Filthy Rich Santas

48. Lana

48

LANA

“I wanted to bring Caleb’s and Lana’s gifts by, but I don’t want to impose,” Vivian murmurs to Grandma Meg when Meg ushers her toward the plush couch nearest the Christmas tree.

“Nonsense,” Meg says, enveloping her in a hug. “The more, the merrier. And your timing couldn’t be more perfect, because I do believe it’s time for presents!”

Oliver cheers, making us all laugh, and seeing how easily Meg welcomes Vivian and my nephew into the fold warms my heart.

This is what family is supposed to be. This is what Christmas is supposed to be.

The fireplace crackles merrily as we all get settled around Meg’s lovely tree, casting a cheery glow over the room. Meg has potpourri burning on the mantle next to her nativity scene, scenting the entire room with a sweet, spicy blend of cloves, oranges, and cinnamon. The eggnog flows freely, and we all help ourselves to the platter of cookies and other snacks as Oliver digs through the pile of wrapped presents under the tree.

“Who is this one for?” he asks excitedly, pulling out a beautifully wrapped box with a bright red bow.

“That one is from me, for your mom.” Caleb points to a second box with festive paper and a matching bow. “And that one is for you, squirt.”

Oliver’s grin stretches from ear to ear, but before ripping into his own gift, he brings Vivian’s to her.

“Thanks, sweetheart. Do you want to give your aunt and uncle their gifts too?”

Oliver scrambles to get them, and I point out the ones I got for my brother and sister so he can distribute those too.

“What about this one?” Oliver asks, grabbing a larger box with the kind of professional wrapping that screams mall gift wrap center.

Meg laughs, patting her hands in the air as if to tell him to settle down. “How about we spend a little time opening the ones you’ve already passed around, little elf, before we get on to the next ones.”

“Okay, okay,” Oliver says, plopping himself down and ripping through the wrapping paper on his gifts from Caleb—a pint-sized hockey set and what looks like a custom jersey with Caleb’s number on it—and from me, an age-appropriate art supply set that I half expect Vivian to frown about, since I know her home is all carpeted in white.

Instead, she surprises me by squeezing my hand. “He’ll have fun with that, Lana. Thank you.”

I beam at her, then quickly finish unwrapping the gifts my siblings gave me as they each do the same. I’m so damn grateful that they both chose to be here with me on Christmas morning.

The guys direct our Christmas elf to the gifts they’ve brought for Grandma Meg next. She coos over a set of gardening tools from Tristan, laughs delightedly at a risqué romance novel from Ryder, and tears up a little at a framed photo of all of us from Beckett.

She’s not the only one. It’s a candid shot from a cell phone camera, from the Christmas tree farm we stopped at. I don’t know when he took the time to print it and pick up a frame for it, but I already know I want a copy of it for myself too.

Meg wipes her eyes quickly, as if she doesn’t want to make a fuss, then grabs a flat box with silly paper on it. “Now, Oliver, this one is for Baldwin, but I think he’s going to have a little trouble opening it. Do you think you can help him, dear?”

Oliver grins. “I can do that!”

We all laugh as he dives into his task, sending wrapping paper and ribbon flying. The tiny dog yaps as he’s presented with a new sweater—this one adorned with tiny reindeer—and a squeaky toy shaped like a Christmas tree.

Then Beckett clears his throat. “You didn’t forget that one, did you, Oliver?”

He points to the larger, professionally wrapped gift Oliver had picked up earlier, and Oliver dives for it.

“Who’s this one for, Uncle Beckett?”

Beckett’s ears go just a bit pink at the honorary title. “That one’s for you, buddy.”

“From Santa?”

“Sure.”

“But Santa already brought me my gifts at home this morning.”

Beckett looks at me with a hint of panic, and it takes everything I have not to laugh.

“I think what Uncle Beckett means is, it’s from one of Santa’s helpers.”

Oliver blinks. “Who?”

“Me,” Beckett confesses, and Oliver gapes in awe.

He throws his arms around Beckett’s neck, then rips the wrapping paper, letting out a squeal of pure joy when he sees what’s inside.

“The Millennium Falcon Lego set! Mom, look!”

Beckett clears his throat. “I, uh, I know it’s a bit complicated, Vivian, but he was kind of excited about it the other day. I’d be happy to supervise and help him build it, if that’s okay.”

Oliver’s eyes light up again, and he looks at Beckett like he’s just offered him the moon. “Really? You’ll help me?”

Beckett nods, a small smile playing on his lips. “Sure thing, kid. We’ll make it a project.”

“ After we get through the rest of the presents,” Vivian says in a firm voice, but she shoots Beckett a grateful look.

Oliver looks disappointed at having to wait, but he’s quickly distracted by Meg asking him to distribute a few more gifts.

I nudge Beckett gently with my elbow. “For a guy who doesn’t want kids, you’re really good with them,” I tease softly.

Beckett’s face takes on a faint flush. “Yeah, about that. I might have been rethinking my ‘no kid’ stance lately.”

My heart flutters at his words. I glance at Oliver, who’s watching raptly as Baldwin chases the squeaky toy. “Well, I can see why. Oliver could make anyone want to have a kid.”

“He’s a great kid. But it’s not just Oliver. Getting to know him helped, sure, but…” He hesitates, his gaze finding mine. “Let’s just say that being with you has made me see a lot of things differently. There are a lot of things I didn’t want before that I do now, and I think it’s not so much about those things , but who I want them with.”

My heart skips several beats at his words—but before I can respond, Oliver holds up the three small, carefully wrapped packages I tucked under the tree myself this morning.

“Who are these for?”

I smile at him. “Those ones are from me, for Tristan, Ryder, and Beckett.

Oliver passes them around as I explain.

“I got these at that little shop at the Christmas tree farm. They’re not much, but they made me think of each of you.”

They unwrap their gifts, revealing three ornaments shaped like frosted gingerbread cookies, just like the ones Beckett picked up for us while we were on the road.

Just like them, but each with one unique difference.

Tristan chuckles, grinning at me as he holds his ornament up next to him. “It’s perfect.”

The glasses the “cookie” is wearing are just like his. But it’s more than just how cute the similarity is.

“It made me think of you because you see me,” I tell him. “And yours, Ryder?—”

“Reminds you of how handsome I am?” he cuts in, posing comically with the little ornament and its rakishly tilted Santa hat.

I laugh. “Exactly. But also how playful you are, and…”

“And?”

I shrug, but can feel myself blushing. “I guess the Santa hat is kind of symbolic. You weren’t a big fan of Christmas, but you were willing to indulge my love for it every step of the way. That means a lot to me.”

His gaze softens. “ You mean a lot to me.”

“To all of us,” Beckett says, his voice gruff as he runs a finger over his ornament’s festive knit scarf. He looks up at me. “I can see why you picked this one for me.”

“It reminds me of your softer side.”

He raises a single eyebrow, and Tristan, Caleb, and Ryder all laugh.

“Softer side, sis?” Caleb repeats with a grin. “You have met Beckett, right?”

Beckett holds my gaze, ignoring their teasing as I smile up at him. I fucking love that this big, gruff man has a soft side—one that has him knitting scarves for sick children and buying my nephew the overpriced toy he talked Beckett’s ear off about. And I love that he lets me see it.

“It’s amazing,” he murmurs. “Thank you, little menace. And we’ve got something for you too.”

Tristan, Ryder, and Beckett exchange a meaningful glance. Then Tristan goes to the tree and pulls a small, shimmering red envelope with delicate gold snowflakes embossed on its surface from its branches.

My eyes go wide. I saw it there, of course, but didn’t give it much thought, assuming it was another ornament. The edges are trimmed with a thin border of white faux fur, giving it a cozy, Santa-like appearance, and a sprig of fresh pine is tucked into the corner, secured by a tiny golden bell that jingles softly as Tristan hands it to me.

“What’s this?” I ask, my heart filling with warmth as I turn it over in my hands.

“Open it,” Ryder urges.

The envelope isn’t a standard size. Instead, it’s perfectly square and fits in my palm. It’s also strangely heavy for such a small thing.

The flap is sealed with a wax stamp in the shape of a Christmas tree, and I slide my finger under it, loosening it carefully.

Once I get it open, I turn it upside down, and a single key falls out, attached to an adorable keychain in the shape of a painter’s palette with an address engraved on the back.

“What is this?” I look up at them, my brow furrowed.

“Can I see, Auntie Lana?” Oliver asks, leaning over my shoulder. “Pretty! It’s like the paints you got me. Do you wanna paint with me?”

“Sure, honey,” I tell him, turning and giving him a butterfly kiss on his cheek.

He giggles, which makes Baldwin yip with excitement and hop around at his feet.

“I’d like to see you do a lot of painting,” Beckett says quietly as Oliver gets distracted by Baldwin. “We all would.”

“Which is why we bought you an art studio back in L.A.,” Tristan adds.

My jaw drops. “You… what?”

“An art studio space,” Ryder repeats. “A place where you can create and showcase your work.”

I’m speechless. Shocked. My art has always just been a hobby, and they…

“You bought it for me? But… why?”

Beckett’s deep voice rumbles with emotion. “We wanted you to be able to pursue your creativity the way you’ve always wanted to. The way it deserves.”

“You’re incredibly talented, love,” Ryder adds, no sign of joking on his face at all.

“But…” I shake my head, overwhelmed. Then I blurt, “You’re leaving L.A.”

I bite my lip, my heart clenching. Deciding to make this thing real between us is so new, and so much has happened in such a short time that none of us have talked about the future. And as amazing as this gift is, I’m not sure I’ll want to be pursuing my art in L.A. once they move to a different city.

Tristan’s eyes soften, as if he can read my mind. “We decided to invest in this instead of the new club.”

“Wait, what? ” I clutch the little key to my chest, staring at the three of them incredulously. “You’re not opening the new club? The one you’ve been planning? The one you were going to move for?”

“Nope,” Ryder says with a half grin.

Tristan grins too. “Not right now, at least. Maybe in the future, but we’ve got other priorities at the moment.”

“We’re going to focus on expanding Radiance in L.A. for now,” Beckett rumbles.

“But—”

“No buts,” Ryder interrupts me. “Supporting your artistic venture is more important to us right now.”

Beckett leans closer, his eyes intense. “You’re so talented, little menace. The world deserves to see your work.”

I feel tears welling up in my eyes. All my life, my family has dismissed my love for art as a “little hobby,” pushing me toward what they considered a “real” job. But Beckett, Ryder, and Tristan clearly don’t see it that way.

I swallow, glancing down at the key in my hand—a key to my future, to my dreams. Proof that these men believe in those dreams. In me .

“I don’t know what to say,” I whisper, my voice choked with emotion.

“Say ‘thank you,’ dear,” Meg whispers, patting my hand.

I laugh. “Thank you. That doesn’t even feel big enough, but…”

The reality of their gift is sinking in, and I’m overwhelmed not just by their support, but by the knowledge of what they’ve given up.

“Didn’t we say no ‘buts’?” Ryder teases gently.

I nod, then shake my head and take a breath. “But… the new nightclub. You can’t just give it up. That was your future. I don’t want to take that away from you.”

Tristan shakes his head, his eyes soft. “No, freckles. You’re our future.”

“I can’t believe you did this,” I whisper, my voice shaky with emotion.

Ryder takes my hand, his thumb tracing my knuckles. “Of course we did. When you love someone, you want to see all their dreams come true.”

I smile through happy tears, wiping at my cheeks as happiness swells in my chest. “They already have.”

Beckett grins. “That just means you get to dream bigger now, little menace. And we’ll be right beside you for it.”

“Damn,” Caleb grumbles, waving his hand at the four of us as he tries to fight a smile. “You guys are making it kind of hard to have a problem with all this.”

“A problem with what, Uncle Caleb?” Oliver asks, looking up from the game he’s playing with Baldwin.

“Nothing, sweetheart,” Vivian murmurs, giving me a warm smile that’s mirrored on Meg’s face. “He’s just being silly.”

Beckett catches a tear that’s clinging from my lashes, and the joy inside me bubbles up and spills over all at once. I kiss him, pouring all my love and gratitude into it.

“I take it back,” I hear Caleb grouch good-naturally. And then, when Beckett lets me go and I turn to do the same with Ryder, then Tristan, he gives an exaggerated groan, swinging Oliver up in his arms and covering Oliver’s eyes with his hands. “Don’t look, squirt. Lana is sitting under too much mistletoe.”

Oliver tugs Caleb’s hands down, looking up at the empty ceiling above me with an adorably confused expression. “I don’t see any mistletoe, Uncle Caleb.”

“They don’t need any,” Vivian says warmly. “Some things are magical all on their own.”