Julian
I’M AWOKEN TO THE sound of knocking on my bedroom door. It’s a loud and steady knock, one that wakes me immediately.
It’s Christmas Day, and I was expecting to sleep in at least a little. We aren’t required to work today, and the Chastains are undoubtedly going to be together and busy with various holiday activities.
Groaning, I sit up, running a hand through my hair.
“Julie?” my father calls.
“Come in.”
The door opens, and he slips inside the room, shutting the door securely behind himself before he sits down on the mattress a few inches away.
“Merry Christmas.” He grins, his brown eyes twinkling. In his hands is a small box.
“Dad,” I say pointedly. “We said no gifts.”
“Hush, son. Open it.” He places the box before me on the bed, and I pick it up wearily.
We were broke as all hell when we got here. Aside from our small savings, we had nothing but the four suitcases we dragged behind us. When did he have the time? We’ve only gotten two paychecks since arriving.
Opening the lid of the box, I find a watch. It’s sleek black all over, with the face being an almost metallic black color. It looks fancy; it looks expensive.
“Dad,” I start.
“It’s a Movado,” he interrupts, excitement oozing from his every word. “Do you like it?”
“I love it! But how much was this? It looks way too fancy for me.” I give a small, self-deprecating laugh.
“Julian,” Dad says. “That’s none of your business. And it’s not too fancy for anyone. It’s a nice watch, and you deserve to wear it.”
I stare at the accessory, at the simple beauty of it, and at how it’s the nicest thing I’ve ever owned.
“Thank you,” I finally supply. “It’s great, Dad. Merry Christmas.”
He leans into me and gives me an awkward side hug.
“Now, get dressed. We have breakfast,” he instructs.
“Breakfast?”
“Yes, with the Chastains. Master Abraham told me last night that we can spend the day with them. Oscar is off with his family, and so is most of the other staff, aside from Barfred.”
I stare at him, dumbfounded. The Chastains want us to spend Christmas with them? I guess it is the nice thing to do, considering we live here and don’t have family to run off and see the way the other employees do. But I was really expecting to lie in bed all day.
“That feels like imposing, doesn’t it?” I ask, and Dad shrugs.
“Master Abraham seemed really excited about it. We don’t want to be rude. Now come on, everyone is meeting in the dining room.” My father gives me one last smile and slips out of the bedroom.
I notice for the first time that he’s dressed formally in his black slacks and crisp white button-up.
Following his instructions, I climb out of bed and ready myself. After fixing my hair in the small mirror hanging over my dresser, I put on a pair of grey slacks and a black crewneck sweater. It may not snow here, but it does get pretty cold.
I slip on my Converse, fasten the watch onto my left wrist, and then head for the bathroom, where I brush my teeth and check my hair one last time.
Once content with my appearance, I head out of the bathroom and to the dining room.
When I enter, I spot Abraham at the head of the table, with Atticus to his right and Theodora to his left. Next to Atticus is Abigail, and I find my seat next to her, as Dad sits across from me, leaving a chair between him and Theodora for Atlas, wherever he may be.
“Julie! Merry Christmas!” Abigail stands from her seat and wraps her arms around my neck, grinning widely.
“Merry Christmas, Missus Abigail,” I reply, chuckling at her tight grip.
“This will be so lovely,” Theodora says, “having everyone together for the holiday.”
“Indeed! I’m so happy you’re willing to join us, Jeremy, Julian.” Abraham smiles at my father and me, his face full of a kind of simple joy only a doting father and loving husband can have.
“Thank you for having us, Master Abraham,” my father says politely.
“Yes, thank you,” I add dutifully.
“Where is Atlas?” Atticus asks, ignoring my father and me altogether, and a moment later, the door of the dining room opens. The temperature of the room rises.
“Oh, darling boy,” Theodora gasps, and I turn to follow her line of sight.
Holy shit.
Atlas slowly walks into the room, the air surrounding me heating up by several degrees as he heads toward his seat. And he’s stunning. Like an angel, or as Theodora would say, a darling boy.
Or, in remembrance of the first time I saw him and the stuffed animal I found in Abigail’s room, a pretty little bunny.
He is wearing a pair of white, wide-legged cotton pants and white dress shoes. His brown curls are neatly disarranged and falling over the tops of his ears and onto his forehead. A delicate blush litters his cheeks, and his hands fidget nervously at his navel.
And all of that is fine and well, beautiful even. But the main attraction is the top he is wearing. I don’t think it counts as a blouse; I don’t think it counts as any one thing.
It’s all white lace, with sleeves that are skintight until they reach his elbow, where they begin to loosen until the fabric is long and dangling around his wrists. The fabric covering his torso is loose as well, and any one move will send the see-through material moving to one side or the other.
I barely register all of that, though, as my eyes are drawn constantly to the plunging neckline that makes the shape of a V and ends an inch or two above his navel. The lacy fabric covers his nipples, but it exposes much of his soft, barely defined pecs.
Fucking stunning.
“You look like a fairy, Atty,” Abigail says in awe, staring up at her brother with wide eyes.
Atlas’s glacier eyes are trained on the floor, as if he’s embarrassed, which is odd. He’s normally brimming with confidence in all of his silky, see-through clothing.
“You look beautiful, son,” Abraham praises, and Theodora extends a hand, which, once he’s close enough, Atlas takes gracefully.
He sits in his seat, a soft breath leaving him.
“Thank you,” he says. “Merry Christmas, everyone.”
“Merry Christmas!” the room choruses, but I say nothing. I can’t find words, not in the presence of this. Of him.
If I thought I was attracted to him before, I’m an idiot. Apparently, I know nothing of the world or what beauty it offers. If I had, I would have anticipated this. I would have anticipated the catatonic state his very body would put me in.
I spend the rest of breakfast pretending to focus on the constant stream of chatter, but in reality, my attention is solely on Atlas.
On the way his lips close around his fork, how his sweet laugh sounds when he finds something Atticus has said to be funny, or how enticing his skin looks as his top shifts from side to side teasingly.
He’s an evil little thing. Such a sweet, torturous man.
And as breakfast comes to a close and everyone collectively heads toward the drawing room on the second floor, my eyes still refuse to stray. I watch him from several feet behind as he climbs the stairs, his ass perky and round in his pants.
There is a grand Christmas tree in the drawing room, off-center from the fireplace. I’ve noticed that most common rooms have one. The tree is around nine feet tall, and below it are more presents than I can count.
Abigail squeals loudly. “Presents!”
I found out a few days ago that she no longer believes in Santa Claus, which honestly made me feel a bit relieved, as I was constantly worried I’d ruin the holiday for her. If I remember correctly, I also knew the truth by nine years old.
But this does not dissuade her. Even as she’s aware that these presents all came from her parents, she’s just as excited as any young kid on Christmas morning.
Over the fireplace hang seven stockings. I see one for all of the Chastains, and surprisingly, one for my father and me, too. As if Abraham knew we’d agree to join them for the holiday before he even asked.
All of the Chastain children sit around the tree as Abraham sits on one of the two-person sofas set to one side of a large coffee table. My father and I sit on the opposite side, on its matching pair.
Theodora grabs the stockings, handing them out one by one. Once she’s extending one to me, I blush.
“Oh, thank you. You guys didn’t have to—”
“Nonsense!” she interrupts. “Christmas is my favorite holiday, and everyone deserves gifts.”
Then she’s gliding away, taking her seat next to her husband.
“Atticus, son, pass out the gifts, will you?” Abraham prompts, and Atticus nods dutifully, beginning to sort through the large pile.
Soon, they are divided up amongst the three children, and unbelievably, my father and I have a few as well.
“Your family is too kind,” Dad says, observing his stack of four gifts with a slightly reserved expression.
Neither of us is used to handouts.
“Consider this your Christmas bonus,” Abram responds. “You both work so hard, and we love having you here. In no time at all, we’ll feel like one big family.”
At this, Atticus huffs, but he goes ignored.
I watch as Abigail opens a large box, one that contains a dollhouse like the one in her bedroom, but this one is modeled after Chastain Castle. She loves it.
The room is full of twinkling lights and Christmas décor, and if it were snowing outside, I’d feel as if I were in a Hallmark movie.
Soon, Barfred is coming in with a tray of hot chocolate. He sets it on the coffee table between where my father's and my gifts are placed and where Abraham and Theodora are sitting.
“Open the box first,” Theodora says with excitement, pointing to the blue-and-gold-wrapped object in front of me. “Both of you, save your envelopes until last.”
The box is the largest of my four gifts, and as I open it, I find a brand new laptop.
“What…” I start, my eyes widening. It’s a MacBook, so I know it had to have cost anywhere between a couple of hundred and a couple of thousand dollars.
“Do you love it?” the woman presses, her hands clasped at her chest over her silk, maroon dress.
“I—yes, I do! But it’s such a big gift. I—”
“No buts,” Abraham says. “You open one now, Jeremy.”