Page 26 of Candy Cane Chains

The bells sing again as she crosses her legs, the movement drawing Xander's gaze for a split second before he quickly looks away. My grip tightens instinctively.

"Cold?" I murmur against her hair.

She shakes her head, settling more firmly against me. "No. I'm perfect right here."

"That'll be all for now." I cut Xander off mid-sentence, my attention already shifting to the woman in my lap. "We'll finish this later."

Xander knows better than to argue. Instead, he gives me that knowing smirk of his and he sets down his glass and rises smoothly from the chair. I'm never going to hear the end of it now that he knows Ivy is here. "Of course. I'll have those other documents to you by evening."

The door clicks shut behind him, and I turn Ivy to face me fully, her legs straddling mine. The bells at her ankle chime with the movement.

"You are such a good girl," I murmur, brushing her hair back from her face. "So perfect, bringing us drinks, taking care of everything."

Her smile - bright and genuine - hits me like a physical force. Those amber eyes light up, crinkling at the corners in a way that makes my chest tight. How did no one see this before? How did they miss the way she glows from within, the grace in her movements, the sharp intelligence behind those eyes?

"I like taking care of you." She traces her fingers along my jaw, and I lean into her touch.

"Good." The word comes out harder than intended. "It's where you belong. Right here with me."

I cup her face in my hands, studying the delicate features I've come to know by heart. The high sweep of her cheekbones, the subtle curve of her lips, the depth in those eyes that seems to see right through me. Every piece of her is precious, valuable beyond measure.

"Their loss." I brush my thumb across her lower lip. "My gain."

She smiles again, and this time it's shy, almost wondering. Like she still can't quite believe someone sees her worth. I intend to spend however long it takes showing her exactly how precious she is.

The bells chime softly as she shifts closer, wrapping her arms around my neck. I hold her tighter, breathing in the vanilla scent of her hair, memorizing this moment.

13

IVY

Inever expected to fall into such easy rhythms with Julian. The morning light streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows as I pad into the kitchen, already knowing he'll be there with two cups of coffee - mine with a splash of cream, his black as night.

"Good morning." His deep voice wraps around me like silk as I take my usual seat at the marble island. He slides my cup over without looking up from his tablet.

The coffee is perfect, as always. Everything about Julian is measured, precise. Even the way he's trained me to wait for his approval before getting dressed each morning. I stay in my robe until he selects what I'll wear.

"The red two piece today." He sets his cup down with a soft clink. "No heels."

I nod, sipping my coffee. The warmth spreads through my chest, matching the flutter when his eyes meet mine over the rim of his cup. I've learned to read the minute changes in his expression - the slight softening around his eyes means he's pleased.

The apartment feels more like home with each passing day. Julian lets me add small touches here and there - fresh flowers in crystal vases, soft throw pillows in rich jewel tones. This morning, I'm hanging garland along the balcony railing while he works in his study.

"Spread it out more on the left." His voice startles me. I didn't hear him approach, but suddenly he's there, pulling at the edge of the garland until it falls into place. "Perfect."

The praise only makes me want more, makes me want to do everything I can to please him. I find myself seeking it more and more - arranging things just so, anticipating his preferences. When did his approval become as essential as breathing?

"Thank you." I turn to look at him. "The apartment looks beautiful."

He hums, a soft vibration that ghosts across my ear. He doesn't elaborate, but he doesn't need to. I understand what he means - I'm learning his ways, his routines, his expectations. And strangest of all, I'm finding peace in them.

I am a little caught off guard when he presses his hands to my low back, guiding me inside. "It needs a few more touches."

He takes me to the tree I helped him decorate two weeks ago. Sitting on the table next to it is a few unmarked white boxes. His expression remains neutral, but there's a glimmer in those ice-blue eyes.

"Open it." He nods to the box.

Inside, nestled in layers of tissue paper, are exact replicas of my grandmother's glass bird ornaments - the ones I mentioned offhandedly weeks ago. The delicate silver spheres catch the light, tossing the rainbows I love so much. My throat tightens.

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