Crossing lines (Noah and Aiden) novel Chapter 192

Chapter 192

Noah

The journey from the airport wound through a landscape that felt almost surreal—fresh snow blanketing the pine trees, rooftops dusted with a pristine layer of white, and warm, golden lights strung across balconies, as if someone had painted the mountains themselves with strands of sunshine. Aspen looked like a scene straight out of a holiday postcard, flawless and inviting. Yet, despite the beauty outside, I sat inside the SUV like a mere accessory, nodding at the appropriate moments but my mind drifting far away. My heart was even more distant—anchored back in Texas, tangled in the memory of Aiden’s arms.

If I could have swapped this entire mountain retreat for just one stolen minute with Aiden—hell, even a quick, risky encounter in a bathroom stall—I wouldn’t have hesitated for a second. No grand mansion or luxurious setting mattered when the one place I truly longed to be was nowhere near me.

The drive felt both interminable and too brief. Too long to be stuck in shallow conversations about plans and futures that didn’t belong to me. Yet not long enough to postpone the painful reality the holidays brought—the part of the arrangement I kept forcefully pushing out of my mind.

“Just wait until you see it in the daylight,” Lexie said, her voice bright and warm like the twinkling lights that decorated the town. “We used to sled down the hill behind the house until our fingers went numb. Dad would build fires in the stone pit, and Mom made this ridiculous marshmallow cocoa—mostly marshmallow, really.” She laughed, a sound full of fond memories and no pretense. “On Christmas Eve, the whole valley looks like a giant snow globe.”

I stole a glance at her, trying to summon a genuine smile from somewhere deep inside. “Sounds…nice,” I managed, my voice flat and distant.

Unfazed, she gave my hand a gentle squeeze in her lap. “There’s a skating pond, and stables too—oh, and the guesthouse is all set up, so if you want peace and quiet, you don’t have to be in the main house. Not that you’ll get any, though.” She chuckled softly. “When I was little, we used to hide gifts in the tack room so the staff couldn’t find them. I swear the house eats presents.”

“Cool,” I replied, the single word feeling safe and neutral, as if it belonged to someone else entirely.

From the back seat, William’s profile was sharply outlined against the window. His suit was as impeccably pressed as the tuxedo he’d worn the night before, as if nothing in the world could disturb his flawless composure.

“What do you want to do on the first day?” Lexie pressed on, clearly aware of my discomfort. “Skiing? Snowmobiling? Or we could just—” She hesitated, searching my face for a clue. “Whatever you want, Noah.”

Before I could stop myself, I blurted out, “I don’t care. Whatever you want is fine.”

The cargo area looked as if a department store had been transplanted into the back of the car: towers of matte black boxes tied with gold ribbons, glossy red bags overflowing with tissue paper, and smaller jewel-toned packages nestled like delicate Christmas ornaments. Each tag bore a name—mine, Lexie’s, Eleanor’s, staff members’, even cousins I had never met.

None of it felt like it belonged to me.

***

Weeks ago, he had handed me a card with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes—“Take her out, pay for dinners, keep it normal.” I had followed his plan: dinners at restaurants, buying a coat she’d picked out, a necklace I wouldn’t have chosen myself. But this mountain of “Noah’s thoughtful gifts” was different. This was his narrative, his carefully crafted performance.

Crossing lines.