Page 46 of His To Unravel (His & Hers Duet #1)

I glance at him, and he stiffens beside me. “Your room is still just as you left it. The house feels so empty with just your father and me. ”

Nathaniel’s response is smooth, almost rehearsed. “The apartment is more practical for my schedule.” He doesn’t look at her as he speaks, instead focusing on his coffee.

Renée lets the topic drop but not before she glances my way, as if hoping I might support her suggestion. I keep quiet, sensing the undercurrent of tension in the room.

“Anyway,” Renée pivots, her tone shifting to something more cheerful, “I was surprised you didn’t remember the date.”

Nathaniel raises an eyebrow. “Should I have?”

She gives him a pointed look. “The Christmas fair at the Elysian Gallery. I assume you haven’t forgotten that it’s today.”

Nathaniel’s expression doesn’t change, but his tone cools. “Why not go with Father?”

Renée sighs, folding her hands on the table. “It’s a tradition, Nathaniel. Something I used to do with you and Alexander. It would mean a lot to me to continue it with you.”

The air suddenly feels thicker. I glance at Nathaniel, whose grip tightens slightly on my thigh under the table. His face is impassive, but I can feel the tension radiating from him.

Renée must notice too, because she turns to me with a kind smile. “Olivia, I’d love for you to join us. It’s a beautiful event, and I think you’d enjoy it.”

The thought of him missing out on a tradition with his mother, especially one tied so deeply to his family, makes my heart hurt.

“That sounds wonderful,” I say, smiling warmly at Renée. “I’d love to go.”

Nathaniel’s attention snaps to me, his expression softening as his focus shifts entirely. “Are you sure?” he asks quietly. “Would it make you happy?”

I nod. “It would.”

His agreement comes swiftly after that. “Then we’ll go,” he says, his tone final.

Renée’s relief is visible as she beams. There’s a wordless exchange between us—gratitude on her part, understanding on mine.

As we finish up our meal, I have the chance to observe Renée up close. Her chestnut brown hair is impeccably styled, framing sharp cheekbones that resemble Nathaniel’s. Her blue eyes, though striking like her son’s, carry a softer warmth that makes me feel both welcome and examined.

She wears a cream cashmere coat over a dove-gray dress, tailored and timeless. Everything about her exudes wealth without flash, confidence without effort. But there’s a subtle scrutiny in her gaze, like she’s evaluating more than just the apartment.

Nathaniel rises and extends his hand to me. “Let’s get ready,” he murmurs.

I take it, feeling the tension still coiled in his grip. As we walk back toward the bedroom, I glance back once. Renée stands alone in the living room, surveying the space with an unreadable expression.

She’s not just admiring the decor.

She’s measuring what her son has built without her.

The Rolls-Royce glides to a stop in front of the Elysian Gallery. Through the window, I catch my first glimpse of the grand facade—tall glass panels framed by marble columns, each one draped with frost-kissed wreaths and twinkling lights.

As we step inside, the scent of pine and cinnamon wraps around us.

Vaulted ceilings stretch above us, their intricate carvings highlighted by soft, golden lighting.

The marble floors gleam underfoot, reflecting the shimmering displays of ornaments housed in individual cases.

Live harp music fills the space, mingling with the gentle hum of conversation.

Waiters in crisp uniforms move gracefully through the room, offering glasses of champagne and trays of delicate hors d’oeuvres.

“This,” I murmur, awestruck, “is not what I expected.” It is obvious that this is unlike any other Christmas fair I have been to.

Renée, standing beside me, smiles warmly. “The Yuletide Atelier is an experience. It’s as much about tradition as it is about artistry. Each piece tells a story.”

Nathaniel’s hand tightens around mine, his touch a constant reassurance for himself as much as it is for me, I’m sure.

He said little on the drive over, letting his mother fill the silence with stories of past Christmases and the Caldwell family’s traditions.

She spoke fondly of the ornaments, describing how she, Nathaniel, and Alexander added one to the family collection each year.

His brother.

I glance at Nathaniel now, his expression composed but distant. I can feel the strain in the way his thumb absently brushes against my knuckles.

A man dressed impeccably in a tailored suit approaches us as we stand in the entryway. “Mrs. Caldwell, Mr. Caldwell.” He nods respectfully before his gaze shifts to me. “And your guest.”

“This is Olivia,” Renée says.

“A pleasure.” He bows his head slightly. “I’m Jeremy, your liaison for the day. If you’ll follow me, I’ll guide you through the curated displays.”

We are led through the gallery, where illuminated cases display ornaments, each more intricate than the last. There are handblown glass globes from Murano, delicate filigree stars adorned with diamonds, and even miniature sculptures carved from precious metals.

Each piece seems imbued with meaning, the accompanying plaques detailing the artisan’s inspiration and the materials used.

I stay behind Renée and Nathaniel, trying to absorb the extravagance. The opulence is overwhelming, from the luxury of the space to the exclusivity of the event. It isn’t just a gallery—it’s a stage, where old-money families mingle with the crème de la crème of the art world.

Renée stops before a display featuring a crystalline snowflake embedded with tiny sapphires. “This one reminds me of Alexander. He always went for the bold pieces.”

Her voice is light, but the mention of Nathaniel’s twin sends a ripple of tension through the air.

“And Nathaniel preferred simpler designs?” I ask, hoping to steer the conversation into safer waters.

Renée chuckles softly, nodding. “Yes. He always had an eye for elegance in restraint. I used to tease him about being too serious, even as a child. Alexander, on the other hand…” Her smile softens with nostalgia.

“He had a wild streak. One year, he convinced the string quartet to play the Star Wars theme instead of the holiday overture as guests arrived.”

I glance at Nathaniel. His expression doesn’t change, but the hand holding mine tightens ever so slightly.

“And did they?” I ask lightly, hoping to ease the weight of the memory.

“They did.” Renée laughs. “Nathaniel was absolutely mortified. But I caught him humming along under his breath.” Her gaze flickers briefly to her son. “They were always like that—Alexander causing chaos, and Nathaniel pretending he wasn’t enjoying it just as much.”

Nathaniel’s voice is curt when he finally speaks. “He always knew how to have a good time.”

Renée’s laughter falters, and for a moment, her smile seems forced. “Well, he made the holidays…memorable,” she says quietly, her gaze shifting away.

As we move from display to display, Nathaniel’s attention remains focused on me. He barely acknowledges his mother or Jeremy, though he nods politely when addressed.

I feel Nathaniel’s hand brush my lower back to get my attention. “ Are you warm enough?” he asks. “They keep it chilly in here, don’t they?”

“I’m fine, thank you.” I give a small smile, hoping to reassure him. But he seems unsatisfied, studying me for a moment longer, as if debating whether to go fetch a coat for me right then and there.

Before I can look away, he reaches over and straightens my scarf, his fingers grazing my collarbone in a way that sends a small, pleasant shiver down my spine.

“Nate, I’m fine,” I reiterate, a little embarrassed. Glancing over at his mother, I’m relieved to see she is engrossed in a display.

“Of course, you are,” he replies, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But I prefer to see you comfortable.” His fingers give a gentle squeeze before he releases me, though he stays close, as if he needs to keep me within reach.

A delicate glass bauble painted with intricate winter scenes catches my eye, and I stop to admire it.

“Do you like this one?” he asks.

“It’s beautiful,” I reply, my voice hushed.

“We’ll take it,” he says to Jeremy immediately.

“Nathaniel,” I protest, feeling self-conscious under Renée’s watchful gaze. “You don’t have to buy something just because I like it.”

His piercing blue eyes meet mine, unwavering. “I want you to have it,” he says simply, like that’s reason enough. And for him, I think it is.

The intensity of his undivided attention makes my cheeks warm. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Renée watching us.

“It’s good to see him so expressive,” Renée remarks as we move to the next display. “He tends to keep everything bottled up.”

Her words give me pause. I glance at Nathaniel, who is busy examining a swan-shaped ornament adorned with tiny emeralds.

Renée continues, her tone thoughtful. “He wasn’t always this way. As a child, he was…quieter than Alexander, but there was a warmth to him. After…” She trails off, her eyes dimming slightly. “Well, it’s reassuring to see him like this now.”

I’m not sure how to respond, so I nod, focusing on the display before us.

Renée’s reminiscing continues as we browse the rest of the collection. She shares small anecdotes about past Christmases, painting a picture of a family dynamic I haven’t been privy to before.

“Alexander always had a flair for the dramatic,” she says with a fond smile. “He’d pick the most expensive ornament, just to see their father’s reaction. Nathaniel was more thoughtful—he’d choose something timeless.”

Nathaniel’s smile tightens, though he doesn’t interrupt.

“He adored you, you know,” Renée adds, her gaze softening as she looks at her son. “He always said you kept his feet on the ground.”

Nathaniel’s jaw clenches, and I feel his fingers twitch slightly against mine.