Page 66 of Not My Little Drummer Boy
It was only yesterday, yet it seems like another lifetime. It was—a life lived in the space of a week, inside a little snow globe where our normal life didn’t exist. Now we’re back in the real world, where he’s a rock star who churns through women like drumsticks and I’m a lawyer who should be focused on advancing my career and protecting my fragile heart. But I’m not. I’m here, because that stubborn seed of hope refuses to die, pressing upward, waiting for the warmth of his smile and those brown eyes to coax it into bloom.
Number thirty-five is no different from any other house on the street. Like its neighbours, it’s dressed in Christmas finery. I hadn’t realised he was so committed to holiday traditions, though perhaps it’s simply neighbourhood expectation. I suspect, given Teddy’s claims about his lack of decorating skills, it’s professionally done.
When I raise my eyes to the delicate string of lights following the roofline, I’m sure. No way Teddy would ever climb that high. I smile at the memory of him fixing our star to the stables, and the way he put aside his fear of heights to climb that shaky ladder for me.
I take a deep breath, the cold nipping at my lungs, and make my way towards the steps leading up to a glossy black door. The scent of pine is strong, with a heavy Christmas wreath at eye level. Its dark green needles are looped with burgundy ribbon and studded with small silver bells that catch the light spilling from a fanlight overhead.
I pause at the bottom of the steps, listening. The house is silent—no voices, no drumbeats, nothing. After summoning the courage to come here, the possibility that he might not be home never occurred to me.
My hand trembles as I reach for the heavy brass knocker, a lion’s head polished to mirror brightness. Even through my gloves, themetal bites cold against my palm. This is it. Three knocks, and either everything changes or I walk away knowing I tried. My heart hammers against my ribs as I lift the knocker, the small silver bells on the wreath chiming softly in the breeze like a countdown. What if he doesn’t want to see me? What if he does? I don’t know which terrifies me more.
There’s a sound of footsteps and I almost sigh with relief, before fear slaps at me again. This is it.
Nothing could have prepared me for what greets me when the door swings open. A petite woman with platinum blonde hair stands there, her green eyes widening as she takes me in. She’s wearing nothing but a silk dressing gown the colour of peonies. The sight hits me like ice water.
“Hello,” she says, her voice carefully polite. “Can I help you?”
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. In the background, a television murmurs somewhere deep in the house. Behind her, there’s an expansive foyer decorated in hues of pink, and cream and gold; cosy, and unexpectedly feminine. For a moment I think I’m at the wrong house, but I push on.
“I…” I finally manage. “I’m looking for Teddy.” Her eyes narrow instantly, and I watch her whole demeanour shift from polite to predatory.
“Hey, love, who is it?” The voice carries from inside, easy and familiar. My stomach drops through the floor. After a week of that voice teasing me, arguing with me, whispering my name in the dark—I’d know it anywhere.
“No one important, Dory.” The casual nickname slices through me, intimate and possessive. She doesn’t look away as she adds, “Just someone collecting for charity. I’ll give them a tenner, yeah?”
His muffled agreement comes from deeper in the house. “Right then, Bee.”
Bee. B. Bianca.
She steps closer, her small frame somehow filling the doorway, her green eyes fixated on me like a snake about to strike.
Her voice drops to a whisper that cuts like glass. “I don’t know who you are or what you think you’re doing. But I can tell you, Teddy doesn’t need you here. He’s got me. Best you go now. And don’t come back.”
She grips the door frame, and I brace for it to slam in my face. Instead, she closes it with deliberate softness—a precise click that somehow feels more final.
I stand frozen on his doorstep as the truth crashes over me in waves. The lithe body scantily clad in silk, the nickname, the way he let her answer the door—each detail stacks like evidence, crushing me beneath its weight. He’s let me go, moved on without hesitation.
Yesterday I told myself I was right to push Teddy away. Today, I’ve proven it. Yet there’s no sense of victory in being right about this one, just a hollow ache that spreads through me, raw and merciless, as if I’m dying inside.
I stumble back to my car, the fairy lights in the trees a blur through my tears. Hot grief prickles at my throat as I mourn the loss of something I never even had.
My Mercedes lurches away from the kerb, and I’m grateful for its power to speed me away from this humiliation. But as the Georgian elegance of Pemberton Square disappears in my rearview mirror, I know the truth will follow me home. I was a fool to come here. And I was an even bigger fool to hope.
Chapter 24
“Dory,yougotanymore wine?” The plaintive voice echoes from the kitchen.
“Coming Bee.” I drag myself away from my FIFA game to answer her Majesty’s latest request.
She’s perched on the worktop, bowl of popcorn in her lap, remains of a glass of red balanced beside her. Still in that skimpy pink dressing gown, now paired with knee-length stripy socks. Looks like some kind of sexy elf-on-the-shelf—one I’m pretty sure causes more chaos than the rest of our family put together.
Not that any of us could rein her in even if we tried.
Right now, though, I’m just glad it’s me she’s crashing with while everything goes to shit.
“It’s up here,” I say, reaching into the top cupboard. “Deliberately out of your reach.”
“Typical,” she huffs, holding out her glass like a weary duchess.
