Mathéo Boucher: A Christmas Deal

Chapter 7: Eloise

Time seemed to stop altogether. It felt as though all the air inside the room had been sucked out in one brutal pull, leaving nothing behind for me to breathe. Sound disappeared entirely—not faded, not dulled, but gone—like someone had plunged me underwater without warning. I could see Leah’s lips still moving, could see her excitement spilling out of her in animated gestures, but none of it reached me. Nothing penetrated the haze.

All I could see was the diamond.

It caught the dimmed light of the drawing room and fractured it, sharp and blinding, planted firmly on her ring finger. The stone was massive, obscene in its beauty, impossible to miss. It was the ring I had imagined for myself for years—the one I had once pictured glinting on my own hand. The one I had secretly believed would someday be mine.

My little sister was engaged.

My sister was engaged.

She was engaged.

Was engaged.

Engaged.

The words echoed in my head, hollow and relentless, each repetition stripping something else away from me.

I should have been happy. I should have reacted instantly, stepping forward and wrapping her in my arms, telling her how thrilled I was. I should have promised to help with everything, to plan the most spectacular wedding imaginable. I should have been talking about flowers and venues, save-the-dates and invitations. I should have been listing designers, color palettes, caterers—every detail already neatly filed away in my mind, ready to be deployed.

That was what I should have done.

Because my little sister was engaged.

But she was engaged to Ashton.

The one man I had never truly been able to replace. The one man who had owned my heart completely, only to crush it beneath his heel, tear it apart piece by piece, and burn whatever was left to ash. The one man who still haunted me, who still had the power to unravel me, even after all these years apart.

“Eloise?” My name reached me as though from far away, distorted and muffled, as if I were submerged and someone was calling from the surface. “Eloise?” More insistent this time—but still, I couldn’t pull my gaze away from that ring.

It was only when Leah finally lowered her hand that something snapped. My eyes slid shut for the briefest second, and suddenly sound rushed back in all at once, overwhelming and sharp, crashing down on me without mercy.

“Eloise!” Father snapped, irritation clear in his voice. “Don’t you want to congratulate your sister on her engagement?”

I forced my eyes back to the couple. Leah was glowing, practically vibrating with happiness, her entire face lit up with a joy so pure it almost hurt to look at. But it was Ashton who made my stomach turn—the faint curve of his mouth, the knowing glint in his eyes. The way he seemed to savor this moment. The way he seemed to enjoy what this was doing to me.

“Of course,” I said, my voice coming out rougher than intended. I had to clear my throat before continuing. “This is amazing news, Lele.” The smile slid into place automatically, perfected over years of practice, as I opened my arms to her. “Congratulations.”

“Isn’t it?” she buzzed, and then she was hugging me, her arms tight around my shoulders.

I closed my eyes, searching desperately for genuine happiness for her, digging deep for something warm and real—but found nothing. And for just a fleeting second, I silently thanked my mother for drilling etiquette into me from such a young age. For teaching me the right expressions, the right posture, and the social mask expected of me.

Because when I opened my eyes again, something cold and steady had settled over me. A numb composure etched itself into every feature of my face. I smiled. I nodded. I listened as Leah told me the story—how they had run into each other months ago, how a chance encounter over the summer had turned into conversations, then more.

Every word felt like another small cruelty. Awful. Heartbreaking. Yet I kept the mask firmly in place. I smiled when appropriate. I asked questions when expected. I played my part flawlessly.

I eventually found myself seated next to my mother, the martini in my hand long forgotten as I slipped fully into survival mode. On the outside, I was calm, composed, unshaken. On the inside, a war raged—violent and unrelenting.

I couldn’t understand how this had happened. How my father could have allowed it. He had been furious when Ashton ended our relationship—hadn’t he? He had demanded I find a replacement immediately, had laid out every rule and expectation, and I had followed them all without question.

So why this?

Why would he want this?

Ashton simply sat there, the almost taunting smirk never leaving his lips, while Leah retold everything that had happened between them. She spoke animatedly, hands moving as if she were painting a love story in the air—how they had tried to fight the chemistry between them, how they had both insisted on staying away, how fate had seemingly pushed them back together despite their best efforts.

I listened. I absorbed every word. Each sentence landed like a small, precise cut.

And then she told me she had gone to our father for advice.

My eyes snapped to him immediately.

To the way he carried himself—poised, effortless, perfectly at ease. To how he melted into the chair as if he belonged there, as if he hadn't helped my sister break my broken heart even further. To the unmistakable satisfaction written across his face, the quiet triumph he didn’t bother hiding.

“Of course, I told Leah to stop being ridiculous,” Father said, his voice calm, almost indulgent. “I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again—Ashton is a fine young man, and she could have done a hell of a lot worse.”

I was probably the only one who noticed my mother then. The way her gaze dropped for the briefest moment. The way her hands tightened against her knees, knuckles whitening ever so slightly. Her smile flattened into a thin, straight line—gone was the warmth, the approval—before the mask slipped back into place and Henrietta Hayden returned, flawless as ever.

“When’s the wedding, then?” I asked, surprised at how steady my voice sounded, considering the chaos roaring inside me.

“February fourteenth,” Leah beamed, her excitement nearly knocking the breath from my lungs—even though I was already sitting down. “I mean, could there be a more romantic day to get married than Valentine’s Day?”

“That sounds… soon,” I replied, shifting slightly in my seat, my body betraying the tension I was trying so hard to suppress. “Wouldn’t you want more time to prepare? I mean, a wedding like this—it could take over a year to plan properly.”

Leah rolled her eyes, flicking her wrist dismissively. The ring caught the light again, flashing almost mockingly. “Not with your excellent planning skills, Ellie,” she said with a snort. “I mean, you know everyone, and everyone loves you. I’m sure you can pull a few favors. Besides, Father managed to secure Villa Balbiano for it!”

My smile faltered—just for a second. My jaw clenched so hard it ached.

Villa Balbiano.

It wasn’t just a venue. It was the venue. The one I had dreamed about for years. The one I had spoken about in passing, then in detail, until Leah had started echoing my words back to me as if they were her own.

Lake Como. Northern Italy. The private dock, the terraced gardens, the grand interiors reflected in still water. It was breathtaking. Timeless. Everything I had ever imagined for myself.

And now it was hers.

“That’s wonderful,” I said, forcing the practiced smile back into place, letting it settle as if it had never wavered.

“Right?!” she gushed. “And with the winter backdrop? It will be gorgeous, absolutely aesthetic. I know you’ll be able to help me make my dream come true.”

Of course she did. This was classic Leah—extending her hand and expecting the world to place exactly what she wanted into her palm.

“You’ll be the maid of honor, of course,” she continued, already barreling ahead, “and I already have so many ideas, especially for the bachelorette par—”

“Perhaps, sweetheart,” Mother interrupted gently, leaning forward, “we should wait with planning until Monday? You and Eloise can get together over lunch, and then you can discuss all your wishes.”

I understood immediately.

My mother was giving me a lifeline. A pause. A moment to collect myself before the truth spilled out—that my sister had taken not just my dream wedding, but the man I had once believed would be standing at the altar with me.

“Then, instead, let’s go have dinner,” Father declared, rising from his chair and heading toward the dining room as if nothing monumental had just occurred.

Ashton grinned at me the second my parents left the room. He leaned forward to place his empty whiskey glass on the table, his eyes locking onto mine. He looked unbearably smug, like this entire evening had been orchestrated just to provoke me—to see how much I could endure without breaking.

“It’s gonna be great, Ellie,” Leah gushed yet again, slipping her arm through Ashton’s as he led her out of the drawing room.

And then they were gone.

I remained where I was, seated in the same spot, my martini still untouched. The room felt larger now, emptier, echoing with everything I hadn’t said.

I stared at the glass in my hand, trying to understand how my life had tilted so violently off its axis—and wondering what the hell I was supposed to do next.