Chapter 28
Exhausted after spending almost an hour of my Saturday afternoon wrestling with an unruly Christmas tree, I flop onto the sofa and lie back to savour my victory.
Mission accomplished without calling my brother for tech support.
It was worth every penny of the five hundred quid I spent to get a tree this realistic.
I grab my phone and snap a quick photo of my handiwork, then send it to Haley with the message:
Me: Look what I actually did! Before you ask, yes, it’s fake, but still…
My phone buzzes almost immediately.
Haley: RACHEL. What the actual hell? Is this for real? Are you dying?
Then another:
Haley: Hold on, calling you RIGHT NOW.
My phone rings before I can even type a response.
“Haley, you’re supposed to be on your honeymoon—”
“Never mind that! Rachel, you bought a Christmas tree. An actual Christmas tree. Are you having some kind of breakdown?”
“I’m not having a breakdown. I just…wanted to do Christmas properly this year.”
“Rachel, you once told me that Christmas decorations before December 20th were ‘an assault on common sense.’ You hid in my loo at the Christmas party two years ago because there were too many fairy lights.”
“That was different—”
“And now you’ve bought a tree? A massive tree that probably cost more than my wedding flowers?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, smiling despite myself.
“It’s not that massive,” I protest—though looking at it now, it does rather dominate my living room.
“And the decorating challenge rubbed off. I did them for the competition—and for you—not because I’ve converted to Santa. We didn’t even win, and it was…fun.”
There’s a pause. “Oh my god, I never thought I’d hear you use the word ‘fun’ about Christmas decorations. This is so weird. Christian, come here. You have to hear this—I’ve finally won her over to my side. Rachel’s gone full Christmas!”
“Haley, don’t put me on speaker—”
“Relax, I won’t.” There’s a muffled exchange. “Christian says hi and that he’s proud of you for embracing the festive spirit.”
Bloody Christian. I bet the bastard’s actually sniggering. I’d love to remind him he only came over from the dark side himself a year ago, but I hold back.
“Tell Christian I said hi, and that you both should get back to your honeymoon.”
“Fine, but I want to come over and see this for myself when I get back. Do you have decorations? I could help you buy some?”
“Sorry, love,” I say, squashing her hopeful enthusiasm. “I went to Harrods this morning. Bags full.”
“Well, just remember if you need any more, I’ve got heaps.”
After we hang up, I stare at the tree again.
I suppose I’ve been a bit of a bah humbug girl when it comes to Christmas.
Part of that’s my Scottish heritage—Hogmanay’s always the most important festival in our calendar—but it’s also because Christmas in our family always felt like just going through the motions.
Even last year, dragging Pierre up to Scotland felt like another box to tick rather than sharing something meaningful.
Most years, I don’t even bother making the trip.
Send some gifts and call Mum on the day.
This year feels different. Sure, Haley’s Christmas challenges opened my eyes to the fun side of the season, but it was Teddy who really won me over.
Seeing him at that hospital party on Tuesday, watching how he lit up those kids’ faces—that’s what finally made Christmas feel like something worth celebrating.
I couldn’t get home fast enough to order this tree.
Now it’s up, I set to work on the first challenge: draping it in lights.
By the time I finish, it’s almost four and starting to get dark. When I flick the switch and the tiny fairy lights burst into life, warm satisfaction oozes through me. I did this all on my own, and it’s exactly how I pictured it.
I’m stuffing the empty lights’ box into a hall cupboard when the sound of ‘Little Drummer Boy’ drifts from my phone. Slamming the cupboard door, I race to answer it.
“Hey,” I say, “Didn’t think I’d be hearing from you so soon after our paparazzi adventure.”
“Are you kidding? That just reminded me how much I like spending time with you.” Teddy’s voice has that warm, honey-like quality that makes my chest flutter.
“So I was thinking, how about we tick off another thing on the list—skating at Somerset House? Tonight? Fair warning though, I’m absolutely useless on ice. ”
“Teddy, that’s probably the most public place in London right now. After today…”
“I know, but I’ve been thinking about it. They’ve already got their shots of us, right? Maybe if we just act normal instead of hiding, it becomes less of a story. Besides,” his voice drops lower, “I really want to see you tonight.”
“But how have you even got tickets? On a Saturday night, this close to Christmas…”
“Being famous isn’t all bad, you know. I’ll see you at six, yeah?”
By evening, I’ve swapped fairy lights for floodlights. For half an hour Teddy’s clung to the ice with a dogged sort of pride, determined to master it just because I’m here. At last, he lets me pause by the barrier.
“I thought I had the best Christmas tree in London till I saw this.” I lean against the railing and gaze up into the night sky.
The towering tree, dotted with a thousand tiny lights and gleaming red baubles the size of footballs, is dazzling against the blackness.
Behind it, spotlights pick out the elegant Georgian stone walls of Somerset House; in front of us, swathes of magenta light wash over the ice rink in waves.
“It might be bigger, but after what you bought today, yours is definitely going to be the best.” Teddy’s breath mists in the cold air. He’s still breathing heavily from the effort of keeping upright, but he’s done well for a self-confessed novice.
“You know, you’re not so bad at skating as you think. I expected you to take me down a few times, and it’s only been once.”
“Yeah, wonder if the paps caught that one,” he laughs. “Teddy and Rachel on their arses. Very elegant.”
“Chances are, with all these people, they missed it. Let’s hope. Anyway, you’re doing well.”
“You make me look good,” he says, tugging playfully at my gloved hand.
I look into those velvet eyes, the lights playing across his face, turning his features into something almost ethereal.
There’s this quality about Teddy; like he’s escaped from a fairytale, too beautiful to be real.
I can’t help it. My hand drifts to his jaw of its own accord, guiding his mouth to mine.
It’s a chaste kiss—after all, we’re in public—but a lick of fire ignites between my thighs.
“Do you think they caught that?” I pull back reluctantly.
“I don’t give a fuck if they did.”
“Neither do I.”
“Hey, we need to get out there.” He extends his hands to me, then pushes carefully away from the railing. “They’re playing our song.”
The DJ has switched to another track. Stellar Riot’s ‘Voltage’ blasts from the enormous speakers, and I skate backwards, towing Teddy onto the ice one more time, steadying him with both hands clasped in mine.
“Do you still get a kick out of this?” I say. “Hearing the drums and knowing it’s you.”
“Every time.” He exhales a laugh, cheeks flushed pink from the cold. “Especially this track. ‘Voltage’ has my name stamped all over it—wait till the drum break kicks in. Always makes me want to grab sticks, even on the ice.”
The song becomes our anthem for the next hour; the DJ playing it twice more as we circle the rink. By the time we finally leave, Teddy’s managed three complete circuits without falling, and I’m drunk on the winter air and his laughter.
The car glides to a halt outside my house, and Teddy leans in to kiss me. His lips are still cool from the winter air, and I taste peppermint and chocolate on his tongue.
Suddenly I don’t want to get out; I don’t want the night to end. I’d vowed to keep things simple between Teddy and me until I was sure, but already I’m regretting that.
I need more than him holding my hand; more than a kiss. I know what more of Teddy feels like. I know what he tastes like. Damn it, I even know the sounds he makes when he comes. Right now I want to take the list and tear it up, even though the cautious part of me argues back how unwise it is.
“Do you want to come in?” The words tumble out before I can stop them. “I can show you my tree.”
“And here I thought I’d heard every invitation,” he says, and I can feel his smile against my lips. “But yeah, I’d love to see it.”
His lips slip down to graze my neck, and I shiver at the sensation.
He pulls away and turns his attention to Gavin, who’s discreetly looking straight ahead, as he always seems to do.
“Cheers, Gavin, drop me here, yeah? Go home to your wife and kids, mate. I’ll grab a cab later.”
“Thanks, Guv. You have a nice evening.”
I take Teddy’s hand and lead him up the steps to my house. Inside, the hallway glows softly. My tree lights cast warm golden shadows around the sitting room, and it seems a shame to turn on the main lights, so I don’t.
Teddy unbuttons his coat, tucks his hat and gloves in a pocket and hangs it on the coat rack. I put mine alongside, thinking how natural it looks—his things and mine together—and how much I’d like it to stay that way.
“Nice place, Rachel.” He scans the room, and I feel a surge of pride in my house with its polished original floorboards and ornate fireplace surround. He moves toward my restored mid-century sofa, pausing at the framed print on the wall.
“Is that a Banksy?”
“Yeah, only a print, of course. An original one day, maybe. Give me ten years on a partner’s salary.”
His head snaps back. “You’re a partner? How did I not know this?”
“Almost.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “As long as I don’t fuck up in the next two weeks. Before the vote. Which is why last week was… a lot.”
“Pressure, eh?”
“Yeah. And a snivelling little snot named Marcus. He was in Hong Kong; I wasn’t. He wants that seat too, so I made sure they saw who was actually doing the work.”
“Now I get it. You in your room on that damn laptop half the night, socking it to them.
“Guilty,” I say, reaching for the light.
“They’ll see. Choose you,” he says, belief steady in his eyes.
In the quiet, the central heating clicks on; I realise I’ve been holding my breath.
“Want a drink?”
“No,” he says softly, stepping closer. “There’s only one thing I want, but it’s the thing I can’t have.”
“Maybe you can.” I tip my face up to him, running my fingers through his hair, copper catching sparks from the tree lights.
“Not yet,” he says. He captures my hands, lowering them to his shoulders, and his mouth ghosts against my temple.
“Not until I’ve proved it to you. I mean what I say.
This is not a temporary thing, Rachel. You and me.
I’m not normally a patient guy. Live my life at a hundred miles an hour. But with you, I can wait forever.”
“And if I said I can’t?” I whisper. “If I need you—here?”
His voice is rough. “Then I’d do this.” He drags me flush against him, slots one denim-clad thigh between mine and presses up until the rough seam hits where I ache.
“I’m going to let that needy body of yours take what it wants.” His hands cup my bum, guiding me onto his leg. “Bring that sweet clit of yours right in close,” he murmurs, tilting his thigh higher. “Show me how you like it.”
I push against him, my body craving the pressure.
Instinct takes over. My hips roll, slow and searching; the ridge of his zipper ripples deliciously under my clit.
Heat skitters through me, and with every grind, I feel another stitch of my resolve snap.
The hard line of his cock pressing against my belly only feeds the fire of need at my centre.
“Yeah, that’s good,” he whispers at my ear. “You do that, baby, while I’m remembering how you taste. Reminding myself what it’s going to feel like the day I’ve earned the right to put my mouth on every inch of you. But for tonight…”
His mouth claims mine, devouring me. All his hunger and wanting burned into desperate kisses. His insistent tongue plunges deeper, consuming the only part of me he’ll allow himself to have.
I break the kiss, desperate for air, panting, chasing the punishing friction. Each drag against him sends me soaring higher. Soft, wrecked sounds spill out.
“Yeah, let me hear those noises. God, I love them,” he murmurs. “I’m memorising every one of them.”
“That’s it. Take what you need, baby.” He breathes against my ear.
“There, yeah, right there.” His voice is a coaxing rasp.
He rocks me against his thigh while I writhe against him.
The exquisite friction builds, burn sharpening into tiny explosions of white-heat in my brain.
He urges me on; quiet murmurs against my neck.
“Good girl. Chase it.”
I come in a shuddering mess and sag into him.
His thigh stays exactly where I need it, giving me steady, gentle pressure until the after-shocks fade.
Fairy lights blur and swim, blinking like they’re judging my choices.
My body is blissfully spent, but my conscience is wide awake: I’ve shredded my own rules, while he’s still the one honouring them.