Chapter 21
The kitchen was warm and filled with the rich aromas of Christmas Eve. My mother was at the counter, rolling out dough for her famous cheese puffs. The scent of butter and sharp cheddar filled the air, making my mouth water.
I stood beside her, carefully wrapping bacon around scallops, trying to focus on the task at hand, but my mind kept drifting to the impending arrival of our guests. The tension in my chest was growing, and I could feel my anger simmering just below the surface.
Simone arrived first, breezing into the kitchen with a confident smile, her arms full of wine bottles. She placed them on the counter, glancing at the spread with an air of approval.
“I brought some wine,” she announced, her tone light, as if we were old friends.
I forced a smile, trying to be civil. “Thanks. We could use them.”
Simone started to uncork one of the bottles, and I caught her glancing at me out of the corner of her eye.
I couldn’t help but notice how perfectly she’d done her hair, how effortlessly elegant she looked.
I felt a pang of something—jealousy, maybe, or resentment.
I pushed it down, focusing on the scallops.
Logan arrived a few minutes later, and the moment he walked in, Simone’s face lit up.
They shared a quick kiss, her hand lingering on his arm as they exchanged soft words.
My grip tightened on the knife I was using, and I had to remind myself to breathe.
I couldn’t lose my composure, not here, not tonight.
My mother, blissfully unaware of the undercurrents in the room, turned to Logan with a bright smile. “I’m so glad you’re here. Did you bring an appetite?”
“Always, Mom,” Logan said, giving her a warm hug. He turned to me, his smile faltering slightly when he saw the look on my face. “Hey, Joey.”
“Hey,” I replied, trying to keep my tone neutral, but it was hard when Simone was standing right next to him, her arm looped through his.
Before I could say anything more, Colson appeared in the doorway, his eyes immediately finding mine. He walked over, his presence commanding, as always, and placed a gentle hand on my arm.
“Josephine,” he said quietly, his voice low enough that only I could hear. “Can I speak to you for a moment?”
I nodded, setting down the knife and following him out of the kitchen. We stepped into the hallway, away from the others, and he turned to face me, his expression softening.
“This is a holiday for family,” he said, his voice calm and soothing. “I know it’s difficult, but try to get along with her, for your brother’s sake. He cares about her.”
I crossed my arms, looking away. “She’s done nothing but make my life miserable, Colson.”
“I know,” he said, reaching out to gently tilt my chin so I would look at him. “But tonight isn’t the time for old grudges. Please, just try.”
I sighed, feeling the weight of his words. He was right, of course. Tonight was about family, about coming together, but it was hard to let go of everything Simone had done. Still, I nodded, forcing myself to agree.
“I’ll try,” I whispered.
“Thank you,” he said, leaning down to press a soft kiss to my forehead. “That’s all I’m asking.”
We rejoined the others just as the doorbell rang again.
Vaughn entered with Serena on his arm, looking as polished and charming as ever.
But his eyes found me almost immediately, lingering longer than they should have.
I felt a shiver run down my spine, and I quickly looked away, trying to focus on anything else.
It was impossible to ignore the way Vaughn’s gaze kept drifting back to me, even with Serena right there beside him.
I could feel Colson’s eyes on me as well, a silent reminder of our conversation. I knew he was watching, waiting to see if I could keep my promise. But with every passing moment, with every affectionate touch between Logan and Simone, and every glance from Vaughn, my resolve was being tested.
This was supposed to be a night for family, for peace and joy, but all I felt was the storm brewing inside me.
Christmas Eve had always been a special time for my family, filled with warmth, laughter, and the aroma of delicious food wafting through the house. This year, the tradition continued, even in the grand setting of the Ashworth estate.
We all gathered around the table, and for a while, it almost felt normal.
The table was a feast of memories and tradition, with a perfectly roasted beef at its center.
The meat was seared to a golden brown on the outside, while the inside remained tender and pink, practically melting in your mouth with every bite.
Surrounding the roast was a selection of side dishes that spoke of home: fluffy mashed potatoes with a hint of garlic, green beans sautéed with almonds, and roasted root vegetables—carrots, parsnips, and sweet potatoes—drizzled with a balsamic glaze.
There was also a rich, savory gravy that tied everything together, poured generously over the meat and potatoes.
On the side, there were fluffy buttermilk biscuits, golden and soft, perfect for sopping up any extra gravy or just enjoying with a pat of butter.
A fresh, tangy cranberry relish added a burst of color and a tart contrast to the richness of the meal, while a creamy spinach gratin provided a comforting, cheesy indulgence.
The sight and smell of it all brought back memories of Christmases past, a small comfort in the midst of the current tension. For a moment, the room was filled with the sounds of clinking cutlery and murmurs of appreciation as everyone dug into the meal.
I found myself laughing at a joke Logan made, and even Colson chimed in with his dry wit.
The food was delicious, and for a moment, I let myself enjoy the meal, savoring the flavors that reminded me of simpler times.
The biscuits were particularly good, their buttery warmth a soothing presence in a night filled with undercurrents of unease.
After dinner, we moved to the living room, each of us holding a glass of wine.
The fire crackled in the massive stone fireplace, casting a warm glow over the room as we settled into the plush chairs and sofas.
The conversation turned to memories of Christmases past, with everyone sharing stories and laughing over old anecdotes.
I tried to join in, but a growing nausea gnawed at my stomach, and I wasn’t sure if it was the company or something else.
Excusing myself quietly, I hurried to the bathroom, barely making it in time before I was violently sick. The suddenness of it took me by surprise, and as I knelt over the toilet, I heard the door creak open behind me.
“Joey?” Colson’s voice was soft as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He knelt beside me, gently holding my hair back as I retched. His touch was surprisingly tender, his presence comforting despite the situation.
When I finally finished, I leaned my head against the cool porcelain, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. Colson stayed close, his expression a mix of concern and something else I couldn’t quite place.
“Are you pregnant?” Colson's voice was barely above a whisper, but the impact of his words slammed into me like a wave.
I stared at him, my mind scrambling to process the possibility. Pregnant? I hadn’t even considered it, but now that he’d said it, the idea lodged itself firmly in my thoughts, refusing to be dismissed.
“I... I don’t know,” I stuttered, the uncertainty in my voice mirroring the turmoil in my mind.
Without another word, he lifted me from the cold bathroom floor and pulled me into a tight embrace. His grip was firm, almost desperate, as if he was trying to anchor us both in this moment. “My legacy,” he murmured, his breath warm against my hair.
“Colson, you have a legacy… your children,” I reminded him, trying to make sense of the sudden intensity in his voice.
“I mean my child with you. I want a child with you before it gets too late.” He stepped back slightly, enough to look into my eyes, and I could see the seriousness in his gaze.
“Too late?” I echoed, my voice barely a whisper.
His eyes darkened with an emotion I couldn’t quite place. “As in I get too old. I want to be able to enjoy my child.”
“You’ll be forty-eight in a few weeks. The baby would be born before you’re forty-nine,” I said, trying to keep my tone light, but the gravity of his words weighed on me.
Colson smiled—a small, almost wistful curve of his lips—as he moved his hand to rest gently on my belly. If there was a child there, it was no more than a tiny speck, a mere possibility.
“I could call a doctor to administer a pregnancy test,” he offered, his voice laced with concern and an eagerness that made my heart ache.
I cupped his face in my hands, feeling the roughness of his stubble beneath my palms. “Don’t do that. We can find out after the holiday is over. I don’t want to disturb anyone’s Christmas Eve.”
He laughed softly, a sound that held both amusement and affection. “I pay a lot to have them on call twenty-four hours.”
“That doesn’t mean you should take them away from their families,” I said, trying to inject some reason into the conversation.
“You’re a sweet woman,” he said, his eyes softening. “Which is why I married you.”
“Colson, I think it was more than that,” I replied, my voice tinged with a mix of affection and seriousness.
He bent down to kiss my cheek, the gesture tender and comforting, then stepped aside so I could rinse my mouth out with water. The moment felt strangely intimate, a quiet reprieve from the chaos of the evening.
As I splashed the cool water on my face, I couldn’t help but think about what he had said. The idea of a child, his legacy, our legacy—it was overwhelming. But the thought of sharing that with him, of creating something beautiful out of our complicated love, was strangely comforting.
When I turned back to him, he was watching me with a look of quiet contentment. “Whatever happens, we’ll face it together,” he said softly, as if reading my thoughts.
I nodded, feeling a strange mix of fear and hope settling in my chest. “Together,” I whispered, knowing that whatever the future held, we would face it as one.
Christmas passed without incident, much to my relief.
I kept my mouth shut and did my best to enjoy the holiday, despite the persistent nausea that had me visiting the bathroom more times than I cared to count.
The Ashworths had a tradition of shutting off all the lights in the house except the ones on the Christmas trees and sitting together in the living room, letting soft music fill the air.
It was a cozy, almost magical atmosphere, one that I found myself sinking into as I leaned against Colson, sipping ginger ale while the others enjoyed hot toddies.
My mother had made the toddies, a Shaw family tradition that I usually looked forward to.
They were warm, spiced, and just what one needed on a cold winter night.
But with the possibility of pregnancy lingering in the back of my mind, I declined, sticking to my ginger ale and trying not to draw attention to myself.
Colson’s arm around me was a comforting weight, grounding me amidst the swirling thoughts in my head.
Vaughn and Serena had disappeared at some point, and I didn’t need to guess where they’d gone.
The way Serena clung to him made it clear she had no qualms about being whisked upstairs for a little private time.
Vaughn’s expression had grown more sullen as the months crept toward spring, and while a part of me almost felt sorry for him, I reminded myself that he had choices—choices he seemed determined to ignore.
I excused myself to use the bathroom, silently cursing whatever was happening to my body. When I stepped out, I nearly jumped at the sight of Vaughn leaning against the wall, waiting for me with a smug expression.
“You’re pregnant,” he said, not bothering to frame it as a question.
“That’s none of your business,” I snapped, narrowing my eyes at him.
He crossed his arms, his smirk deepening. “It all makes sense. The lack of alcohol, the frequent trips to the bathroom... Unless you have a stomach virus, pregnancy is the only logical conclusion.”
“Vaughn, what happens in my marriage is none of your concern. If we decide to have children, that’s between Colson and me.”
His smirk didn’t waver. “Except Colson doesn’t want more children. It was one of his non-negotiables.”
My heart skipped a beat, and I felt my jaw drop. “How would you know that?”
“Because I saw the prenup agreement,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “I know he didn’t want more children. Does he know?”
I shoved him, desperate to get out of this conversation. “What we do in our marriage is none of your business, Vaughn. Maybe you should focus on your own relationship. Where’s Serena?”
His grin widened, the satisfaction in his eyes making my skin crawl. “Passed out in my bed,” he said, casually rubbing his manicured nails against his cashmere sweater. “I fucked her into oblivion.”
I wrinkled my nose in disgust. “You’re vile,” I spat, brushing past him, eager to be anywhere but near him.
“It could’ve been you,” he called after me, his voice taunting.
I didn’t turn back, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. But his words echoed in my mind, a dark cloud over the quiet joy I’d managed to hold onto.