Twelve Dates of Christmas

No Turning Back

Present Day

The past two weeks have blurred into one long, cold, and calculated series of events. Thankfully, I hadn’t had to see Theodore at all. Everything had been filtered through his lawyer, Joe Falcone, which was a relief. It meant fewer moments spent pretending I didn’t want to throttle him.

“What’s this?” I asked Joe, who looked polished and sharp, as he slid a stack of papers across the table toward me.

“The agreement,” Joe replied in a calm, detached voice.

I flicked through the pages, pen poised, until something caught my eye. Instead of a fixed termination date, the agreement read: After Twelve Dates.

“Twelve dates?” I echoed, frowning as my finger traced the clause.

“Mr. Delacroix believes it’s the perfect timeline for the holiday season,” Joe explained in an even tone. “It’ll position him as romantic and committed—while also fueling the right amount of public intrigue and forgiveness.”

Romantic? Committed? Theodore couldn’t even fake that in private, let alone in front of an audience.

“And if I decide I don’t want to parade around as his lovestruck arm candy for twelve dates?” I arched an eyebrow, daring him to lay it all out.

Joe adjusted his glasses, unflinching. “Then you’d be in breach of contract.”

Of course. Theodore wouldn’t leave any room for escape. I sighed, picking up the pen again and signing the pages with a sharp motion that betrayed my annoyance.

“Fine,” I muttered, my signature a finality, a line drawn in the sand.

Once I handed the papers back to Joe, my frustration simmering beneath my composed mask, he packed them away in his briefcase and gave me a polite, rehearsed smile.

“Mr. Delacroix will pick you up tomorrow evening,” Joe informed me. “You’ll announce your relationship to your family. Formal attire. Seven o’clock sharp.”

The next evening came too quickly. I stood before the mirror, tugging at the neckline of the emerald green dress I had reluctantly chosen. It clung to all the right places—a perfect blend of elegance and restraint. It wasn’t my style, but it wasn’t about me tonight. My hair was pulled back into a low chignon, with just enough makeup to look polished but not overdone. Like everything tonight, it had to be controlled and measured.

At precisely 7 PM, a sleek black car pulled up in front of my apartment. I grabbed my clutch, took a deep, steadying breath, and stepped outside, my heart pounding.

Theodore was already leaning against the car, his presence alone darkening the air around him. When he saw me, he didn’t speak; he just opened the door with quiet authority. I slid in without a word, the weight of the silence thick between us. The drive stretched on, heavy with unspoken tension. It wasn’t the comfortable silence of two people at ease but something taut, dangerous, as though the air itself was holding its breath.

I found myself stealing glances at him despite myself. His features were sharp, every line and angle defined, radiating power and danger. His jaw was strong, lips curving slightly, but it was his eyes that held me captive—dark and unreadable, like they carried a thousand unspoken secrets. Cold, calculating, they flicked to me for the briefest moment, sending a jolt through my chest, before he turned his attention back to the road. The intensity of his gaze lingered, pressing against me as though he was aware of every breath I took. I tried to focus on the blurred city lights outside for the rest of the drive, but the scent of his cologne—dark, woody and intoxicating—kept pulling my attention back. It clung to him, to the car, to the very air I breathed. Despite myself, I couldn’t stop inhaling it. It made my skin feel tight and my thoughts a little less clear.

When we finally pulled up to the restaurant, I let out a breath I hadn’t realised I was holding. The suffocating tension of the car ride lifted, but it didn’t last long. Theodore’s hand slid around my waist, pulling me close in a practised, possessive move. His fingers burned through the fabric of my dress, sending a jolt of heat through me that had nothing to do with the temperature.

"Is this necessary?" I stiffened, my body reacting instinctively to his touch, to the proximity of his presence. The tension between us thickened, but before I could think of pulling away, he tightened his grip, drawing me closer.

His chest brushed against mine, solid and unyielding, and I felt his heart's sharp, steady beat under my palm. My breath hitched, and it wasn’t out of disgust or anger. It was because I was aware of every single movement, every nerve in my body coming alive in response to his proximity. He smelled like dark cedarwood and something more primal—an intoxicating combination that made it hard to focus and breathe.

“Just smile and look pretty,” he ordered, his voice a low, throaty command, his lips barely brushing my ear.

At that moment, the illusion of everything I had been feeling earlier shattered and I remembered exactly who I was dealing with. I had to bite the inside of my cheeks to keep myself from punching him in the face.

"Misogynistic prick," I muttered under my breath before plastering on a fake smile. He ignored my words as he led us towards the private dining room.

Inside, both families were already seated, and conversations were hushed as all eyes landed on us. Theodore moved like a man who knew how to command a room, each handshake firm, every nod calculated. The scene was set, and the play was already in motion. I was just a prop.

My eyes swept across the room, landing on the twins. They were seated near the end of the table with a striking woman between them. Her laughter was too loud, almost shrill. But it was Cyrus who caught my attention first. His expression was neutral, but his jaw tightened when his eyes met mine. For the briefest moment, his calm façade cracked just enough to show the tension beneath it. Ember, on the other hand, didn’t hide anything. His eyes flicked from me to Theodore, the disgust rolling off him in waves when he saw Theodore’s hand resting possessively at my back.

“What’s going on here?” Ember’s voice cut through the air, cold and sharp. His stare felt like a blade. Both twins studied me, trying to read me, but I didn’t flinch. Instead, I focused on my mother, offering her a smile that didn’t reach my eyes.

“He asked you a question,” Cyrus spoke this time, his tone dark, an edge of something more dangerous in his voice.

Remember when I told you that the twins and I did everything together? I wasn’t lying. We did everything together, including nursing each other’s broken hearts. They’d been there when Theodore shattered my heart, helping me pick up the pieces and watching as I tried—unsuccessfully—to rebuild it.

I couldn’t even imagine how they felt now, seeing me walk in with him—the one man who had destroyed me. The man who had shown me the true meaning of heartbreak. The pull in my chest tightened, and for a brief moment, I wondered if I’d ever get away from him. Suppose he was always going to have this hold on me.

"Let them sit," Gramps scolded the two as a large grin grew on his face. He seemed to be the only one in that room who was genuinely happy.

"How long has this been going on?" My mother asked once we were seated. She didn't look convinced at all, which wasn't surprising. She was also there to witness my broken heart and had the pleasure of dealing with me cursing Theodore at every given moment.

"It’s still very fresh," Theodore announced to everyone. "Since Grandad's birthday."

"Is this serious?" Gramps asked, his voice thick with emotion. He took my hand in his, his eyes glistening with hope. The way he looked at me made me feel guilty. I felt as if I was betraying him.

"Yes," Theodore confirmed, his tone unwavering. "We’ll get married early next year."

The words hit me like a punch to the stomach. I hadn’t been expecting that. As far as I knew, this was supposed to be a fake dating arrangement—nowhere in the contract did it mention anything about a fake marriage.

"What?" All four of Theodore's brothers demanded in unison.

Leo, always the most dramatic of the bunch, jumped to his feet, his finger jabbing in Theodore’s direction. "You piece of s**t!"

"Leo," I hissed, but he didn’t seem to hear me, or he was just too enraged to care.

"You can’t just break her heart, disappear for years, and then come back and act like nothing happened, only to take her back like some possession!"

My face went cold as his words struck a nerve. Did the twins tell him this about the history between Theordore and me? How humiliating.

"Sit. Down."

Leo froze, the force in Theodore's voice silencing him instantly. It wasn’t just authority—it was something else, something primal, that made you want to obey. Leo opened his mouth, but another sharp look from his older brother had him sitting back down, muttering under his breath.

"Are you serious, Lila?" Cyrus spoke up this time, his voice dripping with disappointment. His eyes narrowed as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. His gaze flicked to Theodore, then back to me, searching for some explanation I couldn't offer.

Before I could respond, Arthur interjected, his tone almost too calm. "I think everyone needs to calm down. They are both adults. I’m sure they have thought this through and made their decision. They are family, and that's all that matters at the end of the day. We can’t do anything but support them."

Gramps nodded approvingly, relieved by Arthur's attempt to smooth things over. "That is right," he agreed, beaming with pride. "Congratulations to the beautiful couple. I’m so happy for the two of you!"

His brothers didn't share the same sentiment as their grandfather, and it was clear by the looks on their faces. However, Theodore spoke up before they could say anything else, his words final.

"Quite frankly," Theodore’s voice cut through the silence, cold and unwavering. "I don’t care what any of you think. I am here out of obligation, not to seek approval. I will marry Lila. Whether you choose to attend the wedding is entirely up to you."