Back with His Twins for Christmas

Chapter 16

POV Charlotte

I screamed—genuinely, embarrassingly screamed—as the snowboard picked up speed beneath us, the wind cutting through my sweater like knives, the ground rushing past in a blur of white that made my stomach lurch.

Dean's arms tightened around me, his body angling to control our descent, his voice steady and warm against my ear. "Relax. I've got you. Just lean back into me."

But panic had already seized my limbs, and I kicked involuntarily, trying to slow us down. My weight shifted dangerously to the left, then overcorrected to the right. Dean compensated, adjusting his grip, but I thrashed again—and suddenly we were tumbling.

Snow exploded around us in a chaos of tangled limbs and frozen powder until I landed on top of him in a drift, my hands braced against his chest, my face inches from his.

His eyes searched mine immediately, worry carved into every line of his features.

"Are you okay? Charlotte, are you hurt? Did you hit anything?" The genuine concern in his voice undid something in my chest, cracked open a door I'd been holding shut for days.

I started laughing.

Wild, breathless laughter shook through my whole body as adrenaline flooded my veins, and I couldn't stop it—couldn't contain the absurdity of this moment, of me sprawled across Dean Sawyer in a snowbank while a film crew recorded everything from the top of the slope.

Dean stared at me for a moment, bewildered, before his own laughter joined mine—deep and warm, his chest rumbling beneath my palms in a way that made my breath catch between giggles.

"I can't remember the last time you cared this much about me," I managed, mocking his panicked expression. "You looked terrified. Big strong lumberjack, scared little old me might have a bruise."

He let me joke. Didn't deflect or turn cold. Just laughed with me in the snow, his hands still resting on my hips where they'd landed, and for one perfect moment, everything else disappeared.

The laughter faded slowly, and suddenly I became aware of how close we were. My body pressed against his, the heat of him seeping through my thin sweater, our breath mingling in the cold air between us.

Dean's expression shifted—the amusement draining into something deeper, more dangerous. His gaze dropped to my lips, and I felt my heart stutter violently against my ribs.

I watched his face, saw the question forming there, felt myself leaning closer without conscious decision. The space between us shrank to inches, to centimeters—

"Charlotte! Dean! Are you guys okay?"

The film crew's voices shattered the moment, calling out as they made their way down the slope. I jerked back, scrambling off Dean with cheeks burning from more than the cold.

I caught a flicker of something on his face—disappointment, maybe, quickly masked—and prayed desperately that he hadn't noticed my own reluctance to pull away.

The crew arrived in a flurry of concern, brushing powder from our clothes and exclaiming over the footage. "That fall was incredible—so authentic! The audience is going to love it!"

I forced myself to focus on their chatter instead of the way my lips still tingled with the kiss that almost was.

* * *

The following days blurred together—filming continued, festival preparations intensified, but I barely participated.

Tom shadowed me constantly, appearing with contracts requiring signatures, purchase orders needing approval, meetings with my parents about renovation timelines.

He was everywhere, inescapable, his hand always finding my elbow or my lower back in casual possessiveness that made my skin crawl.

I caught glimpses of progress through windows: Dean directing the market stall construction, Peyton filming yoga sequences in the spa, the resort slowly transforming into something that might actually survive.

But every time I moved toward the action, Tom materialized with another document, another decision, another reminder of the cage I'd built around myself.

Then one afternoon, I spotted the crew gathered outside with Dean and the twins.

Leah bounced excitedly on the bunny slope while Noah sat serious and still on a nearby bench, a book open in his lap. Dean crouched beside my daughter, adjusting her stance, and even from this distance I could see the patience in his movements, the care.

Something broke in me.

"I need to step out," I said, cutting off my father mid-sentence.

Tom's irritated question followed me—"Charlotte, we're in the middle of discussing the electrical upgrades"—but I was already grabbing my coat, already pushing through the door.

The cold hit me like a wall, but I barely felt it as I marched toward the group. "What's going on here? Why are my children on camera?"

Alicia turned with her tablet clutched to her chest, her expression shifting from excited to cautious in the span of a heartbeat.

"We're filming family-friendly content—Dean teaching Leah to ski, Noah reading nearby. It's perfect for targeting parents, Charlotte. Shows the resort caters to children, gives families confidence their kids will be looked after."

"You filmed my children without my consent." My voice came out sharp enough to make the nearest crew member flinch. "Without my knowledge. Who authorized this?"

Tom stepped forward smoothly, materializing at my elbow with that practiced smile.

"I did, actually. Leah mentioned how much she loved her lessons with Dean, and I thought—why waste such a natural marketing opportunity? The kids were thrilled to participate. Weren't you, Leah?"

My daughter's face lit up, oblivious to the fury coiling in my chest.

"It's the first cool thing Tom's done in forever, Mommy! Dean let me go down the big hill—well, the medium hill—and I only fell twice, and he said I was a natural! Please can we put it online? I want all my friends to see!"

I turned to confront Tom, words sharp and ready on my tongue—but before I could speak, he pulled me gently toward him and pressed a kiss to my cheek in full view of everyone. The crew. The twins. Dean.

"Don't be angry, baby," he murmured against my skin, loud enough for others to hear. "Praise me for taking initiative. This is exactly the content your campaign needs."

Leah and Noah made synchronized gagging sounds behind us, their disgust cutting through the tension.

"Kissing in public is disgusting," Leah announced with the moral authority only a five-year-old could muster. "Noah agrees. We discussed it."

Alicia cleared her throat awkwardly, her tablet raised like a shield. "Should I send the materials to processing? We can have the edited footage ready tonight if you approve the release."

I exhaled slowly, forcing my shoulders to relax, forcing my voice into something professional. "Fine. Yes. Send it." The words tasted like defeat.

My gaze found Dean across the snow before I could stop myself. He stood rigid near the ski equipment, staring at Tom with undisguised hostility—his jaw tight, his hands curled into fists at his sides, every line of his body radiating the kind of controlled fury that preceded violence.

I looked away. Back to Tom, who watched me with that perfect smile that never reached his eyes, triumph glittering in his gaze like something sharp and cruel.

I grabbed his arm, my fingers digging into his expensive coat sleeve hard enough to make him wince. "We need to speak privately. Now."