Back with His Twins for Christmas

Chapter 19

POV Charlotte

The numbers exceeded every projection I'd made.

Within twenty-four hours of the campaign launch, bookings flooded in—accommodations, spa treatments, yoga sessions, equipment rentals. The administrative phones rang constantly, a symphony of demand that hadn't echoed through these halls in years.

By the second day, the front desk staff was already offering availability for mid-January because everything through the Christmas Festival had sold out completely.

I watched the transformation from my position near the lobby windows, coffee growing cold in my hands.

Staff members moved with new energy. My mother hugged the reservations coordinator when they announced another fully booked week. My father shook hands with returning guests who'd seen our content online and driven hours to experience the "authentic mountain magic" we'd promised.

The victory should have tasted sweet. Instead, it sat bitter on my tongue. I recognized, more than I wanted to admit, that Tom deserved significant credit.

His money had funded the professional crews and equipment that made our content shine. His prepared business plan had provided the framework we'd built upon. His resources had turned a struggling property into something remarkable in an impossibly short timeframe.

The success belonged partly to my marketing expertise, yes—but it couldn't have happened without him.

The thought made my stomach turn.

"Charlotte." Dean's voice cut through my brooding, and I turned to find him standing near the side entrance, his flannel dusted with snow, his expression unreadable. "Come with me. There's something I need to show you."

I should have refused. Should have stayed where I was, surrounded by witnesses and safety and the cage I'd built around myself. But something in his voice pulled at me, and I found myself setting down my coffee and following him out into the cold.

He led me away from the lodge, through snow-covered paths that wound between the pines, until we reached a secluded overlook I'd forgotten existed.

The view stole my breath—mountains stretching endlessly toward the horizon, the sky painted in shades of winter blue, absolute privacy wrapping around us like a blanket.

The silence felt different here. Charged.

"You don't have to sacrifice yourself to Tom just to keep this place running," Dean said finally, his voice rough against the mountain quiet. "The resort's success proves you're capable of achieving things on your own terms. You did this, Charlotte. Your strategy, your vision, your team. Don't give him credit he doesn't deserve."

I laughed, and the sound came out hollow.

"Tom's contribution was real and substantial, Dean. I can't pretend otherwise, no matter how much I might want to. His money made this possible. His resources, his connections, his business infrastructure—none of this would have happened without him, and lying to myself about that doesn't change the reality of the situation."

Dean stepped closer, frustration tightening his jaw.

"So you're just going to hand yourself over to him? Play the grateful partner while he parades you around like a trophy he bought?"

"I agreed to appear with him at the festival opening, and I'll honor that commitment." My voice came out steadier than I felt. "He may not be a good man, but he showed up every time when it mattered. That counts for something, whether you want to acknowledge it or not."

The words visibly hurt him. I watched Dean's expression shift, something wounded flickering behind his steel-blue eyes before he spoke again, quieter now.

"The twins have confided in me, Charlotte. They don't like Tom. They're afraid of him. They remember the yelling and the tension from when you were together. These are your children telling me they're scared of the man you're planning to stand beside in front of the whole town."

"Don't." The word came out sharp, cutting. "Don't you dare manipulate me using my children. That's low, Dean, even for you."

"I'm not manipulating you—I'm asking you to consider what's best for them. What's best for yourself."

He reached for my arm, his fingers warm even through my coat sleeve.

"You deserve better than this, Charlotte. They deserve better than watching their mother sacrifice her happiness for a man who makes them feel small."

My composure finally shattered.

"The one time I prioritized myself—the one night I let myself want something—it ended in devastating humiliation."

The words tore from somewhere deep and wounded, years of suppressed pain flooding out before I could stop them.

"Fifty dollars each, Dean. That's what I was worth to you. 'Told you I could nail the rich hottie'—I heard every word. You reduced our night together to a conquest, something to brag about over morning coffee while I walked downstairs hoping for a new beginning."

Dean's face went pale, something raw and grieving surfacing in his expression. "What you heard wasn't what you think, Charlotte."

"Then tell me what it was." I stepped toward him, my voice cracking with challenge and old hurt. "If you have something to say, now is the time. Otherwise I'm walking away and accepting whatever future Tom offers, because at least with him I know exactly what kind of cruelty I'm dealing with."

He took a breath, and I braced myself for excuses, for deflection, for the same cold dismissal I'd endured for years.

What came out was something rawer than I expected.

"I never agreed to the bet. Not really." Dean's voice dropped, heavy with something that sounded almost like grief. "But I didn't stop it either, and that's on me. I let Derek and Kyle talk, let them think whatever they wanted to think, because I was angry. Angrier than I'd ever been in my life."

I stared at him, confusion cutting through my fury. "Angry about what?"

"Do you remember the week we spent together when we were sixteen? When I taught you to ski, and I kissed you on the mountain, and everything felt like it might actually be something real?"

He waited for my nod before continuing, his jaw tight with old pain.

"The week after that, everything changed. My friends told me that Tom and his crew had jumped one of my closest friends—beat him badly enough to send him to the hospital with a broken rib and a concussion. And the next day, I saw you walking arm in arm with Tom, laughing like nothing had happened, choosing the golden crowd like you always did."

This information was new to me, and I was terribly shocked.

"I assumed you knew," Dean said quietly, his steel-blue eyes searching my face. "Assumed you were complicit, just another rich girl who saw people like me as entertainment or targets. I hated you for it, Charlotte. Hated you for making me believe in something and then proving I was nothing but a game to your entire world."