I REMEMBERED CHRISTMAS as a child. Before my parents' murder. Before life changed into something I no longer recognized. Before I became a Charles Dickens character.
It was a small affair, with my dad taking us to pick out a tree at the local tree farm a month before other families were picking out theirs. He'd buy me hot chocolate and let me walk the whole lot, boots crunching on the snow, as I studied each tree carefully before making my choice.
We were chilled to the bone by the time we got home, but Mom would light a fire in the fireplace and turn on Christmas music and we would sing and dance and laugh and hang all the ornaments one by one, each special in its own way. I had one picture left of that time. In it, I was fourteen years old, and my dad was handing me the angel to place on top of the tree. We both wore Santa hats, and our tree had lights and tinsel and handmade ornaments that I'd made in school over the years. We looked so happy in the picture, and I could still see my mother smiling as she took it, never imagining it would be the last Christmas tree she would ever decorate.
Bridgette had a very different Christmas experience growing up. Staff decked the halls while her mother supervised. There were no homemade ornaments or hand picked trees. Their ten-foot Douglas Fir had ornaments made of spun glass that reflected the Christmas lights into prisms on the walls. It was a perfect tree. Magazine perfect. All of the Christmas decorations in their house could have walked out of a magazine, from the garland wrapped around the stair banister to the crystal icicles hanging from the ceiling. Cool blues and icy tones dominated the color scheme, creating a cold Winter Wonderland feel to the house.
Bridgette loved it, and I had to admit it was breathtaking, but my heart ached for our little family Christmas.
Mostly my heart ached for my family. I felt their loss more during the holidays. I'd lost them several weeks before Christmas, shortly after I'd turned fifteen. The last time I'd seen my Christmas tree it was splattered with the crimson of my mother's blood.
My parents had no siblings and hadbothlost their parents to death and disease. When they died, I had no one left to care for me, and so I was placed in the system.
"Catelyn!" Bridgette squealed from the hallway, pushing my door open. I slipped the picture I'd been staring at back into my box and turned to her. She held up two bags, a big grin on her face. "Guess what I bought us?"
I blinked away my unshed tears and tried out a smile. "I give up. What?"
"You didn't even try," she pouted, then dropped the bags unto my bed. "That one is yours." She pointed to the bag closest to me, and I opened it, pulling out a slinky red dress with matching shoes.
She grabbed the other bag and reached in to show me the ice blue dress she'd picked for herself. "Fire and Ice. You're the fire, and I'm the ice."
I ran my hands over the dress, amazed at its softness.
We both tried our dresses on and examined ourselves in the full-length mirror. Mine fit perfectly, and the deep red complimented my dark hair. Bridgette was a vision with her pale blond curls spilling over her cream shoulders, the light blue of the dress matching her eyes. "Thank you," I said, feeling bad that she'd done so much for me and I had nothing to give back.
She hugged me from the side, still staring at our reflection. "No. Thank you." She turned to face me. "This house gets lonely sometimes, even with all the staff. I envy you the memories you have of your family, of the intimacy and tenderness you had growing up. Don't get me wrong, I love my parents and am grateful for them, but I'm really glad you're here with me."
Her words surprised me, and we both brushed aside our tears.
Shaking her head, she slipped out of her dress and back into her regular clothes. "Tonight is going to be epic," she said.
"Will your new lover boy be coming?" I asked.
She nodded. "And so will the Davenports."
Chapter Twenty
Christmas Blood
WE SPENT THE afternoon getting hair and nails done (it was that kind of party) and by the time I put on my dress I felt like a nervous Cinderella getting ready for the ball.
I hadn't expected Ash at the Beaumont fundraiser, nor had I expected him to pop up randomly when he did. This would be the first time I could anticipate our meeting, and my stomach filled with swarms of butterflies. It was silly to feel this nervous about a boy at my age. These feelings should be reserved for teenagers experiencing their first crushes, not law school students who had lived enough to know better.
Except my heart and my head weren't on speaking terms, apparently.
Before the first guest arrived, while the staff buzzed around downstairs making everything perfect, I sat watching Bridgette apply a coating of pale pink gloss to her lips while I fidgeted in my dress.