Under The Mistletoe, Against The Rules

Chapter Two

JULIET

My breath stops.

For five full seconds, I can't find it in me to take in air.

Standing in front of me, in nothing but a pair of sweatpants is Rowan. He still looks like he did five years ago, except for the messier hair and extra tattoos.

He's still a wall of muscles covered in ink, and right now he's staring at me with those dark eyes and giving me the same sweet smile that had me blushing against my pillow for hours.

He reaches out and pulls me into his arms.

Big mistake.

His masculine cologne invades my senses till all my subconscious can think about is him. I note it's the same cologne I gifted him the Christmas I turned fifteen. I remember saving up every last bit of cash to buy a that for him. But the smile he gave me then was so priceless that I didn't bother about the fact that I had literally gone broke.

I shouldn't be reading so much meaning into it. He probably kept buying the same brand because he liked it a lot, and definitely not for whatever reason my mind is currently trying to come up with.

Rowan hugs me like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Like he doesn’t realize he’s holding the girl who used to dream about this exact moment every He probably doesn't realize it. Growing up, he only ever saw me like a little sister.

“We've missed you,” he murmurs against my hair, voice deep and rougher than I remember.

The statement shouldn't make my knees weak and my heart flutter, but they do. .

I stand frozen, arms stiff at my sides, because if I breathe so much as breathe wrong, I’ll fall apart right here on the doorstep. Eventually, he pulls back, not by much, just enough to look at me.

He studies my face like he's trying to catch up on five years all at once.

“You look… different,” he says, eyes lingering a moment too long. “You’ve lost weight.”

Of course I have.

Five years of constant nightmares, anxiety and sleepless nights, what else would you expect. Before I moved away, I'd call him whenever I couldn't sleep and we'd talk on the phone for hours till I'd eventually doze off.

That was before he became my sister's husband. Before he became off limits.

“I—uh—yeah. Just schoolwork,” I lie smoothly.

He stares at me for a while, his eyes clearly showing he doesn't believe me. His mouth curves into the kind of smile that ruins sensible thoughts. “It’s you are here now, away from schoolwork for a while.”

I swallow hard, trying to remember how to be a functioning human being. “Where’s Lara?”

A shadow flickers across his expression—not big enough for me to name, but enough to notice. He steps aside and gestures toward the living room.

“She’s… not home yet. Still at the office.” He clears his throat. “But come in. You must be freezing.”

Reluctantly, I drag my suitcase over the threshold, my boots leaving little wet marks on the hardwood floor. The house smells like cinnamon and pine, the way Lara always loved decorating for the holidays. But beneath it all… there’s the subtle scent of Rowan, clinging to the space the way it clings to him.

He closes the door behind me, and for a moment, it’s just the two of us again, five years older, five years changed, but somehow it feels like nothing has changed.

“You can leave your shoes by the heater,” he says gently. “Then go upstairs to your room and freshen up. I'll make something for you."

" My room”

He nods. " Nothing's changed since you left, Juliet. It's exactly as you left it.”

Without responding, I turn around and climb up the stairs to the second floor. I drag my suitcase to the last door at the end of the corridor.

I push the door open and step inside. Rowan was right, nothing had changed. My bed is still made in the same hello kitty sheets I used to obsess over as a girl, my big teddy in the middle of the bed where I had kept it.

Even my collection of fantasy books sat there on my desk, untouched.

Unwanted memories come flooding back. Memories of Rowan holding me to sleep when I had nightmares, him helping with my school homework and my projects.

Great!

I convince myself I'm over him, that it's just nostalgia. But the mocking laughter in my subconscious tells me I'm deceiving no one but myself.

My phone rings, snapping me out of my daze. I retrieve it from my coat pocket to see my mother's name on the caller ID.

“Hey, Mom."

" Have you gotten there already? How's Lara?”

I roll my eyes and suppress a scoff. Of course she's going to inquire about Lara first thing after calling me. What happened to; How was the journey? Hope you got there safely? How do you feel being back there?

But no. She chooses to ask about her favorite daughter first. As if they don't talk on the phone at least four times a day.

“I haven't seen her. Rowan says she's still at work. I'll tell her to call you when she gets back.” I hang up before she can start lecturing me on how to behave and how to bond more with my sister.

She did a lot of that already before I boarded the plane back in Florence.

I head to the bathroom and take a warm shower. After dressing up in an oversized hoodie over a pair of shorts, I tie my hair in a ponytail and step out of the room.

The familiar smell of pasta hits me before I even get to the living room.

Rowan has made lasagna al pesto, my favorite is pasta dish. I take a seat and instantly dig in, a smile forming on my face the moment I swallow the first spoonful.

Gosh, I almost forgot how well he cooks.

“Do you like it?" he asks, coming out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a rag.

My gaze traces the drop of sweat that trails down his chest and disappears into his trousers. I let my eyes linger on the tattoos covering his torso and extending to his arms.

He's definitely gotten more muscular over the past five years, and for some very crazy and annoying reason, I imagine his hands around my throat, pinning me to the wall and whispering sinful things to me.

Christ, and I'm supposed to be over this man.

The doorbell rings, pulling me out of my dreamland.

“I'll get it," I say, rising to my feet and rushing to the door, needing a moment away from him.

I see no one when I open the door, just a box sitting quietly at the doorstep. An unsettling feeling pulls in my stomach as I stare at the box.

Against my better judgement, I reach out and pick it up. My hands tremble slightly as I gently lift the lid.

My heart stops.

“Aaaaaarghhh!!!" I scream, dropping the box.