Chapter 12
JULIA
Julia had always thought Balmoral sounded quieter in the snow.
Even inside the castle, with its endless corridors and thick stone walls, the world felt padded, softened. Noise from the great hall and the busy kitchens drifted up as a muffled hum rather than a clamour.
It made moments like this feel suspended. Private.
She closed the door to their room with a soft click and turned the key in the lock. Not because anyone would barge in uninvited, but because she knew Vic — and right now, Vic needed to know there was a boundary between her and the chaos. A line she could step behind and finally stop bracing.
Vic stood in the middle of the room, looking oddly small without her clipboard. Pumpkin stains on her discarded jumper. Hair escaping its clip. Eyes still damp from crying in the little sitting room downstairs.
Her shoulders were set like she expected the ceiling to fall in.
Julia’s heart squeezed.
“There,” Julia said quietly. “No more pumpkins. No more turkeys. No more schedules. It’s just us.”
Vic huffed out a breath that was almost a laugh. “That sounds more terrifying than running the whole operation, if I’m honest.”
Julia smiled. “You’re shaking.”
“I know,” Vic muttered. “I feel like I’ve been run over by a sleigh.”
“It’s the adrenaline,” Julia said. “And the emotional hangover. Come here.”
She crossed the space between them and untangled the last bits of hair from Vic’s clip, letting it fall around her shoulders. It was slightly frizzy from the snow and the heat and stress. Julia loved it like that — imperfect, soft, real.
Vic’s gaze darted over her face, searching for something.
She looked exhausted.
She looked beautiful.
Julia reached for the buttons of Vic’s shirt, fingers nimble. “Let’s get you out of everything that smells like panic and gourds.”
Vic didn’t protest. That was how Julia knew it was serious.
Normally there would be commentary. A joke. An attempt to deflect.
Now, there was just a small, defeated sound as Julia slid the shirt off her shoulders and dropped it over the back of a chair.
“Bra next,” Julia said gently.
Vic arched an eyebrow. “Is this strictly necessary for the de-pumpkining process?”
“Yes,” Julia said. “This is a full decontamination.”
Vic’s mouth twitched. “You and your standards.”
Julia stepped close again, unfastening the clasp with easy familiarity. She smoothed the straps down Vic’s arms and let the fabric fall, followed by her jeans. Then she wrapped the warm towel from the armchair around her, rubbing away the last of the orange streaks.
It was practical, non-threatening… and still, something shifted in the air between them.
Vic’s eyes fluttered shut on a soft exhale.
“You always do that,” she murmured.
“Do what?” Julia asked.
“Touch me like I’m… precious,” Vic said sheepishly. “Like I won’t crack.”
Julia’s chest pulled tight. “You won’t.”
“You don’t know that,” Vic said. Her voice was light, but there was nothing light in her eyes.
Julia cupped her face, thumbs brushing lightly under her eyes. “I do.”
For a moment, neither of them said anything. The only sounds were the snow-tired wind against the window and the low burn of the fire.
Then Vic’s composure slipped again. Just a fraction. Enough.
“I’m so tired,” she whispered. “Not just today. This whole year. And I keep thinking… if I just push harder, organise more, plan better… I can keep everyone from feeling what I felt when I was small.”
Julia stroked her cheek. “You can’t organise away grief, love.”
Vic flinched slightly, and Julia immediately regretted the bluntness. But Vic swallowed and nodded.
“I know,” she said. “But I keep… trying.”
She sank down onto the edge of the bed, towel wrapped around her shoulders, bare legs dangling. She looked up at Julia like she was expecting a verdict.
Julia sat beside her and leaned into her shoulder. “You’re allowed to want it to be beautiful. You’re allowed to care. You’re just not responsible for making sure nothing ever hurts anyone.”
“Feels like I should be,” Vic sighed. “After everything Alex has gone through. Lost parents. Public scrutiny. Threats on her life. I watched all that. I watched Erin stand there, holding everything up through sheer force of will. And I thought, well, the least I can do is make sure Christmas doesn’t add to the trauma. ”
Julia turned her head, studying her profile. The fine lines at the corner of her eyes. The tension in her jaw.
“You don’t owe her perfection,” Julia said softly. “You already gave her something better.”
Vic gave a tiny, disbelieving laugh. “What, a colour-coded press calendar?”
“You,” Julia said. “Your loyalty. Your humour. Your refusal to let her become a statue. You dragged her into the real world and made sure she stayed there. That’s worth more than ten thousand flawless Christmas dinners.”
Vic made a small, wounded noise and ducked her head. “Don’t be nice to me. I’ll cry again.”
“I can handle tears,” Julia said. “I’ve seen you after three espressos and a day of meetings. Nothing scares me now.”
Vic laughed properly then, the sound a bit shaky but real. She let the towel slip down her arms and leaned into Julia’s side more fully.
“Do you remember our first Christmas?” she asked quietly.
“The one where you were drunk?” Julia laughed. “Yes, I remember it well.”
“Only a little drunk,” Vic countered.
“You were drunk and in love,” Julia said.
Vic looked over at her, eyes soft and shining. “Yeah. I was.”
They held each other’s gaze for a beat. Two. Three.
Julia’s pulse quickened.
She could see the thoughts flickering behind Vic’s eyes — the guilt, the pressure, the bruised ego, the softened edges of relief from having said any of it out loud.
Beneath all of it, something else pulsed. Want. Familiar. Longing that had been shoved down beneath logistics and worry.
Julia let her own gaze reflect it back. No pressure. No expectation. Just open invitation.
Vic’s fingers tightened on the towel. “Jules,” she whispered. “I don’t… I don’t know how to turn it off. The part of me that’s thinking about the next thing to fix.”
“You don’t have to turn it off,” Julia said. “You just have to put it down. For a while.”
“I don’t know if I can,” Vic said. “What if something goes wrong while I’m… not looking?”
Julia shifted, turning fully toward her. She took Vic’s hands and placed them flat against her own chest, over her heart.
“Something already went wrong,” she said. “You forgot this is allowed. That we’re allowed. That you’re allowed to feel good even if the turkeys are late and the centrepiece died a dramatic death.”
Vic let out a choked laugh. “It really did die dramatically.”
“Very on brand,” Julia said.
Vic swallowed hard, eyes searching her face. “You really think I’m allowed to… switch off? Tonight?”
“I think,” Julia said, lowering her voice, “that if anyone has earned one night of not being in charge, it’s you.”
Something flickered across Vic’s expression at that. A quick, sharp flash of vulnerability — and under it, a spark of heat.
“You’re going to be in charge then?” she asked, trying for lightness and only half-succeeding.
Julia smiled, slow and sure. “If you’ll let me.”
Vic’s breath stuttered.
She didn’t answer with words. She leaned forward instead, closing the distance between them, and kissed Julia.
It was soft at first. Testing. Vic’s lips were cool from the air and tasted faintly of sugar and salt. Julia exhaled into the kiss, her hands sliding up, framing Vic’s jaw.
Vic made a small sound — relief, or need, or both — and leaned in harder.
The kiss deepened.
Julia felt Vic’s shoulders drop under her palms, tension melting in increments. The trembling in her hands eased as she clutched at Julia’s waist.
Heat unfurled low in Julia’s belly, coiling, familiar. She let it build slowly, carefully, like feeding a flame.
She parted her lips, inviting. Vic followed, the kiss growing wetter, warmer. Less careful. More need.
When they broke apart, both breathing unevenly, Vic rested her forehead against Julia’s.
“I needed that,” she whispered.
“I know,” Julia said. “So did I.”
Vic’s eyes searched hers. “I’ve been so in my head,” she said. “For so long. I felt like if I let myself want this, I’d never stop wanting, and there wouldn’t be time. Or space. Or—”
Julia silenced her with a brief, decisive kiss.
“There’s time now,” she murmured against her mouth. “There’s space. Just us. Right here.”
Vic made a helpless little sound. “I don’t deserve you.”
“Incorrect,” Julia said. “And I am not accepting faulty data tonight.”
Vic laughed, the sound dissolving into another kiss. This one started messy — a collision of mouths and teeth and too much feeling — and then settled into a rhythm that made everything else fall away.
The schedules. The turkeys. The pumpkin. The pressure.
None of it existed in this room.
Only them.
Julia eased back long enough to tug the towel away and drop it to the floor. Vic was left in nothing but a pair of soft cotton underwear and the lingering tension in her shoulders.
Julia skimmed her hands over bare arms, tracing goosebumps. “Lie back,” she said gently.
Vic’s pupils flared. For a second, Julia saw the instinctive resistance — the part of Vic that always wanted to negotiate, to control the variables.
Then, slowly, Vic nodded and did as she was told, leaning back against the pillows. She watched Julia with wide, dark eyes, chest rising and falling.
Julia moved over her, one knee against the mattress, one hand braced by Vic’s shoulder.
“Breathe,” she murmured. “You’re safe.”
Vic reached up, fingers curling around Julia’s wrist. “Make me forget about the turkeys,” she said, voice shaky but laced with a hint of her usual humour.
Julia smiled. “Gladly.”
She kissed her again, slower now. Kisses along her mouth, her jaw, the edge of her ear. Soft, open-mouthed brushes along the line of her throat that made Vic arch just slightly, a small sound breaking loose.