Chapter 10
ERIN
Erin liked being cold.
Not the shivery, miserable kind that sank into your bones, but the crisp kind — the kind she got on patrol in winter, when the air felt clean and the world felt sharp.
Walking back from the snow-covered woods with Alexandra’s hand in hers, cheeks flushed from the chill and lips still tingling from that soft, perfect kiss… that was good cold.
Necessary cold.
The kind that cleared your head.
But stepping back inside Balmoral Castle was like walking into a furnace of noise. A familiar one. A beloved one. And tonight — for the first time in weeks — Erin felt strong enough to face it.
The warmth hit her immediately, followed by the high-pitched chatter of the children, the barking of dogs, and someone who sounded suspiciously like Vic shouting, “If we don’t locate the centrepiece within the next ten minutes I am cancelling Christmas!”
Alex laughed quietly beside her. That laugh — breathy, hushed, conspiratorial — made Erin want to pull her right back into the snow and kiss her senseless under the falling flakes.
Later, Erin promised herself. Not just as a wish. As a vow.
Alex brushed her shoulder. “Welcome back to reality.”
“Reality can wait,” Erin murmured. “Just a few more minutes?”
Alex’s smile went soft. “If I get a minute alone with you today, I’ll take it.”
Their eyes held, warm and charged, until a golden cocker spaniel barreled into their legs, barking joyfully. Bran and Sorcha followed, tails wagging, as if reporting for duty.
The dogs herded them like unruly sheep back toward the main corridor, where the triplets were already waiting, bouncing on their toes.
“Mummy Erin! Mummy Erin!” Frank shouted. “COME QUICK—”
“We made something!” Matilda added.
“We made a mess,” Florence corrected matter-of-factly.
The girls each grabbed one of Erin’s hands and began pulling her toward the kitchen with breathless urgency.
Erin shot Alex a glance. “Do we want to know?”
Alex shrugged. “We’re parents. We don’t ask. We triage.”
That made Erin laugh. God, it felt good to laugh again. She didn’t realise how rarely she’d done it lately.
She followed the children through the warm corridor into the big kitchen, where Mrs. MacLeod was stirring a pot on the stove with the intensity of a woman protecting a national treasure.
Vic was nowhere to be seen — likely still hunting the missing centrepiece like a festive bloodhound — and the relative quiet felt almost decadent.
“Look!” Matilda grabbed Erin’s wrist and pointed to the kitchen table.
Four small, lopsided gingerbread people stood proudly on a board, decorated with icing that was… enthusiastic. Very enthusiastic.
Florence’s had seventeen raisins glued on in what might have been a constellation.
Frank’s had two different-sized eyes made from chocolate buttons.
Matilda’s had a crown drawn in green icing.
And Hyzenthlay’s — of course — had a label written in tiny serious handwriting: “Prototype 1. Structural integrity test pending.”
“They’re brilliant,” Erin said sincerely.
Alex leaned down to inspect them. “Hyz, darling, what kind of test are we talking about?”
“I want to determine optimal crispness,” Hyz said. “Whether the thickness is consistent. And if increased butter improves moisture retention.”
Mrs. MacLeod snorted. “Ye don’t need to test for moisture retention in a biscuit. Ye need to test whether it tastes good.”
“That was test one,” Hyz said solemnly.
Erin bit back a smile. “And the result?”
“Acceptable,” Hyz decreed.
Matilda bounced. “Can we make more? Proper ones? For Santa!”
“And us,” Frank said. “Mostly us.”
Erin looked at Alex.
Alex looked at Erin.
For the first time all day, it felt possible. A quiet hour. A warm kitchen. No meltdowns. No frantic schedules. Just them and their children and a bowl of flour.
Their beautiful children. Florence who looked so much like Alex with her beautiful blonde hair, delicate face and big blue eyes.
Frank and Matilda with the same blonde hair and serious dark brown eyes.
Frank and Matilda always looked like twins, very similar looking, both taller and bigger stature than little Florence. Erin was so very proud of them all.
“Let’s do it,” Alex said softly.
Erin’s chest warmed.
The dogs seemed to approve as well — Juno barked and danced in circles while Bran thumped his tail against the cupboards like a timpani drum.
Alex rolled her sleeves up. Erin followed suit.
The children climbed onto stools. Hyz took her position of authority by the recipe book. Mrs. MacLeod stood aside, arms crossed but eyes soft, like a queen guarding her territory but accepting the invasion.
Erin inhaled deeply.
It was simple, domestic, sweet. And her heart felt too big for her chest.
“Hands washed?” she asked.
A collective groan echoed through the kitchen.
“We just washed them,” Matilda whined.
“Wash them again,” Erin said. “Santa has hygiene standards.”
Frank frowned, his dark eyes serious. “Does he?”
“Absolutely,” Alex said gravely. “He once fined me for leaving fingerprints on a biscuit.”
The kids gasped in absolute, horrified fascination.
Erin smiled at Alexandra over their heads.
Alex winked.
Jesus. Erin’s stomach flipped. She was so beautiful. Alexandra, the love of her life.
The kids scrubbed up (badly) and hurried back to the table.
Erin opened the bag of flour. “Okay — who remembers how to mix dry ingredients?”
Matilda raised her hand instantly. Frank raised his just because Matilda had. Hyz raised hers with the solemnity of a judge.
Florence said, “I want to do the sugar part.”
“Go on then,” Alex said, handing her the scoop.
There were no explosions. No flour clouds. No sugar avalanches.
Just careful measuring and small hands trying their hardest.
Erin felt something warm start to spread through her chest. A fullness she hadn’t let herself feel in months.
This was what she’d missed. Not just the sex — though God knows she missed that — but this: the quiet clumsy sweetness of doing life with the people she loved most.
Her family.
Alex brushed against her as she passed a bowl to the kids. A simple touch — elbow bumping elbow — but Erin felt it everywhere.
She glanced at Alex.
Alex’s cheeks were flushed from the oven heat. Her hair was falling from its clip. She had a streak of flour on her jaw that made her look younger, freer.
Beautiful. She is so fucking beautiful.
Erin’s breath caught for a moment.
She still felt unworthy sometimes — like she was standing next to someone carved from light and history and grace.
Queen Alexandra. But then Alex would look at her, like right now, with warm knowing eyes that said you are exactly where you belong, and Erin’s doubts cracked open like ice under the first warmth of spring.
“All right,” she said, clearing her throat. “Butter next.”
Frank poked the softened butter. “It feels like baby cheeks.”
“Don’t say that,” Matilda said. “That’s weird.”
“It does,” Frank insisted.
Erin shook her head, suppressing a laugh. “Butter in the bowl. No cheek comparisons needed.”
The dough came together beautifully.
No fights. No chaos. No disasters.
Just four beautiful laughing children, two exhausted but grateful mothers, and six dogs occasionally stealing anything that dropped to the floor.
Alex leaned into Erin’s side as they watched the kids roll out the dough.
“You’re good at this,” Alex whispered.
“At what?”
“Everything, you are such a good mum,” Alex said softly.
Erin swallowed. “It doesn’t feel like that. You are such an incredible mum. I see it everyday.”
“You’re holding us together,” Alex murmured. “Even when you think you’re falling apart.”
Erin’s throat tightened. “I’m not always doing a very good job.”
“Yes,” Alex said, voice fierce and gentle all at once. “You are.”
Erin dropped her gaze to the dough, blinking hard for a moment.
She didn’t break. She just breathed. And for the first time in a long time, the breath didn’t hurt.
The children began cutting shapes — stars, snowmen, hearts, “a biscuit shaped like Bran,” (which absolutely did not look like Bran but Erin praised it anyway).
They placed the shapes onto the baking sheet, carefully and lovingly.
No one fought over cutters.
No one threw flour.
No one licked the entire bowl.
It was… peaceful.
Alex brushed against Erin again. “This feels nice.”
“It does,” Erin said quietly.
“Maybe later,” Alex whispered, “we can find another quiet moment.”
Heat curled through Erin’s stomach, low and slow.
“Yeah,” Erin murmured. “I’d like that.”
The cookies went into the oven. The children pressed their faces against the glass, their reflections hazy and warm in the glow.
Mrs. MacLeod graciously conceded the kitchen to them but hovered in the corner with folded arms, pretending she wasn’t invested.
Erin glanced at Alex.
Alex glanced back.
She mouthed, Thank you.
Erin mouthed, For what?
Alex touched her wrist lightly. For being mine.
Erin felt her breath catch. She felt Alex’s touch flood her whole body with love and desire.
Before she could respond, Vic’s distant voice echoed down the corridor:
“WHERE IS THE FUCKING CENTREPIECE? SOMEONE FIND ME A SHOVEL AND— NO NOT FOR THE TURKEY—”
Julia’s more exasperated voice followed: “Victoria, I swear to God—”
Erin leaned toward Alex and whispered, deadpan, “I’m never letting her plan our summer holiday.”
Alex burst out laughing, leaning into her shoulder.
The children announced, “THE COOKIES ARE brOWNING!” as if reporting an incoming air raid, and everyone sprang into action.
Erin opened the oven carefully, warm air washing over her face. The cookies were perfect — golden, soft at the centre, crisp at the edges.
The kids cheered.
Mrs. MacLeod actually clapped.
And Erin thought: Maybe things really are turning around.
They let the cookies cool while Bran and Juno provided security detail, clearly hoping “security duty” included stealing one.
Florence leaned against Erin’s leg. “Mummy Erin, is Santa coming tonight?”
“Only if you stay in bed after lights-out,” Erin said.
“And don’t get up even if you hear suspicious noises,” Alex added.
Matilda gasped. “What kind of suspicious noises?”
“Well,” Alex said thoughtfully, “sometimes the reindeer union argues about parking procedure.”
“Are they loud?” Frank asked.
“Very,” Alex said solemnly.
Erin elbowed her lightly. “You’re creating a labour crisis at the North Pole.”
“I’m diversifying their mythology,” Alex whispered back.
They shared a smile that made Erin’s heart feel like it was trying to climb out of her chest.
The children decorated the cooled cookies — sprinkles, icing, little chocolate pieces. Erin snuck one. Alex snuck one. The dogs attempted to sneak several.
It was perfect.
It was everything Erin had missed.
And then — because the universe could only handle so much peace — the meltdown arrived.
Predictably, it was Vic.
She burst into the kitchen like a festive harbinger of doom, hair sticking to her forehead, cheeks flushed.
“EVERYONE STOP.”
Silence fell.
Even the dogs froze mid-tail-wag.
Vic held something above her head.
Alex raised her eyebrows. “Is that the—?”
“The centrepiece,” Vic breathed dramatically.
Erin squinted. “Is that… a pinecone bowl?”
“A hollowed-out pumpkin,” Julia corrected tiredly from behind her.
“A festive pumpkin!” Vic insisted.
“It’s decaying,” Julia murmured.
“It’s ART,” Vic snapped.
Hyz tilted her head. “It’s mushy.”
“IT IS FUNCTIONAL,” Vic cried. “AND MEANINGFUL. AND SYMBOLIC. AND—”
The pumpkin collapsed. Fully. Dramatically. Into her hands.
A slushy, sticky, entirely undignified mess splattered down the front of Vic’s jumper and onto the floor.
Silence.
A thick, suspended silence.
Alex put a hand over her mouth.
Erin did not laugh. She absolutely did not laugh. Her lips just twitched uncontrollably.
Vic inhaled like she was preparing to deliver a monologue about betrayal.
Julia stepped forward, wiped a bit of pumpkin off Vic’s cheek, and said gently, “Darling. It’s fine.”
“It is not fine,” Vic whispered. “I was trying to make Christmas perfect.”
Julia kissed her forehead. “It is perfect.”
Vic blinked at her. “How?”
Julia gestured around.
Kids sticky with icing.
Dogs wearing tinsel.
Erin and Alex side-by-side at the table.
Warm cookies cooling on the counter.
Snow falling softly outside.
Candlelight flickering despite the dodgy electrics.
Laughter waiting to happen.
And in that moment, even Erin saw it — the way the chaos knitted them all together like mismatched threads.
Julia cupped Vic’s cheek. “Because we’re all here.”
Vic’s eyes went shiny.
Erin swallowed thickly.
Alex’s hand brushed Erin’s.
Erin turned her palm up.
Alex’s fingers slid into hers.
Warm. Sure. Certain.
And for a moment, everything was exactly as it should be.