In Another Life

“Good morning,” I hear Harry’s voice, low and husky in my ear before I feel him press a sweet kiss to my jawline. The stubble of his beard rasps against my skin, and he kisses me again. “Happy Christmas, Bryn of Mine.”

I smile, and then stretch out my legs so the muscles in my thighs tense deliciously. And then I relax and fall back limply against the pillows before I open my eyes to see Harry hovering over me with an adoring smile dancing upon his lips. “Happy Christmas, you.” I reach out and cup his face with my hand before an enormous yawn overtakes me. “It’s early,” I mumble, dropping my hand and glancing at the window.

Harry nods, reaching out with his free hand and tucking a strand of hair back behind my ear. “It is,” He agrees, though he looks completely unapologetic for having woken me at such an ungodly hour. “I wanted to spend some time with you before everyone else got up.”

“Aren’t you sweet?” I murmur, leaning forward and kissing him thoroughly. “Just admit that you wanted some peace and quiet from the monsters that’re currently sleeping below us right now.”

“Well,” He trails off, and then starts to laugh, his eyes twinkling merrily. The way the corners of his eyes crinkle up makes me smile, and I reach out to kiss him again.

After last night, one would think that I’d had enough of his lips, of the way his voice dips low and hot, of the sweet whispered nothings he breathed to life in my ear. But I’m not, and I don’t think I ever will be. I love Harry, and he loves me. I’m not sure that I’ll ever tire of hearing those three words fall from his lips. The way that those clear eyes sparkle with pure joy when he hears me confess to my own adoration gives me a thrill that runs down to my very toes. Is this how everyone in love feels?

“I don’t blame you,” I reply softly before I sigh and snuggle into his side. “The peace and quiet is nice, even if we both know that it’s only for a little while.”

Harry pulls me close to his chest and squeezes me lightly. “Although I will admit that I’ll miss them when I’m gone.”

“They have a way of doing that,” I admit, tangling my leg up between his own and nuzzling his bare skin with my nose. “They drive you crazy, and then the minute they’re gone, you can’t wait to see them again.”

There’s a soft knock on my bedroom door, and the both of us turn to look at the door, as if we’d be able to see through the wood to the person on the other side. I do deflate slightly, knowing that our alone time together has been cut short, and I’d been so looking forward to an hour or so of time with just Harry before spending the entire day with my family. As soon as the thought pops into my head, I push it away resolutely. Really, I’m being quite selfish. I came home to spend time with my family, and Harry and I get alone time when we’re both back in London.

So I pull away from my boyfriend and give him a moment to burrow back down into the blankets before I cross the room and pull open the door. Mum is in the doorway with Teagan in her arms, and she smiles upon seeing me awake. She doesn’t appear phased by my current outfit of underwear and a strappy tank that has shrunk in the wash and shows off quite a few inches of my stomach. In fact, she looks much more rested than she did last night when I’d taken the baby from her, and as Tad had been the one to relieve me of the baby, I can only assume that Mum had gotten quite a bit of rest in.

“Good morning,” She whispers, peeking over my shoulder to the bed where Harry is hiding. “Happy Christmas!”

I reach forward and hug her tightly. “Happy Christmas, Mum. What are you doing up so early?”

“Little Miss needed a feeding,” Mum shrugs, and then tucks the blanket more securely around the snoozing Teagan. “I just wanted to let you two know that breakfast will be ready in a little bit, and I’m not sure if I can keep the girls away from the presents for very long.”

At this, I smile. I am sure that both Cadi and Owi have been awake for ages already, and have already inspected each and every Christmas present that’s crowded beneath the Christmas tree. If they’re as excited as I expect them to be, I’m confidant that in an effort to keep themselves occupied until the rest of the house has woken up, my sisters have sorted out the presents into separate piles for each person in the house. And now they’re probably driving Mum insane with their constant begging to wake everyone else in the house up, and she’s trying to give us a little bit of heads up before our cozy little lie in is disturbed this morning.

I nod, to let her know that I’ve heard her. “Okay, we’ll be down in a few moments then. Is everyone else awake?”

It is a Matthews family Christmas morning tradition that the children are not allowed to wake anyone else up in the house. It’s a rule that Mum and Tad implemented years ago when they were sick of being woken up at the crack of down by hyperactive children, and it has somehow stuck around after all of these years. I can very well recall it being agonizing waiting downstairs for my parents to rouse themselves out of bed, especially with presents taunting me beneath the tree. At some point, I had shifted from an early morning riser on Christmas Day to lazing about in bed and trailing downstairs in the late morning. I’m not sure when that transition had happened. Maybe once I realized that those Christmas presents would still be beneath the tree even if I slept in a few hours. According to tradition, while a child technically can’t wake up anyone else, an adult is very much allowed to wake someone up. So it usually ends up that Mum wakes the rest of the house up to put my sisters out of their misery.

“Except for your brother,” Mum rolls her eyes. “I need a stick of dynamite to get that boy out of bed sometimes.” A shrill shriek from downstairs interrupts her next thoughts, and she sighs heavily before she pastes a bright smile on her face. “And there’s my cue to go.”

“Good luck,” I grin, and watch her start back down the stairs before I quietly shut the door once more.

I pick my way across the bedroom and sink down onto the mattress before I pat what I think is Harry’s leg beneath the blankets. He slowly pulls the duvet down from around his face and smiles cheekily at me. “So much for our early morning alone, huh?”

“Says the man who hide from my mother,” I shoot back, reaching for the pajama pants that I’d left puddled on the floor earlier this morning.

He scoffs. “Because your mother wanted to see me shirtless, I’m sure.”

“You don’t know that,” I retort. I throw my sweats down on the bed before I begin rummaging through one of my bags for a thick sweatshirt that I can wear over top my tank top. “Maybe it’s a genetic trait that I think you’re so handsome.”

There’s a short pause after my words, and I turn to look over my shoulder at Harry. He looks as if he isn’t quite sure if he should laugh at me, or a bit concerned for my mental wellbeing. “I-I am flattered?” We make eye contact, and then we both start to laugh. “You are so weird,” He admits, sitting up and stretching with his arms raised towards the ceiling.

“Good thing I already know that you love me,” I reply in a sing-song voice as I start to run a brush through my hair. “Because you’re stuck with me. Now come on, get dressed. I’m sure there’s coffee waiting downstairs.”

“I actually have something for you,” Harry clears his throat, and I turn to see him looking a bit nervous. It’s not an expression that I see him wear all too often, so I’m quite intrigued by this turn of events. “And I wanted to give it to you now while we’re alone.”

I slowly sink back down onto the mattress and then cross my legs expectantly. He’s looking a bit green around the edges, and I can’t say that I’m too fond of how anxious he seems to be getting. And so I resort to teasing him in the hopes that he’ll relax, because it’s just me. And I don’t ever want him to feel uncomfortable or awkward around me. “Is it too naughty to hand out in front of my parents?”

Luckily he does start to laugh at this, though he shakes his head. “No, it’s not something naughty, you gross girl.” He gets up out of bed and crosses the room to where his bags have been stacked for the last few days. He goes through the larger duffel bag that I hadn’t paid much attention to before, as I’d assumed that it just held more of his winter clothing. Imagine my surprise when I got a quick flash of a stash of presents, all prettily wrapped and decorated. He pulls out a rather large present wrapped in shiny green wrapping paper and topped with a festive red bow with the most darling spiral curls that bounce around everywhere. “I blame you entirely if you hate it,” He admits, sitting back down next to me and handing the gift over.

I take it from him carefully, and then arch an eyebrow up at him. “You blame me for a gift that you’ve purchased? How does that work? Also, kudos on the wrapping job—is this another princely skill of yours to go along with napkin folding?”

“I’ll have you know that my resume also includes selecting mints, if you recall. And you wouldn’t tell me what you wanted, so I was left completely on my own.” Harry shakes his head, looking exasperated, though I know that he’s only joking. “And I can’t take all of the credit for the wrapping job—only some of it, as I paid the bill that paid the girl who wrapped these up for me.”

Despite all of his joking, I can see a small flash of worry behind his eyes. Does he really think that I could possibly dislike something that he picked out specifically with me in mind? I am of the opinion that Harry could buy me anything—absolutely anything, and I would love it simply because it came from him. Everything that he’s gifted to me thus far in our relationship, I have loved and treasured. The helicopter that he brought to our first dinner together in my flat still presides on the window sill of my kitchen, and I smile every time I stand at the sink and see it. The heavy afghan lined with sheep wool that’s draped artistically over the back of my sofa that had appeared one day after he’d complained about how tired he was of me burrowing my cold feet underneath his thighs as we watched the telly is something that I use nearly every single day. He even bought me a really nice set of paint brushes simply because I’d made an offhand remark about a particular set that I’d spotted and fallen in love with after lamenting my old brushes.

A part of me was still really uncomfortable with him spending so much money on me, and I’d warred internally with myself about accepting such lavish and unneeded gifts. I mean, I appreciated them, of course I did. Who doesn’t like getting presents? But I didn’t have the funds to spend so easily as my boyfriend did. I’d tried to talk to Harry about it, but he’d insisted that I didn’t owe him anything, that he bought these things because he wanted to. And so I’d made my peace with the issue by “paying” Harry back, so to speak, in my own way: homemade dinners, freshly baked sweets, cute little notes slipped into his pockets for him to find later, massages to work the stress from his shoulders… whatever I could do. I know it’s silly and childish, but so far, Harry hasn’t seemed to mind. In fact, lately, we’ve found ourselves staying in at my flat more than we found ourselves out and about in public. I can’t say that I was upset by our change of scenery, and I don’t think Harry is, either.

A bit overcome with my own happiness, I rise up onto my knees and hug him tightly before I kiss his temple. “I am sure that whatever is in this box, I will absolutely love because it came from you. But if,” I speak up over his protesting, pulling away so that I can survey him properly. “On the very slim off-chance that I hate your present, I will take full responsibility. Deal?”

“Deal,” He smiles so widely that the corners of his eyes crinkle up before he kisses me again. When we pull apart, he waves his hand at me lazily. “Go on then, open your gift.”

I make a big show out of shaking the box lightly and holding it up to my ear before I untie the ribbon and let the red curly mass fall into my lap. I split the wrapping paper right down the seam on the bottom of the gift and then pull the paper away to reveal a nondescript brown box. I peek up through my eyelashes to see Harry studying me closely, worry knitting his eyebrows together. He smoothes out his face once he notices that I’m watching him closely.

“You’re killing me,” He rolls his eyes, and sits back against the headboard, doing his best to appear nonchalant. “You’re one of those people who make a big show out of opening gifts, drawing it out as long as possible.”

“I would never,” I laugh, bumping my bare knee against his own. “However, I will speed up my unwrapping routine—not because I am eager to see what you got me,” I raise my voice once again to cut off Harry before he can began. I can already see the mischievous sparkle in his eye, so it’s better to stop him before he gets started. “But because we have people waiting on us downstairs, and it would be considered rude to keep them waiting.”

He stops to consider my words and then nods slowly before he reaches out and lays his open hand on my thigh. “Of course, how considerate of you, Bryn.”

“I do what I can,” I smile back toothily before I return my attention back to my present.

It takes me only a moment to work the packing tape off and to pull open the package. There’s a mountain of fluffy white tissue paper that shimmers delicately in the light that I dig through to find a purse waiting for me at the bottom of the box. A quiet gasp slips out and my hands freeze before I look back up at Harry. “Har?”

“Go on then, Bryn, finish opening your gift,” His eyes are twinkling merrily, and he nods back at the box.

I reach out and pick up the clutch, excitement pooling in my belly as I realize just what Harry’s bought me--an Alexander McQueen clutch! An actual Alexander McQueen clutch!! The bag itself is made from smooth white and black leather with silver studs dotting the surface and crowned with a crystal-studded skill with black eyes that wink and glimmer as I rotate the clutch in my reverent hands.

“Harry,” I whisper, my voice caught in my throat. “It’s gorgeous.”

He beams. “So you like it then?”

“I love it,” I reply before I set the purse in my lap and reach out for my boyfriend. “Thank you so, so much. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

He hugs me back. “So I did well?”

“You did perfectly,” I assure him, squeezing tightly and then moving for his lips. “Thank you, thank you. It’s absolutely beautiful.”

“Good, I’m glad.” He nods, and then leans back. “There’s—there’s actually more.”

I drag my eyes away from my new favorite purse and arch an eyebrow. “More?”

“Inside,” Harry instructs, gesturing at the designer bag in my grasp. “It’s like a gift inside a gift.”

Immediately my inner child is excited at the thought of another present. I’m not sure how he’ll top this one, but I’d love to see him try. And also because who doesn’t like receiving a gift? I am only human, after all.

“Hmm,” I hum lightly in the back of my throat before I work the latch hidden beneath the skull. It clicks open softly, and the bag falls open along the hinge to reveal a small, narrow blue velvet box… the sort of box that jewelry happens to come in. My movements falter and then come to a stop as I look down at the jewelry box in my grasp. Suddenly I’m finding it a bit difficult to swallow properly.

He bought me jewelry? Suddenly my own presents for him in the corner of the room seem a bit silly and not at all like they’re enough. God, how much had he spent on me? The McQueen purse was most definitely more than enough, and now he’s adding jewelry on top? We’d had a strict budget rule in place, specifically so something like this wouldn’t happen. And now I feel guilty because clearly he didn’t follow that rule, and now my presents to him will seem paltry and insignificant in comparison.

God, I sound so selfish. Here, my boyfriend has given me a designer bag and jewelry, and I’ve over here bitching about how shitty I’m going to look in comparison. This isn’t about competing to give out the best present, and I know that. I-I need to get over myself, and stop being such a child. I’m in an adult relationship, and I need to act like it… even if I am freaking out internally.

“Harry?” My voices comes out all croaky and to my horror, my hands are trembling.

He touches my knee lightly. “Bryn, it is not as bad as you’re thinking. I did keep to the budget—”

“Bullshit,” I laugh, glaring at him accusingly. “These must have cost you a fortune—a bag and jewelry?”

“You haven’t even opened it,” Harry laughs, prodding my thigh with his index finger. “Go on then, I swear it isn’t as bad as you think it is.”

So I carefully pull open the box to see a bracelet nestled in a bed of soft white silk. At the very center of the bracelet is a rose made out of tiny diamonds, and then spaced out evenly on either side are two slightly larger diamonds. The chain is a gorgeous rose gold with a sweet tiny clasp, and I gasp as the jewels glitter and wink at me. I have never seen anything more gorgeous in my whole entire life.

“Harry,” I whisper in a voice that’s not quite my own. To my horror, I can feel tears welling up in my eyes and I have to blink hastily to keep myself from outright crying. “Harry.”

He lightly tugs the box out of my grasp and makes short work of pulling the bracelet from it’s clips. “The diamonds are from one of my mum’s brooches, one of her favorites, actually. The buckle was broken on the pin, so I had the diamonds taken off of their mounts and I used it to make this.” As he speaks, he loops the delicate chain around my wrist and does up the hook and eye, all without meeting my gaze. “I like to think that you’re carrying around a little piece of something that was important to her. I-I know that she’s not here, obviously, but I think the two of you would have gotten along so well.” And then he lets go and we both watch as the bracelet sparkles brilliantly on my wrist.

I have to take a moment to compose myself before I completely break down. This has to be the sweetest, most thoughtful, most generous gift that I have ever gotten in my entire life. I mean, for god’s sake, I have a piece of Lady Diana’s personal jewelry collection on my body right now. For Harry to part with something that he holds so close to his heart is monumental, and I’m having trouble articulating just how much it means to me that he’d gift me with something so deeply personal.

“I love you,” I whisper, reaching out and cupping his face lightly. Swallowing harshly, I smile at him, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay. “It’s absolutely perfect. I’m so touched… thank you.”

The relief that blooms across his face is nearly comedic. He looks like he’s run the gauntlet in the last few moments alone, and I love him all the more for it. He’d probably driven himself crazy wondering if all of this was too much, too soon. I can see him second guessing himself, and driving Helen, his personal secretary, absolutely batty with his constant need for validation that I would love the presents he’d bought for me. And I love him all the more for it. I wish I would have been able to erase his stress over the last couple of weeks.

“I’m glad you like it,” He murmurs, using the pad of his thumb to wipe away the tears that are brimming in my eyes. “Don’t cry; why are you crying?”

I shrug, laughing a bit as I shake my head. “I have no idea. It’s all so perfect, I guess. I love my presents, and I love you.”

“I love you, too,” He replies, chuckling a bit at my obvious conflicting emotions. “Happy Christmas, Bryn.”

“Happy Christmas, Harry.” I answer, dropping a few more sweet, innocent kisses on his mouth. “My turn—although it’s going to be hard to top this,” I wriggle my wrist so that the diamonds sparkle.

I clamber off the bed and head for the corner of my room where I’d stashed the gifts that I’d hauled all the way from London. Raina had truly come through for me. The moment I’d realized that Harry was here in Colchester with me and his presents were 106 kilometers away in my flat in London, I’d sent out an emergency SMS. Raina had gone to my flat, wrapped up Harry’s presents and posted them immediately. The parcel arrived late last night, much to my relief, and I’d stowed them away until now.

The first is a big flat package that I tuck beneath my arm and then gather up the other two boxes in my hands before I turn and awkwardly make my way back to the bed. I barely make it to the mattress before I tip the two smaller, more manageable boxes into Harry’s lap. And then I prop the bigger package against the bed before I sit myself back down next to Harry, who’s looking a bit like a child on, well… on, well Christmas morning.

“Three presents? I must have been really good this year,” He jokes, making short work of the first present.

I drop a sweet kiss on his cheek. “The best.”

Once upon a time, Harry had admitted to me that he’d never actually read Edgar Allan Poe. Somehow, in all of his prestigious royal schooling, he had never actually read who is widely regarded as the American king of the macabre. He’d defended himself by saying that he knew what the basic stories were about, but he’d never actually sat down and had a proper read through. After teasing him relentlessly about how my public schooling had a more diverse literary education than his own, I’d gone out and found a well-worn copy of the author’s short stories. I guess I’m a bit biased, as Poe is one of my favorite authors, but I’d like to be the one to introduce him to Poe and this could possibly be something that we’d share together.

And also because I’m not a completely awful girlfriend with the trying to shove my own likes down Harry’s throat, I’d gone out and purchased the first three comics of The Dark Knight Returns run from the Batman series. Harry confessed to me once upon a time that he’d loved the superhero growing up, and he’d begged for the comic books after having read one of the comics while at school. He’d never gotten one for whatever reason, and Harry had grown out of comics after that. A part of me died when I found out that Harry had never gotten his Christmas wish as a young boy. So I researched what the popular comic had been at around the time Harry had asked for the comics, and I purchased the first three issues.

As I set the first two presents in his lap, I find that I’m actually nervous and I’m not exactly sure why. I’m not sure if it’s because this is the first time that I’ve ever given a proper gift to a boyfriend, or if it’s just my anxiety making itself known. I mean, sure, I’ve given gifts to boyfriends before, but they’ve always been something small or things that aren’t too deeply personal. I’ve never actually loved a boyfriend—like been properly in love with a guy while exchanging gifts. I mean, what if he doesn’t like the things that I’m giving him? What if he thinks they’re all silly and too sentimental?

By the time I come back to reality, Harry has already torn off the fairy light wrapping paper on the Poe book. He pauses, running his fingertips across the gold lettering on the front of the black hardback novel before his eyes flick up to my own nervous ones. “Edgar Allan Poe?” There is a smirk dancing upon his lips, and I know immediately that he understands the gift and that he loves it.

“Well someone has to introduce some culture into your life,” I scoff, trying my best to hide my delighted smile.

Harry leans forward, the wrapping paper crinkling beneath him as he kisses me softly. “We loved with a love that was more than love,” He quotes in a whisper, his lips brushing against mine as he speaks before he kisses me again. “Thank you, Bry. This is amazing.”

I pull away and shake my head before I wave at his other present. “Keep going, there’s more.”

“Let me savor this,” Harry laughs, crumbling up the discarded wrapping paper and setting it off to the side with the novel. But he reaches for his second gift and shakes it good-naturedly. “Hmm, what’s this—certainly not a Lamborghini like I asked Santa for. And it isn’t barking,” Here he sighs dramatically. “So I’m out of ideas. What is it?”

I lightly slap at his thigh. “Hush, just open it and see.” Despite our light-hearted conversation, I am actually nervous. What if he think that it’s a stupid gift, or if he thinks that I’m weird for remembering such a tiny detail about a story he told me ages ago? I don’t have any more time to obsess over my nerves, because Harry has already torn off the festive holiday paper and is shaking off the lid to the small, narrow box that holds his comics.

After setting the lid to the side, he brushes away the delicate tissue paper and then he freezes and the smile that had been on his face falters slightly. His gaze flickers up to my own before he looks back down into the box. Immediately my heart is in my throat, and my stomach hits the floor. He hates the comics. I should have gone with something sensible and expected, like cologne or a tie or another book—

“Okay, so if you don’t like it, I can return them and get you something different. You’d just said one time that you’d wanted these comics, but you never got them for whatever reason, so—“ I know that I’m babbling, and I’m probably making this entire situation a thousand times worse. All I really want to do is snatch the box from his lap and bury it beneath the blankets on my bed so that it stops being so, so obvious that I’d picked a really shitty present.

“I-I can’t believe you remembered,” He interrupts me, still gazing down at the comics. He reaches down and grabs the top copy. “I told you that story so long ago.”

I’m still feeling horridly self conscious, so I wrap my arms around my waist and hug myself tightly as I shrug. “It just didn’t seem okay that you never got the gift that you asked for, so I got it for you. It’s only nearly 20 years late.”

“Thank you,” He speaks up again, finally looking me in the eye. His own gaze is slightly misty, and I’m appalled that he seems to be on the verge of tears.

I reach forward and make to pull the box out of his lap. “You’re upset! I didn’t mean to make you upset, it’s just a gift.”

“No, no,” He replies immediately and gently waves my hand away. “It’s—it’s perfect. I just wasn’t expecting,” He shakes his head again and smiles brilliantly at me. “Thank you.” Harry leans forward and kisses me sweetly.

I kiss him back and then rest my forehead against his own before I feel a tiny bit of my nerves slip away. “So you like it?”

“I love it,” He whispers back, kissing me again. “Thank you.”

It takes me a second to believe him. He still looks a little overwhelmed, and I have a feeling that maybe my last present isn’t going to be quite the hit that I’d thought it was going to be previously. It had all seemed so cool and thoughtful when I was planning it out, and in my attempt to remain mindful of the budget that we’d set out (that Harry, as it seems, promptly ignored), I’d decided that my last Christmas present to Harry was going to be homemade.

Months ago, on hot, muggy London evening, I’d sat in the living room of my flat with a boy. We’d eaten Chinese after my disastrous culinary attempts, and he’d asked me about a painting that stood unfinished on my easel. It had been unplanned and seemingly unimportant, but it had been something that as I sat down, the warm, happy colors seemed to bleed from my paintbrush because a blue-eyed boy seemed to occupy every waking thought of mine.

“Do you remember our first date?” I clear my throat and smile at Harry, who is still fawning a bit over his comics.

Ever the dutiful boyfriend, he sets the box aside and nods. “Of course, you confessed about how you snogged your mate and then hid him in your cupboard when your mum walked—is it that cupboard?” He asked, attention completely diverted, and his eyes dancing mischievously.

A bit taken aback by the sudden subject change, my mouth is left hanging open comically. I glance over at the corner of my room at the unassuming wardrobe and then back at my boyfriend. I’m not quite sure how my big romantic gesture has gotten quite so sidetracked. This is not at all the Christmas morning that I had planned when I daydreamed about giving Harry his gifts.

“Well yes,” I blink slowly, and then shake my head. “But that’s not important right now.”

He snickers. “I guess I’m lucky I didn’t get shoved in there when your mum came up this morning—ow!” He yelps as I swat at his thigh.

“Hush,” I command, though I’m smiling at his teasing. “I’m trying to be serious here!”

Harry sobers up, though his eyes still twinkle. “Of course, of course. What else happened? I brought you a helicopter, as promised, you admitted to your love of Iron Man—there was a lot of confessions from you that night, come to think about it. It’s a miracle you didn’t scare me away.” He adds on breezily, though he hastens to keep speaking once he spies the outraged look on my face. “What else happened, Bryn of Mine?”

“Well,” I look down at my blanket and then fidget with the hem as I find that my anxiety has skyrocketed in the last thirty seconds alone. “You asked me about a painting that I was working on, and-and I told you that it wasn’t really anything special.”

“Just about a boy you know that made you incredibly happy,” Harry finishes up in a quiet voice. The smile that’s dancing on his lips lets me know that he knows exactly what’s coming next and he very much is aware of what’s in the last present. “Yes, I remember. Of course I remember.”

“I finished the painting,” I announce, picking up the parcel that’s still wrapped in the plain brown shipping paper Raina had sent it to me in. “And I’m giving it to you.”

It feels to me like he takes an exorbitant amount of time to undo the string knot and to peel off the packaging tape. The canvas itself is mounted on simple wooden stretcher bars and I’d had Raina wrap it in several sheets of bubble wrap, as I’d had horrid visions of the Royal Mail absolutely destroying the package en route to me. The silence is choking as Harry pushes away the protective wrap and then looks down at my painting for the first time.

It’s not an overtly large watercolor painting. The background is done up in warm colors—yellows, reds and oranges that all bleed together to create a soft, watery backdrop. In the center, there is what is obviously a man’s face, although it’s left largely white with black and brown shading to sketch out the nose and mouth and hairline and the slight sprinkling of freckles across the cheekbones—ones that I feel I could map out with my eyes closed since I’d spent so much time gazing upon his face. But it’s the eyes that make it Harry. The only other color on the portrait is the cool, icy blue of his eyes that seem to gaze out of the portrait with the intensity that I’d come to know and love. The contrast is vivid and jarring, but it’s perfect, I think.

“You signed it,” He murmurs quietly, running the pad of his thumb across the small ’Bryn Matthews’ in the bottom right hand corner.

I nod, biting down on my lower lip. I’m not so sure that I can voice words at this moment. My anxiety is already through the roof, and he hasn’t said anything about the painting itself. I feel slightly like throwing up. What if he thinks it’s weird that I’ve given him a picture of himself? I mean, it is very much a picture of Harry, but it’s one that I’d done, and he’d asked to see it, and I’d thought—

“Come out of that head of yours,” Harry’s whisper is what brings me back down to reality. He’s cupping my face lightly and stroking at my chin with his thumb. I’m having a hard time discerning the look on his face, and much to my horror, everything is slightly blurry and my nose is tingling in that way that lets me know that I’m about to cry. “Bryn of Mine, come back to me.”

I blink rapidly, and offer him a pitiful smile. “I’m here.”

“There’s my girl,” He says quietly, his eyes bright and glowing. “You disappear in your head so often that sometimes I think I won’t be able to pull you out.”

I lean into his touch and then drop a sweet kiss on to the delicate skin of his wrist before I look up at him from under my eyelashes. “I think you’re underestimating yourself; you’ll always be able to bring me out of my daydreams. It’s easy to come back to real life when it’s better than your imagination.” The last part is whispered so softly that I’m worried that he hadn’t heard me, and yet a part of me is wishing that he didn’t hear me. Because I sound so cringeworthy and overly dramatic, but it’s honestly how I feel and that frightens me to no end.

Does Harry realize the power that he wields over me? How capable he is of completely shattering me and my fragile heart?

The smile that he bestows upon me is gentle and kind and so full of love. My heart skips a beat in my chest as he leans down to kiss me yet again. “Thank you for the painting. It’s brilliant. I love it.”

“Do you really, or are you just saying that because I gave it to you?” I ask just as the sound of little footsteps clattering up the stairs is heard.

He laughs at this. “I love it. I’m going to hang it in my office at home, and I’m going to show it to everyone.”

Owi bursts into my room at this point. “Happy Christmas!” She shrieks, dancing around my room in her pajamas. “Santa came, so come on downstairs! Mum says breakfast is ready!” And she flits away as easily as she came, singing a holiday carol at the top of her lungs as she hops down the stairs back towards the presents.

“That’s our cue,” Harry sighs, setting all of his presents off to the side.

As he makes a move to get up off of the bed, I reach out and grab his hand. He easily allows himself to be pulled back on the mattress and I crawl over to him before I kiss him deeply. “Happy Christmas, Harry. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Bryn of Mine. Happy Christmas.”

And that’s honestly the last alone time that we got for the rest of Christmas Day. We spent the morning with my family, opening presents and eating the massive feast that my parents had prepared. My favorite part of the morning was when Harry realized that he had presents from each and every single member of my family. I guess he hadn’t really been expecting anything, though he came prepared with gifts for everyone. He spent a lot of time smiling and observing my family’s silly traditions.

We did manage to steal a few moments to sneak away and make phone calls to Harry’s dad and stepmother and his siblings. He also called his grandparents, though I stayed very quiet on that phone call and made due with the sight of the happy smile on his face that reached his eyes and made the dimples on his cheeks appear.

Our afternoon was spent cleaning up the mountains of wrapping paper that decorated the living room. While my siblings played with their new things, I snuggled Teagan on the sofa with Harry, though the three of us took a nap. Much to my alarm, I woke up with Mum snapping pictures of the three of us sleeping and I had to practically chase her camera away. We watched holiday movies on the telly and ended the night in the town square for the Christmas tree lighting ceremony.

It was a perfect day, and a perfect first Christmas together. I couldn’t have asked for a more paradisiac day. But fairy tales aren’t meant to last forever, and neither did ours.