‘Of course,’ he says gently. ‘Look, I feel guilty too. Guilty that I didn’t spot what was in his mind. That I didn’t pull him back from the edge . . . It was a traumatic event for everyone there, not just you.’ He strokes my cheek lovingly. ‘You’re a sensitive soul though, and you’ve had one hell of a tough week. Plus, you were drinking tonight.’
When he puts it like that, I can see my mistake. The only thing I’m guilty of here is bringing everything back to myself. Of being self-obsessed.
It’s an unpleasant realisation.
‘I feel like such an idiot.’
‘Maybe.’ He leans forward to kiss me. ‘But you’re my beautiful idiot,’ he murmurs against my mouth. ‘My very sexy idiot.’
‘I’m sorry.’ I sigh. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Forget it,’ he whispers, pushing me back on the bed. ‘I love you.’
‘I love you too, Dominic. I love you forever.’
Chapter Thirty-Seven
We wake late the next morning, our naked bodies still entwined, to a gorgeous smell drifting through the house: turkey and roast potatoes. Dominic is awake before me, and it’s his hand playing with my hair that brings me back to full consciousness.
Rachel, I think. It’s my first thought. Her ashes.
My body goes cold. When I open my eyes Dominic is gazing at me, a smile on his lips.
‘Hey, sleepyhead.’
‘Hey.’
I snuggle against him, pushing away all thoughts of my sister with surprising ease. Perhaps she has finally lost her ability to frighten me.
‘Did we do it twice last night or did I imagine it?’ I say.
His grin disarms me.
‘Twice, definitely,’ he says. ‘Though it was morning, both times. We went to bed very late.’
I smile at him. ‘And I thought we’d have less sex once we were married.’
‘Who told you that?’
‘I guess I just assumed. My parents have separate rooms. That must be for a reason. Married people fall out of lust, don’t they?’ I stroke down his body, and smile at his intake of breath. ‘Three times, just to make sure we’ve still got it?’
‘I thought you’d never ask.’
He rolls me over onto my back, kissing me hotly, then cups my breast.
‘Catherine! Dominic!’ my mother shouts up the stairs. ‘Lunch will be ready soon.’
I giggle. Dominic turns and calls back, ‘We’ll be down in a minute.’
He regards me hungrily as I slip out of bed and hunt through the drawers for clean clothes suitable for Christmas lunch with the family.
‘Nice view,’ he says, smiling.
I throw a pair of lacy knickers at him, and he growls, climbing out of bed after me.
‘Hey, put me down,’ I insist as he grabs me, ‘you big bear.’ He lets me go and I turn back to my lingerie drawer. ‘They’re too polite to say so, but I was probably supposed to help with lunch.’
‘I doubt you’ll be missed in the kitchen.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘That your skills lie in a different direction to cooking,’ he says with a grin, and ducks when I try to hit him.
‘Very funny. All the same, I should go down and lay the table or something. I hate feeling like a parasite.’ I push him away as his arms come round me again, groping and squeezing. ‘Seriously, don’t.’
Reluctantly, Dominic opens his arms to let me escape.
‘Fine,’ he says languidly. He picks up his dressing gown. ‘I’m going to take a quick shower. But you’re far from being a parasite. You need to be here right now. And your parents know it.’
I watch him go, unsure if he’s offended or not. I’m also not entirely certain what his parting comment was about. You need to be here right now. And your parents know it. What does that even mean?
I find a matching black bra and thong. Then I pull a dress out of the wardrobe and throw it on the bed. It’s a black-and-silver dress, skin tight, clinging in all the right places. Or the wrong places, depending on your point of view. I have no idea why I chose that one, my brain somewhere else, or maybe switched off entirely. Dominic bought it for me last Christmas but I’ve never worn it on the grounds that it’s too damn revealing.
And this is a family Christmas. Not a night out on the town.
‘Cat, darling?’ my mother calls up from the bottom of the attic stairs. ‘Are you on your way down?’
‘Coming!’ I shout back. Hurriedly, I pull on the bra and thong. ‘Just getting dressed. Dom’s in the shower. Sorry, we’ll be right there.’
Mum says something I don’t catch, and then wanders away again.
Lunch is probably imminent.
‘Oh, what the hell.’
I drag on the little black-and-silver dress and find some heels that won’t turn my ankle over on the way downstairs. Then I drag a brush through my hair and give myself a light dusting of make-up, even though I don’t normally wear much at home. But the dress will look odd without any make-up at all.
I hesitate, and search in my jewellery box for the silver cat necklace my mother bought me from Harrods. It seems like a good occasion to wear it.
It suits the dress perfectly.
Downstairs, the smell of food is delicious and mouth-watering. I glance at the hall clock. It’s nearly half past one already. I suddenly realise how hungry I am. I had no idea how late it was. I lose all sense of time in bed with Dominic, like a captive princess in a fairy-tale castle, sleeping away my life. Well, not always sleeping.
I grin, remembering his urgent lovemaking.
‘Ah, Catherine, there you are at last.’ My father stands in the doorway of the dining room, holding out a glass of pink champagne. He looks me up and down, then adds, ‘What a lovely dress.’
‘Thank you.’
I search his face, but he appears cheerful and unconcerned. There’s no sign that he even remembers our conversation from last night.
‘Aperitif?’ he asks.
I take the champagne and drink some without hesitation, though the bubbles always go up my nose and make me tipsy quicker than ordinary wine.
‘Do you need me to do anything?’ I ask.
‘Of course not, darling. Jasmine’s been helping your mother for the past hour, and she says everything’s nearly done.’
Good old Jasmine, I catch myself thinking, rather spikily, and am surprised by my sudden feelings of dislike for her.
What’s wrong with me today?
Dad ushers me into the dining room, where the roast turkey is on the table, ready for carving and covered lightly with foil to keep it warm. I check briefly under the foil. It looks and smells delicious.
‘You know your mother,’ Dad is saying, a little awkwardly, as though he’s sensed my mood and is trying to keep the peace. ‘She hates too many people in the kitchen when she’s cooking. Distracting her, getting underfoot. I’m sure she’ll shout once she’s ready for me to carry in the serving dishes.’
I say nothing, but knock back some more champagne.
Dad glances at my clinging black dress again, then at the cat necklace I’m wearing. He bends to turn on the Christmas tree lights, nestled among baubles in the branches of the real pine tree. They start flashing merrily away to the background sound of Christmas carols.
‘There,’ he says, straightening, his voice slightly muffled, ‘that’s more Christmassy.’
‘I really should offer to help her.’
‘Don’t be silly.’ Dad pulls out a chair for me. ‘Come and sit down.’
‘But—’
‘Sit,’ he insists.
Uncomfortable under his gaze, I sit down and let him pour more champagne into my glass. I don’t argue, oddly thirsty today. Dominic appears, looking clean and fresh from the shower, his hair still wet. His eyes widen at the sight of my dress, then he smiles, his expression almost wolfish.
‘Love the outfit, darling,’ he says, taking the seat opposite without waiting to be asked. ‘Thanks, just half a glass,’ he says as my father offers him some champagne. ‘I’m working tonight. Sorry, did we miss all the hard graft?’
‘Not to worry, you’re our guests today. And guests don’t cook in this house.’
My mother calls from the kitchen, a strained note in her voice, and Dad hurries out of the room, suddenly looking distracted.
Dominic grins at me across the table, then lifts his glass in a mock-salute. ‘Well, Merry Christmas. This is the high life.’
‘Don’t. I feel awful.’
‘Why?’
‘We slept in and now they’re doing all the work. On Christmas bloody Day.’ I take another deep gulp of champagne, the bubbles tingling and fizzing on my tongue. ‘It’s not right.’