The ugly vests fucker appears, his expression one of frustration and jealousy. His eyes dart between Willow and me, and the air instantly feels colder, shattering the magic of the moment.
“What are you two doing out here?” Fuckface demands, his tone clipped and more obnoxious than usual. His nosey gaze lingers on the closeness between Willow and me, and I can see the edge of jealousy in his eyes. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
I’m sure he did look everywhere. For her. Not me.
Fucker.
I notice Willow’s cheeks turning pink as she steps back, successfully breaking the spell that had enveloped us as we almost kissed. She clears her throat, her gaze dropping to the ground. I hate that. I fucking hate that she hides. I hate that she says sorry for every single fucking thing. “We... lost track of time,” she signs, looking embarrassed.
Ethan’s eyes narrow as he glances at me, and I sense a shift in his demeanor. He's not only jealous but he’s angry. Good.
He’s most likely imagining a hundred different scenarios of what happened while it was just her and me lost at night. I grin which only makes his eyes narrow more. “Well, we need to get back to the others,” he says, his voice rigid. “Let’s go.”
The fucker looks green with envy and the thought only makes me feel giddy but I don’t fucking like his snippy tone as if he’s entitled to her.
When Willow makes a move to follow him back to the others, I reach for her hand and guide her myself.
Fuck him.
Chapter
Sixteen
MAD SANTA
Willow
“You’re a mean one, Mr. Grinch.” – M
The warm steam wraps around me like a second skin as I step out of the shower while singing my favorite Christmas song. “Feliz Navidad. Feliz Navidad. ¡Feliz Navidad, próspero año y felicidad!” My voice echoes off the tiled walls as I sing cheerfully.
I grab a towel, rubbing it over my hair and watch the steam swirl around me. As I finish drying off, I glance at the foggy mirror, my reflection barely visible through the mist. I smile, feeling a rush of warmth not just from the shower, but from the memories that flash through me from the day I spent at the Amazon with Madden.
Once I'm completely dry, I grab the pajamas I brought with me to the shower and slip them on before heading out of the room. Looking around, I notice Uncle Cianne is nowhere to be found. He’s most likely down at the bar or the buffet restaurant. He left his gun sitting on the bar, most likely for my protection.
My father, grandfather, and uncles have always kept me safe, but they taught me how to handle knives and guns just in case I ever found myself in a dangerous situation without them. I don't like guns or knives, but I agreed to learn because of Mom.
I love my mother. She’s too good for this world, and I know she would never resort to violence. As much as I hate it, I would do whatever it takes to keep her from harm.
I make my way to the comfy sofa next to the Christmas tree, where my laptop waits, its screen glowing softly. With a content sigh, I sink into the cushions and flip the laptop open, the click of the keys the only sound in the quiet suite.
The first thing I do is type up the notes I took while observing the fungi in the forest today. Each observation brings back the magic and wonder of the day, and I lose myself in the details while trying hard not to get distracted by flashbacks of Madden’s closeness.
My heart flips as I think back of how close he was to my face. I not only felt his hot breath on my skin but his intoxicating scent. He smelled of Old Spice and mahogany. All man… Even after my shower, I can still smell him all over me.
“Do you believe in magic?” His question and the vulnerability in his tone melts me.
Of course, I believe in magic. I’ve always believed, but after meeting him as a kid, I knew that magic was real. How could it not be when someone like him exists?
Once I’m done with work, I set the laptop aside and grab my phone. My social media app pops up, and I swipe through my posts, pausing when I see the photos of the cute and colorful ceramic pots I made with Mom. Aside from gardening and baking, Mom and I love to spend Sunday afternoons making and hand painting ceramic pots for our plants to later give to my aunts and cousins.
A smile spreads across my face as I recall those afternoons spent with Mom, brushes in hand, designing pots to fit my aunt Kadra and aunt Arianna’s home aesthetics. Mom crafted a beautiful pot with a moon design for Aunt Arianna in pearl white, while I painted a sleek, black-themed pot for Aunt Kadra, whose style has a modern Addams Family vibe.
I keep scrolling with a smile on my face when a new notification pops up— a new follower. I click on the profile. The username is unfamiliar, but what catches my eye is the fact that they’ve liked every single one of my posts. Every. Single. One.
Curiosity piqued, I scroll through their profile, but there’s not much to see. The account has zero followers, and I’m the only one they follow. That’s strange. Before I can think much about it, a fresh wave of notifications trickles in. I tap on them, wanting to see who’s been interacting with my latest post. The photo of me, drenched in sunlight and surrounded by all the green of the Amazon forest.
I noticed first that my cousin Aza liked the photo, and I can’t help but smile when he comments with three fire emojis and a blue heart. My cousin’s favorite ones.