The night Olivia Parker stepped into that Manhattan penthouse—twenty-seven floors above the East River, winter lights glowing like scattered diamonds across New York City—her life should have stayed ordinary. Predictable. Quiet.

Instead, it twisted.

Because on that cold December evening, long before she found herself inside a Christmas mansion in the upscale Connecticut suburbs, before a powerful family froze mid-conversation to stare at her, before a man everyone whispered about slipped his hand around her waist like he meant it… something else happened.

Something smaller. Something deceptively simple.

Matteo Reichi called her into his office.

And that alone was enough to change everything.

Olivia had been staring at her laptop for hours, the glow of spreadsheets and contracts reflecting off her glasses. She sat at her desk outside Matteo’s corner office in the Reichi & Co. Manhattan headquarters—a stunning tower overlooking Midtown, known for mergers so ruthless they made Wall Street executives sweat. The December sky outside was gray, heavy with the threat of snow. People rushed in and out carrying coffee cups and holiday deadlines, desperate to finish work before Christmas Eve.

Olivia didn’t rush. She never did.

She was the kind of assistant who moved like clockwork: precise, invisible, essential. Six months in, she had already built a reputation across the office. “Ask Olivia” had become a phrase people whispered like she was a walking, talking solution manual.

She didn’t mind. Reliability was safe.

Safety was her thing.

Until Matteo stepped out of his office and everything around her went unnervingly still.

He rarely came out. He usually summoned.

But tonight he walked through the quiet hallway, sleeves rolled up, jaw sharp with the kind of tension that made even senior staff duck their heads. He stopped in front of her desk—his shadow long across the polished floor—and spoke in a low voice that carried authority even when barely audible.

“Olivia,” he said. “My office. Now.”

Her fingers froze on the keyboard.

People looked up from their screens. No one ever admitted it, but the whole floor was always alert when the CEO’s voice dropped into that particular register. The one that suggested he had made a decision and everyone else had three seconds to adjust.

Olivia swallowed, grabbed her notebook, and stood. She smoothed down her black sweater out of habit, tucked a loose piece of hair back into her messy bun, and followed him.

The moment the office door closed behind her, Manhattan’s skyline filled the room—floor-to-ceiling windows offering a view so grand it could swallow a person whole. Snow had begun drifting past the glass in soft, lazy flakes. A twenty-foot Christmas tree, decorated in gold and white, glowed in the corner like it belonged to a luxury magazine photoshoot.

Matteo didn’t sit.

He leaned against the front of his desk, arms folded, dark eyes sharper than her nerves could handle.

She had seen him frustrated. Focused. Irritated. But she had never seen him like this.

Not unsettled.

“Is there a problem with tonight’s event?” she asked, voice steady despite the strange tension in the air. “I confirmed the security detail, catering, transportation scheduling—”

“It’s not logistics,” he cut in.

Her heart did a tight, startled jump. Matteo never interrupted unless something mattered.

Deeply.

He studied her face for a moment—too long, too direct—before taking a breath like a man preparing to hate the next words he had to say.

“I need something from you.”

Her eyebrows lifted in genuine surprise. Matteo didn’t need. Matteo decided. Matteo ordered.

“Anything work-related, I can handle,” she said.

“It’s not work-related.”

A shiver crawled down her spine. She tried to keep her expression calm as she flipped to a blank page in her notebook.

“I don’t understand.”

“My family Christmas party is tonight,” he said.

“I know. Eight o’clock. Connecticut estate. Your aunt called twice.”

“I can’t show up alone.”

That made her pause.

Her pen nearly slipped.

“Why not?”

He looked away briefly, jaw flexing, as if the question wasn’t as simple as it sounded.

“They talk,” he said. “They speculate. They exaggerate. In my world, rumors escalate into problems. And there have been too many lately.”

She nodded slowly. Everyone in New York had heard whispers about the Reichi family. A powerful dynasty with old money, new influence, and connections deep enough to make certain people nervous. Not criminal—no one ever said that outright—but influential in a way that kept journalists curious and rivals cautious.

“You want to calm the gossip,” she said.

“Yes.”

“And you want a date,” she guessed, “to show your family you’re stable.”

He didn’t deny it.

Instead, he said something that made her breath catch.

“I want someone I can trust. Someone who won’t drink too much, won’t embarrass me, won’t post everything online. Someone who knows when to speak and when to stay silent. Someone who understands my cues.”

She blinked.

“You want… a bodyguard?” she asked carefully.

He actually let out a nearly-a-laugh—a small, controlled sound that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Tonight,” he said quietly, “I want both.”

Silence stretched.

His gaze didn’t drift. Not once.

“Olivia,” he said, voice lower now. “I want you to go as my girlfriend.”

Her notebook slipped off her lap and landed softly on the carpet.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Her heart hammered against her ribs.

“Your family knows I’m your assistant.”

“They know I have an assistant,” he said. “They have never seen you.”

She looked down at herself—plain sweater, minimal makeup, glasses sliding down her nose. She worked behind screens and schedules. Nothing about her life brushed against glamour.

“I don’t look like the kind of woman your family expects,” she said quietly.

“What do you think they expect?”

“Someone glamorous. Someone bold. Someone used to your world.”

He watched her a long, weighted moment.

“Tonight, you won’t look like this,” he said. “Tonight, you’ll dress for the event. And you will look like my girlfriend.”

The certainty in his voice made something flutter beneath her ribs—something she refused to name.

“But why me?” she whispered. “You could ask any woman.”

“Because,” he said without hesitation, “I trust you. And I do not trust anyone else.”

Her breath faltered. His tone wasn’t romantic. It was factual. Stern. Firm. Permanent.

“How long does this fake relationship last?” she asked.

“One night,” he said. “We arrive together. We stay together. You leave with me. Tomorrow everything goes back to normal.”

She nodded slowly, trying to convince her heart this was no different from arranging a last-minute international flight or mediating a tense conference call.

Just another task.

“And what do I get?” she asked, surprising even herself.

He raised an eyebrow.

“You’re negotiating with me now?”

“I handle your schedule, your emergencies, the fact that you send emails at three in the morning,” she said with quiet courage. “If I walk into your family Christmas party pretending I’m your girlfriend, I want something meaningful in return.”

“What do you want?” he asked.

She took a breath.

“A full week off in January,” she said. “Paid. No calls. No late-night crises. Ryan handles everything.”

He stared at her like she had just challenged him to a duel.

“One week?” he repeated.

“Yes.”

He stepped closer, folding his arms.

“You think you’ll survive a week without me?”

“Will you survive a week without me?” she countered.

For the first time that day, his eyes softened. Just slightly.

“Fair point,” he said.

He extended his hand.

“One week off,” he said. “And tonight, you’re mine.”

Her pulse stumbled.

She hesitated only a second before placing her hand in his.

“Deal.”

A shadow of something unreadable flickered across his face when she said his name softly.

“Good,” he said. “A car will pick you up at seven. Dress appropriately.”

“What does ‘appropriately’ mean to you?”

He released her hand, walked back to his desk, picked up his phone.

“You’ll figure it out.”

Then, as if he hadn’t just flipped her life upside down, he said:

“You can go now. And Olivia—don’t be late.”

She left his office unsure if she was stepping back into her familiar routine or into another world entirely.

On the subway ride home—Queens lights blurring past her as snow began to fall—she felt his grip still ghosting across her palm.

Her apartment in Astoria was small, warm, and full of the simple comforts she loved—blankets, soft lamps, a cheap little Christmas tree by the window overlooking the city. The contrast between her world and Matteo’s felt almost comical.

Then her phone buzzed.

Hannah:
Still alive or did your boss schedule a midnight meeting?

Olivia exhaled a small laugh.

Olivia:
Something insane happened.

Hannah:
He fired you so you can finally sleep?

Olivia:
Worse.

Hannah:
…WORSE??

Olivia:
He asked me to go to his family Christmas party.

Hannah:
That’s not insane. That’s cute.

Olivia:
As his fake girlfriend.

There was a full ten seconds of bubble typing.

Hannah:
NO WAY NO WAY NO WAY
ARE YOU SERIOUS OR IS THIS A FEVER DREAM

Olivia called her before Hannah could explode through text alone.

“What exactly did he say?” Hannah demanded before Olivia even finished saying hello.

Olivia paced into her bedroom, pushing aside her sliding closet door.

“He needs someone he trusts. He thinks I’m calm, reliable, quiet—”

“Hot,” Hannah added.

“Hannah—”

“I’ve seen the man. He didn’t pick you for your filing skills.”

“That’s literally why he picked me!”

Hannah made a sound that suggested disbelief and excitement.

“What are you wearing tonight?”

“That’s the problem,” Olivia muttered, staring at her closet filled with work neutrals and comfortable dresses.

“You’re lucky I love you,” Hannah said. “I’m coming over with my entire wardrobe.”

“Hannah—”

But the line was already dead.

Olivia barely had time to shower before her best friend burst through the door with garment bags, heels, and a makeup case the size of a carry-on suitcase.

“This,” Hannah announced dramatically, “is a LEVEL TEN emergency makeover.”

They tried three dresses.

Too short. Too loud. Too sparkly.

Then Hannah unzipped the fourth garment bag.

“Trust me,” she said.

The emerald green dress hugged Olivia’s waist like it had been waiting for her. Elegant straps, knee-length skirt that swayed softly, fabric that glimmered under lamplight. Hannah styled her hair in soft waves, did her makeup with gentle precision, swapped glasses for contacts, added lightweight gold earrings and a delicate necklace.

When Olivia faced the mirror, she stopped breathing.

She looked like someone who belonged in Matteo Reichi’s world.

“See?” Hannah said proudly. “Manhattan girlfriend material.”

“He’s not my—”

“He will be,” Hannah said. “And if he isn’t, I’m suing.”

At exactly 6:59, headlights washed through her window.

The car.

Her pulse skyrocketed.

“This is insane,” she breathed.

“It’s Christmas magic,” Hannah corrected. “Go.”

Olivia grabbed her coat, clutch, and a courage she wasn’t sure she owned.

In the hallway, she turned back one last time.

“If this goes horribly wrong—”

“I’ll bring ice cream,” Hannah finished. “Now go before he thinks you bailed.”

Snowflakes drifted around her as she stepped outside. The sleek black car waited silently at the curb.

The driver held the door open.

“Miss Parker?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

She slid inside.

Warm leather, faint cologne, dim city lights through tinted glass.

Matteo was waiting on the other side of the back seat.

He looked up from his phone.

And froze.

It was subtle—barely a widening of his eyes, a slight shift in posture—but enough for her to feel the air change.

His gaze traveled from her hair, to her eyes, to the emerald dress… slower the second time.

She clutched her coat, suddenly self-conscious.

“If this is too much,” she said quickly, “I can go change—”

“Don’t.”

The word was soft, rough, almost involuntary.

“You look…” He stopped, clenched his jaw once. “You look very good.”

Heat rose to her cheeks.

“That’s descriptive,” she said.

“You clean up well,” he murmured. “If my family sees you like this, they’ll believe you’re with me.”

Those words did something strange and unsteady in her chest.

“I’ll do my best to play the role,” she said.

“We’ll go over the rules first.”

“Rules?”

“Three,” he said, slipping back into business mode. “One: you stay close to me. No wandering.”

She nodded.

“Two: if anyone makes you uncomfortable, you tell me. Immediately.”

“Even if it’s—”

“Especially if it’s someone in my family.”

“Okay.”

“And three: if I put my arm around you, hold your hand, or kiss your cheek, you don’t pull away. You’re my girlfriend tonight.”

Her breath caught.

“Understood?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said softly. “I can handle that.”

They drove north, Manhattan lights fading into the upscale quiet of suburban Connecticut—the kind of neighborhoods where every house looked like a magazine spread and every driveway felt like an estate.

When the car turned down a long tree-lined road wrapped in white lights, Olivia’s hands grew cold.

“You’re not backing out,” Matteo said.

“No,” she said quickly. “A deal is a deal.”

The car stopped.

The driver opened Matteo’s door, then hers.

Snow drifted quietly around them. The mansion glowed like something out of a movie—warm light spilling from tall windows, music drifting from inside, voices full of holiday cheer.

Matteo helped her out of her coat, hands brushing her shoulders in a way that made her heart twist tightly.

He looked at her again.

And whatever he thought this would be—whatever image he had expected—this wasn’t it.

He stepped closer, hand sliding to her lower back.

“You look perfect,” he said, voice low.

She didn’t have time to answer.

The doors opened.

Voices rose.

Heads turned.

A wave of silence washed through the entrance hall as Matteo Reichi walked in with a woman on his arm.

And just like that—

The night began.

The entrance hall looked like a luxury Christmas ad had been blown up to real life.

Warm golden light spilled from chandeliers, reflecting off crystal ornaments hanging from a towering tree near the staircase. Garlands wrapped around the banister, dotted with red bows and white lights. Somewhere deeper in the house, a Sinatra song floated through hidden speakers, blending with the sounds of clinking glasses and layered conversations.

All of it stopped.

Every conversation, every laugh, every clink of glass froze as soon as people saw Matteo.

Not just Matteo.

Matteo with a woman.

Olivia felt dozens of eyes fix on her, sharp and assessing, curious and stunned. She tried not to show how badly her knees wanted to buckle.

Matteo’s hand pressed gently into the small of her back, steady and firm.

He was calm. Completely at ease in the center of the attention that made her want to disappear. If her heart was sprinting, his might as well have been idling.

A woman in her late fifties, elegant in a deep burgundy dress and diamond earrings that caught every shard of light, hurried toward them with unfiltered delight all over her face.

“Matteo,” she exclaimed, cupping his jaw with both hands before kissing each of his cheeks. “Finalmente, mio caro, you’re here. We were waiting for you.”

“Aunt Rosa,” he said, his voice suddenly softer, warmer.

Ah, Olivia thought. The famous aunt.

Rosa turned then, and saw Olivia properly for the first time.

Her eyes widened.

Her hand flew to her chest.

“Madonna,” she breathed. “Who is this beautiful girl?”

Matteo’s fingers tightened at Olivia’s waist, a small private anchor in a very public moment.

“This is Olivia,” he said. “My girlfriend.”

The word dropped into the room like a glass shattering.

Someone gasped. Someone else choked on their drink. A cousin somewhere near the bar whispered loudly, “He said girlfriend.” Another voice answered with, “No, no, I heard it. He actually said it.”

Olivia forced a polite smile, hoping it didn’t look as terrified as she felt.

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Aunt Rosa,” she said.

Rosa’s face transformed into something bright and almost childlike.

“You call me Aunt Rosa already?” she cried. “That settles it. Matteo, you are not allowed to lose this one. I will disown you.”

Olivia’s cheeks warmed.

“We just arrived,” Matteo said smoothly. “We should—”

Too late.

Family closed in like a wave.

Uncles, cousins, in-laws, people whose names she wouldn’t remember for at least three weeks, all crowding around with questions.

“How long have you been together?”

“Where did you meet?”

“Why didn’t we know about her?”

“When was your first date?”

“Is this serious? Of course it is serious, look at him—”

Matteo answered calmly, like he’d spent years rehearsing this exact scene.

“We’ve been together a few months.”

“We met at work.”

“She keeps my life together.”

Every answer tightened something in Olivia’s chest, like strings being pulled one by one. It was an act. A performance. A script.

And yet his voice didn’t sound like he was acting.

Someone shouted, “Pictures! By the tree!”

Before she could protest, they were shepherded toward the massive Christmas tree. Matteo’s arm wrapped fully around her waist, drawing her close to his side.

“Smile!” a cousin with a professional-looking camera called out.

The flash went off, bright and white.

As people adjusted, Matteo lowered his head slightly, his breath brushing her ear.

“You’re doing well,” he murmured.

Her skin tingled.

“I’m trying,” she whispered back.

“Don’t try,” he said quietly. “Just stay with me.”

More flashes, more poses. One with the older generation, one with the kids, one where an aunt insisted Olivia stand in front and Matteo behind her “like a proper boyfriend guarding his treasure.” That one nearly stopped Olivia’s heart.

When the camera finally lowered, her face hurt from smiling.

Matteo guided her gently toward the living room, where a long table was laid out in festive perfection—white tablecloth, candles, appetizers, bottles of wine and sparkling water. People kept glancing over, quickly looking away when she met their eyes.

It was like being constantly weighed and measured.

She leaned closer to Matteo.

“Are they always like this?” she whispered.

“This is calm,” he said dryly.

Calm.

Terrifying.

A cousin in her forties waved from a sofa. “Matteo! Bring your beautiful girlfriend. Come sit with us!”

Matteo led Olivia over and sat so close their thighs brushed. The sofa dipped slightly under their combined weight. The warmth of his body seeped through the fabric of her dress, grounding her and making her even more aware of him.

“Olivia,” the cousin said, already glowing with gossip-ready joy, “you must tell us everything. When did he finally ask you out?”

Olivia opened her mouth, but Matteo answered first, voice smooth.

“She said no the first time.”

Several women around them gasped like they were front-row at a reality show.

“You did?” Olivia turned toward him, amused despite her nerves. “I did?”

“You said you were busy,” he said, eyes glinting almost mischievously.

She very nearly forgot this was fake.

“I can’t believe she turned you down,” one aunt said.

“She has sense,” another replied. “Make the Reichi men work for it.”

“If you all keep talking,” Matteo muttered, “I’m leaving.”

No one believed him.

A boy, maybe sixteen, slid a little closer, cheeks flushed and eyes wide behind his glasses.

“Miss Olivia,” he said shyly, “you’re… um… you’re much prettier than the girls Matteo usually talks to.”

“Enzo,” Matteo said warningly.

The boy paled.

“I mean—uh—I mean you look really nice,” he corrected quickly.

Olivia smiled, the tension in her shoulders loosening.

“Thank you,” she said. “That’s sweet.”

Enzo brightened, clearly encouraged.

“Do you like video games?”

Matteo let out a near-silent groan, just loud enough for her to hear.

Olivia bit back a laugh.

“I don’t know much about them,” she admitted, “but I’m sure you could teach me.”

That was all Enzo needed.

He launched into an enthusiastic explanation of his favorite games, his hands flying as he described storylines and worlds and “this one mission that took me like seven hours.” Matteo watched him with the expression of a man considering disownment.

Olivia listened, genuinely interested, occasionally nodding or asking questions. For a brief moment, it all felt… normal.

Like she’d slipped into a family she’d always watched from the outside, now somehow seated in the middle of it.

Then a smooth voice cut through the chatter.

“Well, well,” it drawled. “Look who finally decided to show up with company.”

Olivia’s spine straightened involuntarily.

Matteo’s grip on her thigh—when had his hand moved there?—tightened a fraction.

A tall man in a fitted forest-green shirt and tailored dark pants walked toward them with the lazy confidence of someone who enjoyed being watched. He had Matteo’s bone structure softened with an easy grin and a glass of red wine swirling casually in his hand.

“Ethan,” Matteo said flatly.

So this was that cousin.

Ethan’s attention slid straight past Matteo and locked onto Olivia.

“And you,” he said, eyes sweeping over her dress a little too slowly, “must be the legendary girlfriend I’ve heard absolutely nothing about.”

Olivia gave him a polite smile.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said. “I’m Olivia.”

“Of course you are,” he said. “I’m Ethan. The better-looking Reichi.”

“Keep talking,” Matteo muttered.

Ethan ignored him.

“I always assumed Matteo would end up with someone cold and terrifying,” Ethan went on lightly. “You know. To match.”

Matteo’s jaw flexed.

“But you,” Ethan continued, “you’re… surprisingly sweet. And very beautiful, actually.”

The compliment was almost respectable.

Almost.

Ethan’s gaze lingered just a bit too much to be harmless.

“Ethan,” Matteo said sharply. “That’s enough.”

Ethan shrugged.

“Relax, cousin. I’m just appreciating.”

“It doesn’t sound like appreciation,” Matteo said.

“I’m just saying,” Ethan replied, taking a lazy sip of wine, “if he doesn’t treat you right, Olivia, the rest of the Reichi men are available.”

Matteo’s body went rigid.

Christmas music played softly behind them. Someone laughed at a separate conversation across the room. Somewhere else, a kid shouted about cookies.

But in the space around the three of them, the air turned colder.

Olivia laid a hand on Matteo’s arm quickly, fingers gentle.

“He’s just teasing,” she said quietly. “It’s fine.”

“No,” Matteo said immediately. His voice was low, controlled, dangerous. “He was flirting with you.”

“It was harmless,” she insisted.

“It wasn’t harmless to me.”

Her heart skipped.

The possessiveness in his tone hit somewhere deep, somewhere that had nothing to do with contracts or schedules.

Ethan’s smile only widened.

“This is fun,” he said. “I might stay all night.”

“Or,” Matteo replied, voice soft enough to send a chill down Olivia’s spine, “you might not.”

Before anything could escalate, Aunt Rosa’s voice sliced through the room like a bell.

“Everyone! Dinner is ready. Come, come, before the food gets cold. Matteo, bring your lovely girl.”

Matteo exhaled slowly, like someone pulling himself back from an edge.

He stood, offered Olivia his hand, and guided her to the long dining table.

He pulled her chair out for her, surprising not only the family—but her too.

“Wow,” one cousin whispered loudly, “he’s pulling out chairs. It’s worse than we thought. He’s gone.”

Olivia tried not to laugh as she sat.

Matteo took the seat beside her. Under the table, their knees brushed. He didn’t move his away.

The table buzzed with conversation, clinking cutlery, the occasional burst of laughter. Platters passed from hand to hand. Olivia tried everything in small, polite portions, feeling Matteo’s attention flick to her every few moments.

He didn’t hover. He didn’t fuss.

He just… watched.

Checked if she had water. Tilted a plate of salad slightly closer to her. Nudged the bread basket her way.

It was subtle. But she felt every gesture.

At some point, Aunt Rosa leaned forward from the other side of the table, eyes sparkling wickedly.

“So, Olivia,” she said, voice carrying enough to grab everyone’s attention, “tell me—when did you realize you liked Matteo?”

Talking stopped.

Conversations paused mid-sentence.

All eyes went to Olivia.

She froze, fork halfway to her mouth.

Across the table, Ethan grinned like Christmas had come early.

Matteo looked at her—not with amusement, but with something quieter. Intense.

She swallowed.

“I think,” she said slowly, “I started liking him the day I realized he wasn’t as intimidating as he looks.”

A few people laughed softly.

“And when was that?” Rosa asked, leaning forward even more.

“Last week,” Olivia blurted.

The table erupted.

Laughter, teasing, choruses of “Last week!” and “Poor Matteo, he had to work for it.”

Matteo actually smiled—small, rare, but very real.

Ethan raised his glass.

“I told you she was too good for you,” he called.

Matteo’s jaw tightened.

Olivia slid her hand under the table, brushed his knee with her fingers.

“Don’t,” she whispered.

His eyes flicked to hers. Something in his expression softened.

He covered her hand with his, warm and steady and surprisingly gentle for a man that made entire New York firms nervous.

“For you,” he murmured.

Her chest squeezed in a way that had nothing to do with rich food.

The rest of dinner was a blur of questions, jokes, and stories. They asked about her job, her family, the first time she’d met Matteo, what had attracted her to him (she lied, but only about the timeline), whether he was “at least half-charming in private.”

She answered what she could.

She dodged what she couldn’t.

And through it all, Matteo watched her as if every answer mattered.

At some point, a voice shouted from the end of the table, “Time for the game!”

The room came alive.

Chairs scraped back.

Kids cheered.

Olivia blinked.

“Game?” she echoed.

Matteo let out a very quiet, very resigned sigh.

“You’re about to learn something important about my family,” he said.

“What kind of game?”

“The terrifying kind,” he said. “Tradition.”

That did not help.

The dining table was cleared from the center of the room, pushed closer to the wall. Someone brought out an ornate chair and placed it front and center like a throne. Cushions were scattered on the floor for kids. Chairs were arranged in a half-circle.

Aunt Rosa climbed onto a small step stool, clapped her hands for attention, and grinned like she was hosting a prime-time reality show.

“Tonight,” she announced loudly, “we welcome a very special guest—Olivia!”

Applause exploded around the room.

Olivia wanted the floor to swallow her whole.

“Since Matteo has finally joined the human race and brought a girlfriend,” Rosa continued, “we will begin with the couple compatibility round.”

“Oh no,” Matteo muttered under his breath.

“How bad is this?” Olivia whispered.

He hesitated.

“Bad,” he admitted.

Rosa pointed at Olivia dramatically.

“Olivia, my dear, come sit here.”

The decorative chair suddenly looked less like a seat and more like a public trial.

Olivia inhaled, exhaled, then felt Matteo’s hand at the small of her back.

“I’m right here,” he said quietly. “Go.”

That helped more than it should have.

She walked to the chair and sat, crossing her ankles, hands folded carefully in her lap, trying to pretend this wasn’t the most exposed she had ever felt in her life.

“Perfect,” Rosa said. “Now, Matteo, come stand beside her.”

Matteo stepped forward, placing one hand on her shoulder. The contact burned through the fabric of her dress, steadying and electric at the same time.

Rosa lifted a basket full of folded slips of paper.

“These,” she declared, “are questions. They will tell us if this couple is meant to be—or doomed.”

“Doomed,” Matteo repeated dryly. “Very festive.”

Rosa ignored him and pulled out the first slip.

“Who said ‘I love you’ first?”

The room roared with excitement.

Olivia’s eyes went wide.

“We’re not—”

“Matteo,” Rosa cut in. “Answer.”

He looked down at Olivia.

For a moment, there was nothing playful in his gaze. Nothing light. Just heat and something heavier than the script they’d planned.

“If I had said it,” he said slowly, “she would have been the first to know.”

Aunties melted.

Someone fanned themselves with a napkin.

Olivia’s heart slammed against her ribs.

Rosa beamed. “We accept. Next question.”

She pulled another slip.

“What was Matteo’s first impression of Olivia?”

Her shoulders tensed.

Matteo’s thumb brushed absentmindedly along her shoulder, as if he didn’t even realize he was touching her like that.

“I noticed she was quiet,” he said.

Half the room laughed.

“Quiet,” he repeated. “And smarter than everyone else in the room. Including me.”

That shut them up.

“Oh, he admitted it!” someone shouted.

Rosa wagged her fingers at Matteo. “Careful. Compliments can be used against you later.”

She drew another slip.

“What does Olivia do that annoys Matteo the most?”

Olivia turned her head slightly, curious and admittedly a little scared.

Matteo didn’t hesitate.

“Nothing she does annoys me,” he said.

The room collectively swooned.

“Matteo,” one aunt gasped, “you’re going to make the girl faint.”

He looked down at Olivia, and this time, she had to look away for a second. The sincerity in his gaze was too dangerous.

Rosa’s hand dove back into the basket, rummaging.

“Ah,” she said, grinning. “This one is good. If Matteo had to choose one thing he loves most about Olivia, what would it be?”

Olivia’s pulse pounded in her ears.

Matteo didn’t answer immediately.

He stared down at her, something unguarded flickering for a brief moment.

“She listens,” he said finally, voice softer. “She understands me.”

The room went very, very quiet.

Her throat tightened.

It was supposed to be pretend. It wasn’t supposed to sound that real.

Before she could fully process that, a kid somewhere shouted, “Challenge round!”

The atmosphere snapped back into chaos.

Rosa clapped like a game show host.

“Yes! Challenge round,” she said. “Matteo, come forward.”

He groaned. “Rosa—”

“No escape,” she sang. “You must complete the challenge with your beautiful girlfriend.”

Olivia’s stomach did a nervous flip.

“Challenge?” she repeated weakly.

Rosa pointed at Matteo like an emperor issuing a decree.

“Lift her,” she said.

Silence rippled through the room before a wave of laughter followed.

“What?” Olivia blurted.

“Lift her like a groom lifts his bride,” Rosa clarified happily.

“Oh, absolutely not,” Olivia said instantly.

But Matteo was already moving.

“It’s just a game,” he murmured, slipping one arm around her back, the other under her knees. His eyes met hers, heat simmering beneath the calm. “Relax.”

She didn’t have time to argue.

In one smooth motion, he lifted her off the chair.

The room exploded.

Aunts shrieked.

Kids screamed.

A cousin shouted, “He didn’t even struggle!”

Olivia grabbed his shoulders, heart racing.

“Put me down,” she hissed.

“No,” he said quietly. “Not yet.”

He held her like she weighed nothing, like the world outside this moment didn’t exist. His face was so close she could see the tiny shadow of stubble along his jaw, the darker ring around his irises.

Phones came out.

“Pictures!”

“No pictures,” Matteo said sharply, glaring at the sea of raised phones.

Every device lowered.

He set her down slowly, gently, but his hands didn’t leave her waist.

“Are you all right?” he asked softly.

She nodded, but her voice refused to cooperate.

Rosa clapped again, delighted.

“Next challenge! Five-second hug.”

Olivia opened her mouth to protest.

Matteo didn’t wait.

He pulled her into his chest, arms circling around her, firm and protective. Her hands ended up splayed against his shirt, feeling the steady thud of his heart beneath her palms.

He smelled like expensive cologne warmed by body heat. Clean, subtle, familiar.

One second.

Two.

Three.

No one counted out loud, but the room grew so quiet they didn’t have to.

Four.

Five.

He didn’t let go.

Six. Seven.

Someone whispered, “That is not a fake hug.”

Another replied, “He’s finished. Matteo is gone.”

When he finally eased back, his hands slid down her arms slowly, fingers lingering at her hips.

Her entire body hummed.

Rosa cleared her throat theatrically.

“Well,” she said. “If that’s fake, Hollywood needs both of you.”

The room laughed, tension dissolving into teasing and applause.

“For the last question,” Rosa announced, pulling one final slip, “tell us—does Matteo get jealous?”

Ethan’s voice floated from the back of the room, smug and amused.

“Oh, he gets jealous,” he said. “Trust me.”

Matteo’s eyes snapped to him.

Rosa raised her hands. “Let the girlfriend answer.”

Every gaze turned to Olivia.

She glanced at Matteo. His jaw was tight, eyes darker than they had been all night. His hand still rested on her hip, fingers pressing in just slightly.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “He does.”

The room erupted.

Cheers, whistles, “I knew it,” and “Of course he does, look at him.”

Matteo exhaled slowly, then leaned down, his mouth near her ear.

“That cousin of mine,” he muttered. “Needs to keep his distance.”

Olivia shivered.

“He was just teasing,” she whispered.

“Don’t defend him,” Matteo said. “I didn’t like the way he looked at you.”

“It was harmless,” she tried again.

“It wasn’t harmless to me,” he said simply.

Those words stayed with her even as the game wound down and the crowd shifted around them, congratulating, teasing, pulling them into new conversations.

He didn’t move his hand from her hip.

When the commotion finally thinned, he guided her gently toward the edge of the room, where the noise softened just enough for them to breathe.

“You okay?” he asked.

She nodded.

“You sure?”

She met his gaze.

“Yes,” she said. “I’m just not used to being the center of… everything.”

His expression softened again.

“You handled it,” he said. “Most people would have panicked.”

“I am panicking,” she said under her breath. “I’m just doing it internally.”

That drew an actual laugh from him, quiet and genuine.

“Keep doing it like that,” he said. “It works.”

Before she could answer, Ethan appeared again, leaning against the doorway with that same half-amused, half-provocative smile.

“Enjoying the show?” he asked. “Or starring in it?”

“Walk away, Ethan,” Matteo said.

Ethan’s gaze flicked to Olivia.

“I’m just appreciating the miracle,” he said. “You do realize if you don’t keep him in line, the rest of us are available, right?”

Matteo’s control snapped another inch.

“One more word,” he said, voice low and lethal, “and I stop pretending this is a joke.”

Ethan’s grin sharpened.

“Afraid she’ll realize she has options?”

Matteo took a step toward him.

Olivia grabbed his arm on instinct, fingers tightening.

“Don’t,” she whispered. “Not here. Not tonight.”

His eyes were locked on Ethan, shoulders tense, but her hand on his arm—small, warm, insistent—dragged his focus back to her.

He inhaled slowly.

“For you,” he said, the words strained but real.

Ethan watched them both, eyes bright with interest.

“Interesting,” he said. “Very interesting.”

He pushed off the doorway and disappeared into the crowd again.

Matteo’s muscle finally relaxed beneath Olivia’s hand.

She touched his chest lightly.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Really.”

He covered her hand with his, holding it there over his heartbeat.

“I know,” he said. “I just didn’t expect to… feel that. At all.”

“To feel what?” she asked.

He shook his head once.

“Come with me,” he said.

“Where?”

“Somewhere quieter.”

He slid his hand down her arm, laced their fingers together, and led her toward a set of glass doors at the back of the room.

The cold hit them the moment they stepped out onto the balcony.

But it was a different kind of cold—clean, sharp, filled with pine and winter and distant city lights. Behind them, the party blurred into muffled music and indistinct laughter.

Out here, it was just the two of them.

Matteo walked forward a few steps, hands in his coat pockets, staring out at the snow-dusted trees and neighboring houses glowing with their own Christmas lights.

“Why did you stop me back there?” he asked abruptly, his voice lower in the quiet air. “When Ethan wouldn’t shut up.”

“Because this is your family’s Christmas party,” she said, stepping up beside him. “You don’t need a scene. And because I didn’t want you to regret anything later.”

He let out a short, humorless laugh.

“Regret?” he repeated. “The only thing I regret is not telling him to stay away from you sooner.”

Her heart gave a painful little lurch.

“Matteo—”

He turned to face her fully.

“I’m not used to this,” he said.

“Used to what?”

He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it in a way she’d never seen at the office. There, every strand was always perfectly in place.

“To noticing every time someone looks at you,” he said. “To getting angry when someone stands too close. To wanting to put myself between you and the rest of the room.”

Her breath caught in her throat.

“Don’t say it’s just part of the act,” he said quietly. “Because it didn’t feel like acting. Not to me.”

She swallowed, the cold air biting at her lungs, the words sticking in them.

“I wasn’t acting either,” she said.

His eyes darkened.

A gust of wind lifted a strand of her hair. He lifted his hand slowly and tucked it behind her ear, fingertips brushing the side of her neck.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “You got in that car tonight and I…”

He trailed off, like the admission cost him something.

“I haven’t been able to stop looking at you since,” he finished.

She tried to deflect, panic and something more dangerous tangling inside her.

“You’re only saying that because of the dress,” she said.

“Don’t do that,” he said firmly. “Don’t pretend it’s the dress.”

She opened her mouth to say something safe, something logical, but nothing came out.

He stepped closer.

His hands found her waist like they had always belonged there.

“Olivia,” he said, her name sounding different out here in the dark. “The whole night I kept thinking—how did I never notice you before?”

“People don’t notice their assistants outside the office,” she said softly. “That’s normal.”

“Not noticing you was the mistake,” he said.

The words hit so deep she almost swayed.

“This is fake,” she reminded him quietly. “Remember? One night. An arrangement.”

“Is it?” he asked.

“Yes,” she insisted, but even to her own ears, the word sounded thin.

He leaned in, closer, until the tip of his nose brushed hers.

“And how do you feel right now?” he asked. “Does this feel like a deal?”

Her lips trembled.

“No,” she whispered. “It doesn’t.”

Something flashed in his eyes—relief, desire, fear, all tangled.

He lifted his hand to her chin, tilting her face up gently.

“If you want me to stop,” he said, voice roughened at the edges, “say it.”

Any other day, any other situation, she would have said it.

She would have stepped back.

She would have protected the stable, boring, safe version of her life.

But tonight, nothing about her felt safe. Or bored. Or stable.

“Don’t,” she whispered.

His eyes closed for a second like the word hit him physically.

He leaned in slowly, carefully, as if he was holding himself back with invisible ropes. His breath warmed her lips. Her heart was sprinting, the rest of the world dropping away—

The balcony door flew open.

“Matteo!” Aunt Rosa’s voice crashed into the moment. “Why are you two freezing out here? Dessert is ready. You want it to melt?”

They jumped apart so fast the cold rushed back between them.

Matteo’s jaw tightened. He inhaled once, hard.

“We’re coming,” he said, sounding like he’d just swallowed a curse.

Rosa looked between them, eyes full of mischief, a slow smile curling her mouth.

“Mhm,” she said. “Yes. You are.”

She closed the door.

Silence fell again.

Olivia wrapped her arms around herself.

“We should go back,” she said, voice thin.

Matteo exhaled slowly, shoulders rising and falling as he wrestled himself back under control.

“Right,” he said. “We should.”

He held out his hand.

The simple gesture felt like a question.

If she took it, something changed. Something that had already started shifting out here in the cold.

She slid her hand into his.

His fingers closed around hers, firm and warm.

They walked back inside together, hand in hand.

No one said anything outright when they reentered the living room, but they didn’t need to. People turned to look. Aunts nudged each other. Cousins smirked. Kids snickered in the way kids always did when they sensed something romantic was happening and no one wanted to talk about it directly.

The grandmother, watching from her armchair near the fireplace, made the sign of the cross and whispered, “Finalmente.”

Olivia wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

Matteo didn’t let go of her hand as he led her toward the dessert table.

The table looked like a pastry case exploded—in the best possible way. Tiramisu in delicate glass dishes, chocolate tarts, cannoli, fruit platters, and a towering panettone dominating the center like a sugar crown.

“You should try the tiramisu,” Matteo said, already reaching for a plate.

“You’re choosing for me now?” she asked, managing a small smile.

“I’m helping,” he corrected.

“You’re controlling.”

“I’m efficient.”

She laughed quietly, warmth blooming in her chest.

He scooped a small portion of tiramisu onto a plate, picked up a fork, and without warning, held it up to her mouth.

She blinked.

“You’re feeding me?” she asked.

He shrugged slightly.

“Open your mouth,” he said.

Her cheeks burned.

She parted her lips. He guided the fork between them with slow, deliberate care, watching her face like her opinion actually mattered.

The dessert melted on her tongue—coffee, cream, cocoa.

“Well?” he asked.

“It’s good,” she said.

His mouth tugged into a smirk.

“Told you.”

Before she could form a witty response, a cluster of his female cousins converged like a pack.

“He’s feeding her.”

“He’s smiling. Look at his face.”

“Matteo, are you in love? Blink twice.”

He groaned softly.

“Can all of you leave?” he said. “Please?”

“No,” one cousin said cheerfully. “We’ve never seen you like this. It’s like watching a documentary on a rare animal.”

Another added, “You’re glowing.”

“I don’t glow,” he said flatly.

Olivia laughed again.

His cousins gasped dramatically.

“Listen to that. She laughs.”

“He made someone laugh. Christmas miracle.”

Matteo put a hand over his face.

“I regret inviting you,” he said.

“You didn’t,” one reminded him. “Aunt Rosa did.”

“Exactly,” another added. “Blame her. We’re just enjoying the show.”

They finally scattered, leaving Matteo looking vaguely traumatized.

“They’re sweet,” Olivia said.

“They’re nosy,” he corrected. “And dramatic.”

“But sweet,” she insisted.

He looked at her for a long second, his expression shifting from exasperated to quietly thoughtful.

“You really think so?” he asked.

“I think your family is loud and overwhelming,” she said honestly. “But they’re full of love. That’s… rare.”

Something in his gaze flickered.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “They are.”

She touched his arm lightly.

“You did a good job with them,” she said.

“I didn’t do anything,” he said.

“You let them see you,” she replied. “That’s harder than pretending nothing matters.”

He stared at her like she’d just told him a secret he didn’t know about himself.

“You see too much,” he murmured.

“I pay attention,” she whispered back.

His hand found hers again.

And this time, he didn’t seem interested in letting go.