Page 7 of The Twelve Days of Christian
“That was really good,” he says, and I do believe he means it. “But you can’t tell anyone I said that, right?” He points a cautionary finger at me. “Not even Ollie. Not good for my image.” He wipes at one eye. “Damn it, I should have taken these contacts out hours ago.”
I try not to smile at the lie—I’m positive he’s not wearing contacts—and instead hit him with the most important question of all.
“OK, there’s a compulsory end of viewing test for allLove Actuallyvirgins.”
One brow flies up to his forehead, and he flashes me his lopsided smile, the same one that sends the fan girls swooning. Of course,I’mnot susceptible to its heat.
“Really?” His smile morphs into a grin that shows off perfectly white teeth.
“Yes, really. The good news is there’s only one question and no wrong answers. So, Christian, you need to take a stand here.” I fix him with my most serious quizmaster stare. “Which story did you like best?”
He answers without hesitation. “The guy who’s in love with his friend’s wife.”
God, that’s my favourite too. Strange Christian and I have this in common.
“Why?” I ask, unable to mask my surprise at his unexpected choice.
“Because it’s not easy to have feelings for someone who’s off limits to you.” His voice drops to just above a whisper. I have a sense there’s something personal in this, but curious as I am, I’ve no right to pry. “Brave of him to admit it. Even though he knows it’s hopeless.”
The grin has dissolved into a sad smile and there’s an odd expression in his eyes. He looks away from my gaze, as if fearful I’ll read something there he doesn’t want to share. Fair enough. He’s my brother’s best friend, but we barely know each other. He’s under no obligation to spill his secrets to me.
He turns back to me. “And yours?”
“Same,” I admit. He doesn’t demand a reason for my choice, but I have a strange compulsion to offer one. “I’ve always admired how she handles his feelings in that scene. I mean, he’s so fragile. And she gets that.” His nod encourages me to go on, the words somehow tumbling forth, pushing past my usual reserve with people I don’t know well. “It’s a special thing to be gifted another person’s admission of love, to have someone be vulnerable and face the risk ofrejection. Especially when it’s from someone unexpected.” I don’t know why I’m saying this to Christian Steele, but I can’t help myself. “I hope if it happened to me, I could accept that sort of declaration with the same graciousness, no matter who it came from.”
“I hope so too,” he says, his voice low.
Something hangs in the air. It’s as if I’m observing him through a gauzy curtain that blurs the space between us. It ripples in an invisible breeze, flickering light and shadows softening the contours of his face. Then the moment is gone. Christian breaks our gaze and leaps to his feet.
“God, I’m still absolutely exhausted,” he announces with a sprawling, almost theatrical yawn. “I guess I’ll leave you to enjoyThe Holidayin peace. Number two on your list, if I remember correctly?”
I can’t help but mirror the teasing grin he tosses over his shoulder. Tully’s sad eyes follow his progress across the lounge, disappointed her couch buddy should abandon us so early. Mularkey tracks him to the doorway, gazing at him hopefully. I follow. It’s time the girls went out, anyway.
“No girl,” he says gently, fondling her pointy ears in a way that causes her to melt into the floor. “Maybe you can sleep with me another night, if the boss lady says you can.”
It melts my heart a little too. Christian has many critics, me included after today’s bombshell, but I struggle to hold it against him as I see his affinity for animals. No wonder he chose the rescue as his charity. As if he senses my softening, he pauses at his bedroom door.
“Goodnight, Haley,” he says. “Thanks for everything.”
“You’re welcome.” I was brought up to meet politeness with grace.
He’s about to close the door when he hesitates, turning back to me.
“Look, I know you’re pissed at me about the show.” He’s far more perceptive than I’d ever have given him credit for. I thought I’d hidden it well. “I promise I’ll tell you everything sometime. I just can’t right now. OK?”
“OK. Goodnight Christian.”
I sit up a little longer afterwards, wondering what the hell really went on up in Scotland while flip-flopping between a parade of pathetic television programmes. I’m too tired to start another movie, no matter how tempting the thought. It’s been a long day and, finding no reason to delay further, I summon the dogs for a final quick potty stop and bed.
I slip into a pair of cheerful red tartan pyjamas and tuck up under my heavy blankets, ready to fall into cosy oblivion. However, my brain hasn’t got the memo. The intriguing presence of Christian Steele in the second bedroom off the hall, with only a shared bathroom separating us, and the weighty baggage he brought with him, stir questions and emotions.
He’s so damn likeable once he drops that frowny face. A closet romantic too, if his thoughts on my favourite movie scene ever are anything to go by. I wonder what lies beneath his words—maybe he too loved someone he couldn’t have?
Thoughts of Christian clatter through my head, jangling metal like one of those chatter rings I loved as a kid. They’re a frenetic chorus in my brain, keeping sleep frustratingly beyond reach.
As the minutes drag on, I attempt to damp down the chaotic whir, reaching for the familiar thoughts of my dogs that usually occupy the space between being awake and asleep.
However, focusing on the dogs doesn’t bring peace, but rather allows very real and more worrying sounds to intrude.
