Christmas Vows with the Devil

9. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

Gia

I can’t stop thinking about what happened in the car.

The heat of Dante’s breath on my skin, the way his eyes darkened when he asked about Matteo.

It’s like a storm swirling inside me. I thought I’d buried those feelings. But they’ve clawed their way back up to the surface, impossible to ignore.

I shouldn’t want him. I shouldn’t be feeling this at all.

Dinner feels like it’s happening in slow motion. The lodge is buzzing with energy, the usual Christmas Eve chaos in full swing.

My aunts are making a racket in the kitchen, hollering at each other about some dessert crisis. The rest of the family lounges around the long dining table. They chatter over each other like they’re competing for airtime.

Matteo’s playing with his cousins, and I’m sitting at the table, staring into space. My mind’s back in the car, trapped in the memory of Dante’s lips on mine.

Then I think about the way he looked at me, asking about Matteo. The way his hands gripped the steering wheel, white-knuckled.

He knows.

He must know now.

“Gia! You okay over there?”

Aunt Carla’s voice yanks me back to the present. She’s grinning at me from across the table, holding up a bottle of wine. “Refill?”

I blink, forcing a smile. “Yeah, sure.”

Aunt Carla’s the kind of woman who doesn’t take no for an answer, especially when it comes to wine. She’s already halfway to me, the wine bottle in hand and a smile on her face.

The room smells like pine and garlic bread. It’s warm and lively, the kind of family chaos that usually makes me feel at home.

But tonight, I feel...off.

I’m just too aware of everything. Especially Dante, who’s sitting at the far end of the table, watching me.

His gaze burns into me, despite the distraction of the laughter and chatter of everyone around us. He hasn’t said much since we got back.

He’s been quiet, brooding.

Typical Dante.

I take a sip of wine. It’s sweet and light, immediately warming my chest. Maybe I need it. To relax. To stop overthinking everything.

I take another sip, then another, letting the warmth spread through me.

“Let the games begin!” Aunt Carla yells, holding up a deck of cards.

Great .

The annual pre-Christmas drinking game.

It’s a family tradition that always ends in chaos. Uncle Gino’s already smirking like he knows he’s going to win. Aunt Lucia’s winking at me like she’s in on some big secret.

I usually avoid this. I’m not much of a drinker, and my competitive streak always gets me into trouble. But tonight, the wine’s loosened me up just enough to not care.

“What’s the game?” I ask, trying to summon some excitement.

Aunt Carla laughs. “Oh, we’ve got something special tonight! It’s the ‘Oddly Specific Family History’ game.”

Everyone groans, except for Carla, who’s beaming like she’s invented the greatest game in history.

“Perfect,” I mutter, taking another sip of my wine. “Let’s do this.”

The game starts, and predictably, Aunt Carla’s questions are ridiculous.

Who broke Grandma’s vase back in 1998?

How many times has Uncle Roman crashed the family car?

How did Giancarlo convince his whole senior class to cheat on their finals?

It’s stuff only she seems to remember, but everyone’s too competitive to back down.

At some point, the wine kicks in, and I’m laughing harder than I have in months. Maybe years.

Matteo and the other kids have already gone to bed. The adults are just getting louder, more animated, and a little sloppier.

By the time Aunt Carla starts asking the more obscure questions—like how many times has Cousin Vinny stolen a hamster—I’m giggling uncontrollably. My head feels light. Everything seems a little blurry around the edges.

Dante’s watching me from his spot at the table, amusement in his dark eyes. He’s not drinking, of course.

Always in control.

Always calculating.

But tonight, there’s something different about him. Something softer. He’s not as distant. Maybe it’s the Christmas spirit, or maybe it’s the wine messing with my head.

Somehow the tension between us feels different. Less sharp, more...playful?

I down the last of my wine, barely noticing Aunt Carla holding up another card. Instead, I catch Dante smirking at me. Like he knows something I don’t.

The warmth from the wine pulses through me, making me bold. Reckless.

“You’re awfully quiet over there,” I say, leaning back in my chair, trying to wink but failing miserably.

Dante’s eyebrows raise. “Just enjoying the show.”

“Oh yeah?” I bite my lip, feeling a flush rise in my cheeks. “You think you’re better than us?”

“I know I am.”

I laugh, louder than I intend, and the whole table turns to look at us. Aunt Carla’s eyes flick between me and Dante, her grin widening.

“What’s going on over there?” she teases. “You two having your own little party?”

“Maybe,” I say, my voice a little too playful. I can’t help it.

The wine has gone to my head. And the way Dante’s watching me...it’s making me forget everything else.

Like all the reasons I’m supposed to hate him, all the reasons I shouldn’t be flirting with him right now.

“Maybe,” Dante echoes, sending a thrill up my spine.

Aunt Carla waggles her eyebrows like she’s just found her new favorite source of gossip. “Well, well, well...”

I wave her off, laughing again. “Nothing to see here, Aunt Carla.”

But there’s something to see, and I know it.

I can feel it.

There’s heat between me and Dante, simmering under the surface.

Like a fire that’s about to burst into flames.

I’m tipsy, reckless, and bound to get burned.

As the game winds down, the rest of the family begins to disperse. People head off to bed or wander into the living room to watch a cheesy Christmas movie.

Aunt Carla gives me a knowing look before heading off with the others. Then, it’s just Dante and me at the table.

Alone.

The lodge is quiet now. I can hear the crackling of the fire in the next room and the faint sound of Christmas music playing in the background. The warmth from the wine is still buzzing through me.

It’s making everything feel softer, more dreamlike. And Dante...he’s still watching me, his gaze heavy, unreadable.

I stand up, swaying slightly as the room tilts. I steady myself, but the alcohol hit me harder than I thought.

“Careful,” Dante says, standing up to catch my graceless body.

“I’m fine,” I mutter, waving him off. But I’m not fine.

My head’s spinning, and the heat that’s been simmering between us all night is suddenly unbearable.

I need to do something.

Say something.

Anything to break this tension.

I take a step toward him, my pulse quickening. His eyes darken, and I can see the shift in him, the way his body tenses.

He knows what’s coming.

But I’m too far gone to stop it.

“Dante...” I murmur, my voice barely a whisper.

And before I can stop myself, I reach out. My fingers trail down his chest. His skin is warm under my touch.

Suddenly, it feels like we’re wearing too many clothes. I need him. Naked.

“Dante, take me to bed?” I sway slightly, pulling my hair out of the bun I’d twisted it into earlier. It falls past my shoulders, and I glance up at him, biting my lip.

This feels so high school—all of these moves are designed to seduce. But it’s all I can manage right now.

His gaze burns through me, his eyes dark and dangerous. He steps closer, running his hand softly over my hair, down my shoulder, to my waist. A moan escapes before I can stop it.

I see him swallow—hard.

Is he scared of me?

A wild part of me hopes so. It seems only fair since I am so scared of him—of what he makes me feel, still, after all these years and so much heartbreak between us.

All that I really know is that I feel like I will die if he doesn’t fuck me. I don’t want to analyze that thought further. I’m tired of being logical, under control, in the right.

Right now, I just want to give in to the desire that has been flooding my senses ever since he touched me the first time. Tonight I just want to be Gia, who is still in love with the boy who broke her heart all those years ago.