Page 94 of Only Ever You

Despite the loud awakening his youngest niece had given him that morning, Bash couldn’t be annoyed at her big brown eyes. He scooped her up to sit on his hip.

“I’m not sad, sweetheart.” The palm of her hand didn’t even cover half of his stubbly cheek when she touched him.

“But you’re crying,” Maya said sweetly as she played with the coarse hairs on his jaw.

Damn it, don’t sniffle.Bash had never been too good at hiding his emotions, so he didn’t try to. Maya was allowed to see the men in her life be vulnerable.

“BecausePapahas been helping me decide something that I need to do.”

“Oh. Okay.” The girl had no idea what he was going on about, but she smiled like she did.

The dining room was decorated with festive opulence, candles shaped like spruce trees and a twinkling winter garland down the centre of the table. Serving bowls and jugs of sauces squeezed into every available space on the chequered runner cloth. Pieces of cardboard in neat little piles and the lingering smoky scent of popped Christmas crackers. Arthur’s paper crown sat askew and Imara’s, being far too big for her, had fallen around her neck.

The Christmas dinner itself had been lovely … until Uncle Mortimer opened his mouth, insisting he sat at one head of the table, unfortunately right next to Bash.

“You could’ve done this beef a little better, Shelly.”

Oh, and after refusing turkey and insisting upon a beef wellington, which three of the nine around the table could not eat for their religious rights, all he’d done was complain about one thing or another.First the wine was wrong for the meal that only he ate. Then the vegetables weren’tal denteenough for his taste. And now this.

Bash had had enough.

He put his cutlery down on his plate and leant to Faye. “Would you take the girls out? I don’t want them or you to hear this.”

“What are you doing?” she whispered, threads of worry working into her voice. This wasn’t usual for him, he knew.

“Finally standing up for this family.”

The main meal was nearly done anyway and both Maya and Imara had finished their smaller portions of turkey and roasted potatoes. They were across the table from Faye so Bash didn’t know how she would get them out with a smooth excuse. He just needed her to do it.

She must have read the frustration simmering in his eyes, because she placed her knife and fork down neatly at the edge of her almost empty plate and removed the napkin from her lap. Beyond her, Bash could see his mother’s jaw grinding.

“Girls?” Faye stood. “Why don’t you come and take the trifle out of the fridge with me? You can help me sprinkle the last bit of chocolate on top and tell me how much we need to put in everybody’s bowls.”

Both Maya and Imara’s ears perked up at the word “trifle.” They hadn’t needed to hear the rest of Faye’s sentence before pushing back their chairs.

As they left, the silence of the remaining diners felt far too loud against the festive jazz that quietly played.

“What’s all the dramatics about, boy?” For someone who wasn’t happy with his meal, Uncle Mortimer surely chewed it loudly.

Bash locked eyes with Matt opposite from him. There was no shake of his brother’s head, no look of warning in Matt’s eyes to put him off from doing this.

His hands were steady, pressed flat against the table as he sneered, “Ever since you arrived here you have offended all of us.”

Mortimer froze, his boiling glare raising through his brow.

“You ignore Matt and Saira completely,” Bash continued. “You looked Faye over like she was a prize for you to win. Then you insulted my mother and decided to ruin her cake by not asking if you could eat it first. You refused to come along with us when you were invited, even though you turned up hereuninvited.And now you insult the dinner you did nothing to contribute to.I don’t care what you say about me, you don’t get to insult this family any more.”

When Bash was done, his breaths were ragged, chest tight and rising in a hot flush underneath his shirt and jumper. The chair beneath him was suddenly too solid, and the bulging vein in his forehead gave him a headache.

Fuck, he’d never done anything like that in his life. And it felt so damn good.

The table slammed into deafening silence. Given the lack of tinkling of crockery, everyone had stopped eating. Bash didn’t look down the table to see if his parents were horrified or proud. Arthur was too gentle to have ever said such a thing like that and Michèle was always too concerned with keeping the peace.

And here he was, making a scene.

What a way to ruin Christmas.

Mortimer’s hands formed fists around his cutlery, his wrinkled mouth curling around his comeback. “You dare to speak to me that way?” The fire flaring in his eyes could scorch track marks into Bash’s face.