fallout today. My thoughts race with conflicting emotions—part of me is relieved she definitely won’t want anything to do with me after this. The other part yearns to run after her and kiss the anger and frustration away.

“Dylan,” Lisa says, turning her attention to her son. “Would you mind helping me clean up?”

“I can do it,” I offer, swallowing my mixed feelings and focusing on the task at hand.

Lisa hesitates. “Are you sure?”

“Of course.” I give her a gentle nod. “This is partly my fault.”

Dylan and his dad make themselves scarce, probably dreading being dragged into the family drama among the Thompson women.

“Oh, Tristan, don’t blame yourself. This was all Nina.”

“Trust me, Lisa. I know what I’m talking about. Please don’t be too hard on your daughter.”

I quickly collect the shattered pieces of the vase and place them carefully in a trash bag.

Lisa keeps quiet so long as she sweeps the floor that I don’t think she’s going to answer me until she says, “Sometimes I wonder if I’ve been too soft with her.”

I grab her by the shoulders. “Nina is an amazing young woman.” Then, because I can’t bear to look Mrs. Thompson in the eyes as I say this, I hug her. “I just bring out the worst in her.”

And that’s stopping today.