Olivia's stomach was a knot growing tighter and tighter as Harry De Rosier unwittingly worsened her already devastating infatuation. She hadn't found sleep easily. Not when her brain insisted replaying every word of their conversations in mortifying detail. That, and she couldn't stop thinking about the way Daphne Vanderberg had smiled at him.

A jealous anger started to simmer in her stomach, but she pushed it aside. It was her own fault she'd developed feelings for a man she wouldn't let herself show interest in. She certainly couldn't be angry considering that he had never shown her a bit of interest outside of familial concern being that she was the little sister of his dear friend.

To occupy herself, Olivia threw herself into whatever task she could find around the tiny, purple house. A great, bushy evergreen tree was brought into the parlor, and with it, the sharp, fresh scent of pine. Olivia volunteered to decorate it herself as she did every year. Her mother was never interested in the task, and Archibald had participated in the trimming of the tree from time to time, but he always put too many ornaments in the same places. Olivia had scolded him for it, and he eventually relinquished the task to her to avoid the bossing.

She started with tinsel and followed with large red bows. By the time she began with the glass ornaments and baubles, it was well past noon. She called for tea and sandwiches while she unwrapped the delicate trinkets to find a special place for each on the tree. When she ran out of room among the bottom branches, she fetched a small step ladder to reach the upper boughs.

But Olivia saved the best for last: her favorite ornament — a fragile, twisting piece of glass that looked akin to the icicles that hung of the house's eaves. It had been her father's favorite too. It was due to her father's mismanagement of their fortune that they were in this situation, but around Christmas, it was hard to think of him with anything but sadness at his passing. He'd been so full of life before he was taken from them too early. In the last days he had expressed his greatest regret was leaving them with the consequences of his financial ineptitude before he had the chance to correct it. It was this bitter-sweet memory that Olivia held in her heart as she stepped onto the ladder to hang the last ornament.

She reached up for the highest branch when an unexpected came from close behind her. "It's beautiful."

Olivia turned to look over her shoulder and was caught off guard to see Harry De Rosier standing in their parlor, looking up at her with unveiled wonderment. Her cheeks immediately grew warm under his gaze. "Harry!" she said, but before she could scold him for failing to announce himself, she wobbled atop of the ladder step.

Her arms pinwheeled as she tried to regain her balance.

Mr. De Rosier jumped to her aid, catching her at the waist. "Woah! I've got you," he said.

With hands firmly above her hips, he pulled her from the ladder, and in the shock of it all, the ornament tumbled from Olivia's grasp. Time seemed to slow. She was frozen, pulled tight into Mr. De Rosier's chest as she watched in horror as the glass hit the floorboards and shattered into hundreds of sparkling pieces.

"Oh my," Mr. De Rosier said, stepping away from the mess to place Olivia firmly on the ground. She was no longer in fear of falling, but he didn't move away. Olivia's face was probably crimson and she was sure he could hear the fervent pounding of her heart. Mr. De Rosier kept a steadying hand on her waist as he laughed. "I'm sorry I startled you," he said as he used a free hand to tuck a loosened blonde curl away from her face.

Olivia stomach was filling with warmth — like she'd swallowed sunshine. Then she remembered the impossibility of it all and the warmth turned to anger. "Just... don't!" she exclaimed, grabbing his hands and throwing them away as if she hated them, as if she hadn't been wondering for months what they'd feel like in hers. "Can't you see you're ruining everything? That was my father's favorite ornament!" The anger swelled and a sad lump formed in her throat.

Mr. De Rosier's smile fell and a look of deep concern wrinkled his brow. "Miss Colston I—" he stammered. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to—"

Olivia sucked in a breath that sounded too close to a sob. "No. No of course not. But it's just like you to waltz in and tip the entire world off its axis." Words tumbled out unwittingly from that strange, warm place in her chest.

A deep crease formed between De Rosier's eyebrows as he watched her. "I'm sorry, but I don't understand," he said, his words as gentle as his touch had been on her waist.

I love you. I love you. I love you. Olivia's heart begged to confess her tortured secret but she denied it the satisfaction. I can't love you. Instead different words slid off her tongue — the worst things she'd ever thought about Harry De Rosier. The things she told herself in the vain attempts to tamper her infatuation. "It's because of you. You were the one to put the idea of New York into Archibald's head. As far as I'm concerned you're the reason that I had to leave my whole life behind. You even made the arrangements for this horrendous, purple house—" Her voice had risen to a shout.

Mr. De Rosier took a step back and drew a hand up to press his fingers through his hair. "Now that's not fair," he said, drawing himself up. There was an anger in his voice now too. "I might have given Archibald the idea but he made the decision on his own. He weighed the options himself with no convincing from me in either direction. I helped facilitate, sure, but the plum house was all for you. You told me outright that plum was your favorite color at that ball your family took me to in Grosvenor Square."

Olivia opened her mouth to form a reply but paused. She had only a vague memory of the ball at Grosverner Square and she didn't even remember Harry De Rosier asking about her favorite color. But he must have. She couldn't deny she preferred dark aubergine hues over most others. "Yes..." she admitted. "But for wearing. On a house it's much too much."

Mr. De Rosier's hands fell to his sides, defeated. "Then you'll have to forgive me for thinking of you."

The words hit Olivia like a punch to the stomach. He had been thinking of her. Why would he care if she liked the color of the house? Before she could ask, Harry brushed past her and stalked through the door that led to the kitchen.

"Where are you going?" she called after him.

"I'm getting a broom," he said before disappearing through the door. "If you step on a piece of glass it'll go straight through those thin little slippers of yours and I'll never forgive myself," his voice carried from the kitchen.

"Mr. De Rosier!" Olivia exclaimed, following close behind. "There is no need—" she started to say but her words dissolved to an exasperated growl.

Harry ignored the fact that she'd tailed him into the kitchen and began throwing open closet doors and cabinets. "Now where do you keep your broom?"

"Please don't."

"Here it is," Harry said as he produced a broom and dustpan from a closet.

He turned and headed back into the parlor. Olivia wasn't far behind. "No, please Mr. De Rosier. Don't bother yourself with that—"

He turned and Olivia grabbed hold of the broom's handle.

"Let me do this," he said. He pulled on the handle in an attempt to pull it from Olivia's grasp, but he only succeeded in pulling her closer.

"No," Olivia said defiantly.

In close proximity, breaths mingled. Olivia's stomach tingled in an unfamiliar way as she found herself drawn up against Harry again. She forced it out of her mind and matched his ferocious glare with one of her own.

But then he softened. "Livie—"

"No!" Olivia yelled, suddenly releasing her grip. They stumbled apart. "Please," she said, her voice cold. "Just... leave."

Harry stopped, his mouth open the slightest in shock. But then his lips pressed into a frown that made Olivia's throat close shut as guilt choked her lungs.

"Fine. Tell your brother I'll see him tonight." He turned and left the parlor.

Olivia couldn't draw breath until she heard the slam of the front door. The lump returned to her throat as she felt the sudden, overwhelming urge to run after him — to tell him that she hadn't meant a word she'd said. But she had... a little. Tears blurred the edges of her vision as she realized the gravity of what she'd done. Harry De Rosier would never look at her the same way again. Not after being wrongfully accused, and so mercilessly.

She told herself it was for the best that she ruin any chance of their being together.

Still, it didn't stop the tears that ran down her cheeks as she swept away the remnants of glass. It was done. What might have been... what little there was, it was all gone.

Thank you so much for reading! My apologies for the delayed update! Things got crazy busy with work and I had to move things around to make sure I got everything in. Anyways, things should be getting back to normal, which means weekly updates! WOOT! I absolutely can't wait to share this story with you guys. I intended to have it all written prior to posting it, but then God had other plans and I got a second job! If you're loving this story, give it a star and be sure to share your thoughts in the comments!