The Christmas Morning After: Chapter Two - The Mistletoe Interrogation

The buzzer is ringing, my parents are at the door, and I’m currently hiding in a shower stall while my brother and his best friend try to act like they weren't just shouting about my underwear. Christmas brunch hasn't even started yet, and I’m already one mimosa away from a total meltdown.

Chapter Two 

Elara 

Gift Exchange

The buzzer didn't just signal my mother’s arrival; it sounded like a death knell.

"The mimosas," Leo whispered, though it sounded more like a threat. He looked at the black lace bra sitting on the foyer table as if it were a live grenade. "If Mom sees that—if she sees you like this—she’s going to have a stroke before we even get to the appetizers."

"Bedroom. Now," Julian commanded. His voice had shifted. The ‘caught’ look was gone, replaced by the decisive tone of a man who spent his workdays closing multi-million dollar deals. He grabbed the bra, shoved it into my hand, and practically steered me back toward the hallway.

"You're hiding her?" Leo hissed, following us. "That's your plan? We're thirty years old, Julian, not teenagers in a sitcom!"

"Do you want to explain to your mother why Elara is half-naked in my foyer on Christmas morning?" Julian countered, his eyes flashing as he shoved me through his bedroom door. "Or do you want to drink your orange juice in peace?"

Leo went silent. The hallway was a blur of panic.

"Five minutes," Julian whispered to me, his hand lingering on the doorframe. His eyes dropped to my mouth for a split second—a heavy, dark look that made my stomach flip. It wasn't the look of a friend. It was the look of the man who had spent the last six hours worshiping every inch of me. "I'll stall them. Get dressed. Use the back bathroom."

The door clicked shut, muffling the sound of the front door opening and my mother’s high-pitched, festive greeting.

I stood in the center of Julian’s room, clutching my lace bra to my chest. The scent of him was everywhere, it was on my skin, in my hair, and radiating from the rumpled sheets of the bed I’d just fled. My mind, finally catching up to the adrenaline, began to fill in the gaps of the night before.

The ‘Gift Exchange’ at the gala. We had been standing on the balcony, the freezing air a sharp contrast to the heat of the ballroom. Julian had handed me a small, velvet box, a "thank you" for helping him with a project. But when I opened it to find a vintage gold locket, I had looked up, and the world had shifted.

"Julian, this is too much," I had whispered.

"It’s not enough," he’d replied, his voice vibrating in his chest as he stepped into my personal space. "Not nearly enough for how long I've been waiting to give it to you."

The memory of his mouth finally crashing against mine, desperate, salty from the margaritas, and tasting of pure, unadulterated longing, made my knees weak.

A sharp knock on the bedroom door snapped me back to the present.

"Elara?" It was Leo. His voice was muffled and strained. "Mom is asking why your car is parked crooked in the guest spot. Julian is telling her you... you dropped off a gift early and then felt lightheaded so you're 'napping.' You have three minutes to look like a human being and get out here."

I scrambled for my clothes, my heart hammering. The ‘spicy’ secret of last night was currently tucked under a charcoal-grey duvet, but I had to go out there and pretend I was still the girl who only saw Julian as a brother.

I managed to pull myself together in record time, though "together" was a generous term. My hair was a mess of finger-combed waves, and my lips were definitely swollen in a way that no amount of peppermint lip balm could hide. I stood in the center of Julian’s walk-in closet, the silence of the room mocking the frantic pounding of my heart. I couldn't go out in the emerald silk; my mother would KNOW what happened.

I grabbed a heavy, charcoal-grey cashmere sweater from a hanger. It was massive on me, the hem falling to just above my knees, but it was boxy and obvious. I needed to make this look like a choice, not a crisis. I grabbed one of Julian’s slim black leather belts and cinched it tight around my waist, turning the sweater into a makeshift minidress.

It was a dangerous look—my legs were entirely bare, and I was acutely aware that I was wearing nothing but a scrap of lace underneath his clothes. I took a shaky breath, tucked my hair behind my ears, and stepped into the living room.

The sight was surreal. My mother was fluttering around the small dining table, arranging a spread of pastries and fruit as if this were a planned gala and not a morning-after ambush. My father was already halfway through a mimosa, chatting with a stiff-shouldered Leo about the local football scores.

And then there was Julian.

He had showered—fast—and was dressed in a clean white button-down, the top two buttons undone. He looked infuriatingly composed, though his eyes found mine the second I entered the room. The heat in them was enough to make my breath hitch.

"There she is!" Mom chirped, coming over to press a cold hand to my forehead. "Julian said you had a bit of a dizzy spell. Honestly, Elara, you probably stayed too late at that party. You look... flushed."

"Just a bit of a headache, Mom," I lied, sliding into the only empty chair, directly across from Julian.

Leo sat to my left, his fork scraping against his plate with enough force to chip the ceramic. The silence between the three of us, Leo, Julian, and me, was a vibrating wire, while my parents hummed along in blissful ignorance.

"Pass the syrup, would you, Julian?" my dad asked.

Julian reached for the glass jar, but as he leaned forward, his eyes never left mine. "Of course. Elara, do you want some? You look like you need to keep your strength up."

The double meaning hung in the air like smoke. Leo let out a sharp, choked noise that he tried to turn into a cough.

"I'm fine," I snapped, reaching for the coffee. My hand was shaking.

But then, I felt it.

Under the table, the heavy, warm pressure of a foot sliding against mine. Not an accident. Not a brush. It was slow, deliberate, and firm. Julian shifted his weight, his leg pressing flush against my calf.

I nearly jumped out of my skin, my fork clattering against the table.

"Everything okay, sweetheart?" Mom asked, pausing with a croissant halfway to her mouth.

"Fine! Just... the coffee is hot," I managed.

Underneath the tablecloth, Julian’s foot moved higher, his toes dragging slowly up the sensitive skin of my ankle. It was a claim. A reminder. He was watching me over the rim of his mug, his expression perfectly neutral to anyone else, but I saw the dark spark of mischief and desire in his eyes. He wasn't just unrepentant; he was enjoying this.

He was pushing me, seeing how much I could take before I broke in front of everyone.

"So, Julian," Leo said, his voice dropping an octave as he stared his best friend down. "Since we’re all here for the 'Gift Exchange'... what exactly was the best thing you got this year?"

Julian didn't flinch. He didn't even move his leg away from mine. He just took a slow sip of his mimosa, his gaze locking onto me with a predatory intensity that made my heart hammer against my ribs.

"That's easy, Leo," Julian said softly. "I finally got something I've been eyeing for a long, long time. And I have no intention of returning it."

The air in the room felt like it was being sucked out through a vacuum. My father was blissfully engrossed in a story about a neighbor's snowblower, and my mother was busy critiquing the crumb structure of a store-bought muffin, but in the triangle between Julian, Leo, and me, the atmosphere was combustible.

Julian’s foot hadn't moved. In fact, he’d grown bolder. His calf was now hooked firmly against mine, a solid, warm anchor that made it impossible for me to focus on anything else. Every time I tried to pull away, he followed, his touch insistent. It was a silent conversation: I’m not letting you hide behind your family.

"You know, Julian," Leo said, his voice tight, "it’s funny you mention things you’ve been eyeing. I always thought we had a rule about 'looking but not touching' when it came to certain things. Respect, and all that."

My father looked up, blinking. "What’s that, Leo? A rule about what?"

"Just office politics, Dad," Julian answered smoothly, though his eyes flashed with a dangerous edge. He turned his attention back to me. "Elara, you’re not eating. Is your stomach still... unsettled? You were quite breathless earlier."

I felt the heat rush to my cheeks, a vivid scarlet that I knew my mother would notice eventually. My mind flashed back to the hallway, to the way Julian had looked holding my lace bra, the smug, possessive tilt of his head. He was playing a high-stakes game of chicken with my brother, and I was the prize being fought over in the middle.

"I'm just tired," I said, my voice coming out thinner than I intended. "It was a long night."

"It certainly was," Julian murmured. He shifted in his seat, and I felt his hand drop from the table.

For a second, I thought he was just adjusting his napkin. Then, I felt his fingers graze the hem of the oversized sweater—his sweater—that I was wearing. His hand found the bare skin of my knee under the table. I stiffened so hard I thought my spine might snap. His touch was electric, a searing contrast to the mundane chatter of my parents. His thumb began to trace slow, agonizing circles against the sensitive skin just above my knee, inching upward toward the hem of the sweater, his sweater.

I gasped, the sound cut off by a sudden, violent cough as I tried to mask it.

"Elara! Goodness, are you alright?" Mom reached over, patting my arm.

"Water," I choked out. "Just went down the wrong way."

Julian’s hand didn't move. If anything, his grip tightened, his fingers splaying across my thigh. He was looking at Leo now, a silent challenge in his gaze, even as he touched me beneath the white linen tablecloth. He was showing Leo exactly who I belonged to in this moment, regardless of whose sister I was.

Leo’s knuckles were white as he gripped his coffee mug. He wasn't stupid. He could see the way I was vibrating, the way Julian’s shoulder was angled. He knew.

"I think Elara needs some fresh air," Leo said, standing up so abruptly his chair screeched against the hardwood. "Why don't we take the coffee out to the balcony? Show the folks the view, Julian."

"It's twenty degrees out, Leo," my mother protested.

"The air will do her good," Leo insisted, his eyes fixed on Julian. "Right, Jules? You love the cold. Helps clear the head when you've made a... lapse in judgment."

Julian finally withdrew his hand, but the ghost of his touch remained, searing into my skin. He stood up slowly, with the grace of a predator. "Fine. Let's step outside. I think we all have a few things we need to get off our chests."

The balcony is narrow, dusted with a fresh layer of powder. My parents are inside by the heater, watching us through the glass door like a charming holiday tableau. But the second the door clicks shut, the temperature dropped in more ways than one.

Leo doesn’t waste time. He steps into Julian’s space, his breath hitching in the cold. "You have ten seconds to tell me you're going to walk away from this and never touch her again, or I’m going to forget we’ve been friends since we were five."

Julian didn't flinch. He’s not looking at Leo. He’s looking at me, his eyes dark and unwavering. "I've waited twelve years for her to look at me the way she did last night, Leo. I'm not walking away. Not today. Not ever."

The ‘Gift Exchange’ was over. The truth was out in the freezing morning air, and as I stood there between the two most important men in my life, I realized there was no going back to the way things were.

The secret was gone. Now, there was only the fallout.

The End. Come back next week for another story.

Copyright © by LS Phoenix

No portion of this story may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Published by LS Phoenix

New Hampshire, USA

https://linktr.ee/authorlsphoenix

First Edition: December 2025

Cover Design by LS Phoenix