Page 53 of Entrapped
“Hey,” I replied, trying to keep my tone neutral, but it was hard when Simone was standing right next to him, her arm looped through his.
Before I could say anything more, Colson appeared in the doorway, his eyes immediately finding mine. He walked over, his presence commanding, as always, and placed a gentle hand on my arm.
“Josephine,” he said quietly, his voice low enough that only I could hear. “Can I speak to you for a moment?”
I nodded, setting down the knife and following him out of the kitchen. We stepped into the hallway, away from the others, and he turned to face me, his expression softening.
“This is a holiday for family,” he said, his voice calm and soothing. “I know it’s difficult, but try to get along with her, for your brother’s sake. He cares about her.”
I crossed my arms, looking away. “She’s done nothing but make my life miserable, Colson.”
“I know,” he said, reaching out to gently tilt my chin so I would look at him. “But tonight isn’t the time for old grudges. Please, just try.”
I sighed, feeling the weight of his words. He was right, of course. Tonight was about family, about coming together, but it was hard to let go of everything Simone had done. Still, I nodded, forcing myself to agree.
“I’ll try,” I whispered.
“Thank you,” he said, leaning down to press a soft kiss to my forehead. “That’s all I’m asking.”
We rejoined the others just as the doorbell rang again. Vaughn entered with Serena on his arm, looking as polished and charming as ever. But his eyes found me almost immediately, lingering longer than they should have. I felt a shiver run down my spine, and I quickly looked away, trying to focus on anything else. It was impossible to ignore the way Vaughn’s gaze kept drifting back to me, even with Serena right there beside him.
I could feel Colson’s eyes on me as well, a silent reminder of our conversation. I knew he was watching, waiting to see if I could keep my promise. But with every passing moment, with every affectionate touch between Logan and Simone, and every glance from Vaughn, my resolve was being tested.
This was supposed to be a night for family, for peace and joy, but all I felt was the storm brewing inside me.
Christmas Eve had always been a special time for my family, filled with warmth, laughter, and the aroma of delicious food wafting through the house. This year, the tradition continued, even in the grand setting of the Ashworth estate.
We all gathered around the table, and for a while, it almost felt normal. The table was a feast of memories and tradition, with a perfectly roasted beef at its center. The meat was seared to a golden brown on the outside, while the inside remained tender and pink, practically melting in your mouth with every bite.
Surrounding the roast was a selection of side dishes that spoke of home: fluffy mashed potatoes with a hint of garlic, green beans sautéed with almonds, and roasted root vegetables—carrots, parsnips, and sweet potatoes—drizzled with a balsamic glaze.
There was also a rich, savory gravy that tied everything together, poured generously over the meat and potatoes. On the side, there were fluffy buttermilk biscuits, golden and soft, perfect for sopping up any extra gravy or just enjoying with a pat of butter. A fresh, tangy cranberry relish added a burst of color and a tart contrast to the richness of the meal, while a creamy spinach gratin provided a comforting, cheesy indulgence.
The sight and smell of it all brought back memories of Christmases past, a small comfort in the midst of the current tension. For a moment, the room was filled with the sounds of clinking cutlery and murmurs of appreciation as everyone dug into the meal.
I found myself laughing at a joke Logan made, and even Colson chimed in with his dry wit. The food was delicious, and for a moment, I let myself enjoy the meal, savoring the flavors that reminded me of simpler times. The biscuits were particularly good, their buttery warmth a soothing presence in a night filled with undercurrents of unease.
After dinner, we moved to the living room, each of us holding a glass of wine. The fire crackled in the massive stone fireplace, casting a warm glow over the room as we settled into the plush chairs and sofas. The conversation turned to memories of Christmases past, with everyone sharing stories and laughing over old anecdotes. I tried to join in, but a growing nausea gnawed at my stomach, and I wasn’t sure if it was the company or something else.
Excusing myself quietly, I hurried to the bathroom, barely making it in time before I was violently sick. The suddenness of it took me by surprise, and as I knelt over the toilet, I heard the door creak open behind me.
“Joey?” Colson’s voice was soft as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He knelt beside me, gently holding my hair back as I retched. His touch was surprisingly tender, his presence comforting despite the situation.
When I finally finished, I leaned my head against the cool porcelain, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. Colson stayed close, his expression a mix of concern and something else I couldn’t quite place.
“Are you pregnant?” Colson's voice was barely above a whisper, but the impact of his words slammed into me like a wave.
I stared at him, my mind scrambling to process the possibility. Pregnant? I hadn’t even considered it, but now that he’d said it, the idea lodged itself firmly in my thoughts, refusing to be dismissed.
“I... I don’t know,” I stuttered, the uncertainty in my voice mirroring the turmoil in my mind.
Without another word, he lifted me from the cold bathroom floor and pulled me into a tight embrace. His grip was firm, almost desperate, as if he was trying to anchor us both in this moment. “My legacy,” he murmured, his breath warm against my hair.
“Colson, you have a legacy… your children,” I reminded him, trying to make sense of the sudden intensity in his voice.
“I mean my child with you. I want a child with you before it gets too late.” He stepped back slightly, enough to look into my eyes, and I could see the seriousness in his gaze.
“Too late?” I echoed, my voice barely a whisper.
