Chapter 97 The Christmas Truce
A week had passed since we had effectively dismantled my bedroom door and my father’s digital firewall. Since then, the "Map" we had risked everything for had proven to be a frustrating enigma—a series of encrypted coordinates and historical data that, so far, seemed to have nothing to do with Caleb or our father’s immediate movements. It was as if we’d stolen a treasure map written in a dead language.
But the silence from Caleb was louder than any data.
To the outside world, life at the Winslow estate had pivoted into the festive madness of December. For the brothers, however, the house felt more like a powder keg.
"Ivy, sweetheart, please don't use the tinsel as a leash for the cat," Naomi called out, though her eyes were fixed on her husband.
Jace was currently vibrating with enough tension to power the Christmas tree lights. He stood by the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of the Winslow drawing room, arms crossed, watching Rhys help Arthur move a particularly heavy crate of decorations.
"He’s doing it on purpose," Jace muttered. "The helpful act. The 'good son' routine. It’s nauseating."
Naomi stepped up behind him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "He’s been in your lives for twenty years, Jace. He’s practically a brother already. And he's clearly making Ellie happy."
"He’s a predator who realized the most valuable prize was right under his nose," Jace countered, though his voice dropped when he saw four-year-old Blake run past his legs.
The irony, of course, was that Rhys wasn't performing. That was what made Jace so manic—there was no "act" to deconstruct. Rhys had always been the one to help Arthur with the heavy lifting; he had always been the one who knew exactly where the spare fuses were kept. He wasn't trying to win a place in this family; he had occupied one for two decades.
I was currently sitting on the Persian rug in the center of the living room, trying to help Ivy untangle a string of ceramic reindeer. At six, she had inherited my stubbornness and Jace’s intensity.
"Auntie Ellie, why is Daddy making his 'scary face' at Uncle Rhys?" Ivy asked, her brow furrowed in deep concentration.
"Because your Daddy is currently very confused about grown-up things," I whispered, glancing at Jace.
Blake, who had been zooming a plastic airplane around the room, didn't care about grown-up confusion. The moment Rhys set the crate down, Blake took a flying leap at his legs.
"Uncle Rhys! Uncle Rhys! Look!" He held the plane high. "Can you make it fly higher? Daddy says his back hurts from the boxes."
Without a second thought, Rhys scooped Blake up, airplane and all, hoisting him onto his broad shoulders. It was a practiced, fluid motion—one he’d done a thousand times since Blake was a toddler. There was no hesitation, no glance toward Jace to see if he was being watched. He just did it because he always had.
"High enough, Captain?" Rhys asked, his voice warm and effortless.
Blake let out a delighted shriek. "Higher! I can see the top of the tree!"
Ivy immediately abandoned the reindeer and scrambled toward them, tugging on Rhys’s jeans. "Me too! My turn next! Uncle Rhys, you have to help me put the star on! You're the tallest and you don't drop things like Uncle Owen does."
"Hey!" Owen shouted from the hallway, though he couldn't hide his small smile.
Rhys laughed, a genuine, deep sound that filled the room, and reached down to swing Ivy up into his other arm. He stood there, anchored by the two children as if they were a natural extension of himself. To Ivy and Blake, nothing had changed. He wasn't "Ellie’s fiancé" to them; he was just Uncle Rhys, the person who always knew how to fix their toys and never ran out of patience.
I saw Jace’s jaw tighten from across the room, but it wasn't just anger anymore—it was the frustration of a man trying to find a fault in a foundation that was perfectly set. Rhys didn't have anything to prove. He wasn't a guest playing a part; he was home.
The front doors swung open, letting in a gust of biting winter air and the sound of laughter. My mother, Cassandra, was practically beaming as she walked in arm-in-arm with Helena.
Helena, Rhys’s mother, was a vision of elegant widowhood. She and my mother had been inseparable since before I was born. To them, this engagement wasn't a scandal; it was the realization of a twenty-year-old dream.
"Oh, look at them!" Helena cooed, spotting Rhys and me near the fireplace. Rhys had his hand on the small of my back—a gesture that was becoming dangerously natural. "I always knew. I told you, Cassandra, didn't I? Even when they were twelve and Rhys was pulling her pigtails, it was written in the stars."
Rhys caught my eye, a small, pained smile tugging at his lips. Only we knew the stars had nothing to do with it; it was a tactical maneuver. But as his fingers grazed my side, I wondered if he was thinking about the pigtails, too.
"We’re just waiting on Aaron and Elias now," Helena added, referring to Rhys’s older brothers. "They’re bringing the wives and the little ones. The house will be properly full then!"
I felt a phantom weight on my chest. Aaron and Elias were just as protective as Owen, Grant, and Jace. If they joined the "Anti-Rhys" coalition, the holiday wouldn't just be tense—it would be a war zone.
The doorbell rang again, but it wasn't the heavy, rhythmic knock of a brother. It was a frantic, energetic series of taps.
I hurried to the door, glad for an excuse to escape the heavy gaze Owen was currently leveling at Rhys from the top of the stairs. I pulled the heavy oak door open and let out a genuine scream of delight.
"Surprise!"
"Samira?"
Standing there, buried under a puffer coat and a wildly colorful scarf, was my best friend from middle and high school. She’d been in London for the last two years, and her sudden presence felt like a lifeline to a version of myself that didn't have a fake fiancé or a criminal father.
"I heard the news!" Samira squealed, dodging my mother to wrap me in a hug that smelled like vanilla and cold air. She pulled back, her eyes darting over my shoulder to find Rhys. "The 'Unattainable Rhys' finally got caught? Ellie, you have so much explaining to do."
Rhys walked over, offering Samira a charming, practiced smile that I knew was his 'playboy' mask, but his eyes remained anchored on me.
"She doesn't have to explain anything," Rhys said smoothly, stepping into the role of the devoted fiancé with terrifying ease. "I’m the one who finally came to my senses."
The brothers groaned in unison from the living room, but as Samira laughed and the kids started chanting for hot cocoa, the tension in the house shifted—not away, but under the surface, waiting for the rest of the families to arrive and the real festivities to begin.