Page 73 of Sold to the Silver Foxes

It’s Christmas Eve, and the house hums at the exact frequency of my heart. Every spruce bough is strung with soft-white LEDs, the twenty-foot tree flashes warm amber through the bay window, and an honest-to-Santa snowfall drifts past the glass like stage confetti.

In short, it’s perfect.

I’m pacing the corridor outside the winter salon, rehearsing surprise logistics in my head for the hundredth time. I’ll bring Tabitha in for her surprise. The guys will help bring it in, and boom. One happy Tabitha, a present to us all.

Nico emerges from the study, brow furrowed. “Dante, stop pacing. You’ll wear tracks into the antique runner.”

“Can’t. Too excited.”

He half smiles. Even Nico—the human ledger—looks buoyant, and he knows nothing of step two of my plan. Thefor-realgift exchange I’ve hidden in the library’s secret bar.

A chime from my phone signals the security SUV passing the last gate. Showtime.

Tabitha stands by the salon hearth in cranberry pajamas, making her hair burn like live embers. When I enter, she’s rummaging under the giant tree for Sal’s gift. Her grin twists playfully. “Trying to snoop?”

“Negative. The next gift requires you center stage.” I pull her gently to the middle of the room. Nico switches music from orchestral carols to soft acoustic guitar. Sal, on cue, excuses himself to “check on the delivery guys.”

My pulse jackhammers, but adrenaline is my mother tongue. This shouldn’t be choking me up, but it is. I guide Tabitha’s shoulders so she faces the doorway instead of me.

“What’s this about?” she asks, half laughing.

From the hallway, a tiny voice echoes, “Is it safe to come in?”

Tabitha stiffens. Recognition detonates a millisecond before Erin wheels herself through the double doors, purple blanket over her knees. Grandma Judy follows, cheeks bright with cold, hand to her chest. Behind them, Sal lingers—he must have hustled around through the side entrance—face flushed from cold.

Tabitha gasps, tears springing immediately. She darts forward, drops to her knees at the wheelchair. Erin squeals, and they hug, blanket and hair tangling, IV bruises and cinnamon curls all mashed together.

“Are you okay?” Tabitha blurts, eyes scanning the hospital wristband and post-op brace under the blanket. “What’s going on? Is this safe?”

“Doc said I’m the best patient ever, and I deserved a break from the hospital.” Erin sticks out her tongue. “Plus, my favorite nurse says chocolate counts as a painkiller.”

Tabitha glances up at Grandma Judy. “Is this safe? Her immune system?—”

“They swore it’s fine, Tabi. She’s going great.” Over Tabitha’s shoulder, Grandma Judy’s eyes meet mine. She mouths,Thank you.

Suddenly, I’m the one blinking back tears.

Tabitha breaks the hug, turns toward me. Two strides and she’s in my arms, mouth on mine. She kisses me full and unashamed, peppermint and happy sobs. For one dizzy second, the room disappears.

A throat clears. We break apart to find Grandma Judy masking shock with a polite smile. Erin giggles. “Get a roo-oom.”

We shepherd everyone to the semicircle of couches. Nico presents a tray of zero-proof eggnog for Erin and Irish coffees for the adults. Sal cues the playlist to something lively. In ten seconds, we’re into a chaotic family Christmas. Ribbon trails, torn foil, paper snowball fights instigated by me, and a chorus of oohs and aahs as presents are shredded into.

Grandma Judy offers her gifts last. Crocheted scarves for all of us, a copy ofThe Little Princefor Sal (“He looks like someone who forgot to have a childhood,” she explains), a sterling bookmark for Nico, and—because I apparently radiate“perpetual motion”—handmade thermal socks with tiny wings crocheted at the top. Nico’s throat works, but his voice doesn’t. Sal passes fingers reverently over the book’s spine, nodding a gracious gratitude. I slip the socks on immediately. “Toasty and perfect for when I’m on the go.”

That earns Erin’s giggles, which gets me a smile from Tabitha. Wins across the board.

Grandma Judy stands, smoothing her cardigan. “I wasn’t sure what to expect from this arrangement,” she begins, glancing meaningfully at me, then at Tabitha. “But seeing my girls happy, healthy, and hopeful is more than I ever prayed for.” She steps forward and hugs me with grandma strength, almost cracking my spine. “Thank you, Dante.”

It floors me. Strangers usually thank me for checks, adrenaline stunts, or designer freebies. Not for this. “It was nothing?—”

“Don’t you ever lie to me again.” Her voice is sharp enough to etch the words into me.

When she releases me, I’m too stunned to muster a joke. Tabitha notices, squeezes my hand. Feeling that gentle pressure, I make a silent vow. Whichever path my brothers and I take from here, I’m done fucking up. I want this. I want to feel like I matter to my family. Not like I’m a liability.

We disperse for dessert prep—Sal and Grandma Judy bond over secret chocolate-soufflé techniques, Nico and Erin debate whether math could predict gift quality. I escort Tabitha to the staircase landing to breathe.

She leans into me. “You did all this?”

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