Page 64 of The Light Within

It hadn’t escaped Cinn’s notice that Julien hadn’t put Béatrice’s locket back on since the day he’d taken it off.

If Julien didn’t want to wear that, would he even want this scarf?

Cinn unclenched his fists which had formed tight balls in his lap. “Yeah. Don’t be pissed that I fucked up her work, okay? I tried to makeDarcy help me, but she had no clue either.” He shot Darcy a scowl, like the end result was all her fault. “I tried. Knitting’s hard. I stabbed myself about eight times. There’s probably blood all over it.”

With a slap of her legs, Darcy jumped to her feet. “Right, I’ve hit my limit. Elliot, let’s crack open the mulled wine.”

They disappeared, closing the living-room door behind them.

Alone, the room stilled, and an age stretched out before Julien finally declared, “I love it,” a rough edge ofsomethingin his voice. “It’s my new favourite thing.”

“I don’t actually expect you to wear it or anything.” Cinn bit into his lip, tearing his eyes from the scarf to stare into a large red bauble hanging on the tree. “But I kept thinking about how she’d never finish it, and how it would just lie on her desk, unfinished, forever. I thought she’d want me to finish it. And you got me this hat, so now we’re even.”

“Cinn.”

“What?”

Julien shuffled across the hardwood floor to cup Cinn’s cheek, forcing him to look at him. He stroked his thumb over Cinn’s cheekbone, and Cinn’s breath audibly hitched.

“Don’t you dare tell me you spent hours learning how to knit so we can beeven.”

Pinned in place and rendered speechless by the intensity behind Julien’s gaze, Cinn could only swallow.

Julien’s voice dropped to a soft hush. “Because I won’t believe you.”

Cinn must have bit into his lip again, because Julien was tugging it free, tipping his chin upwards.

“Well, yeah, like I said, I did it for Béatrice mainly.” And Cinn rather liked the idea of Julien walking around wearing a piece of him, in some small way. “And you look good in black stuff,” Cinn added begrudgingly. Hopefully Julien would leave it at that.

“Oui, that is true.” Julien wrapped the scarf around his neck, then pouted like a catwalk model, his dimples flashing like twinkling stars.

At that moment, Darcy burst back into the room, holding the largest jug of steaming mulled wine Cinn had ever seen. “Who’s ready to get sloshed?” she shouted, sounding well on her way already.

Christmas dinner was a surprisingly lavish affair.

Fiona dressed the table of the townhouse’s modest dining room to Michelin Star standards, complete with napkin swans and crystal wine glasses.

Once they were all seated, Alexander placed a large white taper candle in the middle of the table. “I thought we would light this for Béatrice,” he said, looking to Julien, whose mouth fell open.

“Merci,” Julien replied at last. “That’s so thoughtful of you.”

“She was such a lovely lass.” Alexander sat down, his hand slipping into Fiona’s open palm.

Fuck. Cinn hadn’t even properly considered this would be Julien’s first Christmas without her. Not that he’d ever enjoyed the holiday, apparently, but still…

He eyed the shadows in the room’s corners. Was Béatrice here, lurking? Perhaps she’d appreciate some meat scraps in addition to the candle…

Mountains of food were delivered to their plates. Cinn had to admit it—the Beaumonts’ Christmas dinner turned out delicious without his assistance. Although, the roast potatoes weren’tquiteas crispy as he would have made them, using goose fat and extra salt.

Darcy sat wedged between her two parents, and Cinn’s attention kept snagging on the three of them. How they were such a tight familyunit. How Fiona knew Darcy would want extra gravy. How Alexander groaned when Darcy reminded him to take his medicine.

It wasn’t like he’d spent the last decade feeling sorry for himself for being parentless. But the glimpse into their ‘normal’ family dynamic stirred up the tiniest bit of unexpected longing within him.

When the time came for dessert, mortification about the chocolate log he’d made much earlier froze Cinn in his seat, pretending he didn’t notice Darcy’s meaningful glances. Perhaps he could just slide it into the bin later.

“Oh, for goodness sake,” Darcy eventually snapped, leaping up from the dining table with a loud scrape. She appeared a minute later with the cake in tow. It looked a bit haphazard from its time hiding at the back of the fridge, but its rich chocolatey exterior still gleamed under the dining-room lights. It wasn’t half bad, considering Cinn’s limited resources.

“La bûche!” Julien immediately exclaimed, and Cinn wanted to crawl under the table.

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