Page 33 of Lessons in Sin

‘Did I miss something?’ I say, eyes darting between Isabel’s toothy grin and Tristan’s god save me one.

’No.’ Tristan says the same times as his sisters says the opposite.

‘Yes, you did.’ She smiles at her brother, the same mischievous look in her eyes that I’ve seen Tristan get. ‘My dear old brother made a bet a few years ago.’

‘Okay …?’

‘A bet that said if he ever brought a girl home, he would face his biggest fear.’

I look at Tristan, his eyes are pleading with mine, begging me not to ask. I smirk at his sister and lean in conspiratorially. ‘His biggest fear?’

‘I knew I’d like you.’ She sits up suddenly and mocks Tristan. ‘“Don’t get your hopes up Ma, the day I bring home a girl for early Christmas is the day I partake in karaoke.”’

Giggling, I send him a pouting look. ‘It’s okay sweety, I’ll save you from the big bad karaoke.’

‘You two are impossible.’ He mutters, sending daggers to his sister but he softens when he looks at me.

And then my door is opened and suddenly I’m face to face with the older woman from the photo, her hands on her hips and a scolding look in her eyes. She points at the two siblings. ’You two were supposed to be here hours ago. You’ve been holding this poor girl hostage!’ And then she turns to me. ‘I have tea inside if you’d like some.’

Stuttering, the only thing I can thing to say is ‘Yes.’

She nods, pointing at the two siblings again. ‘Tea inside for you two after you’ve got the bags in.’ Smiling, she helps me out of Tristan’s huge Range Rover. ’So, Scarlett, isn’t it? I’m Grace.’

I nod, stunned by this force of nature in the body of a woman. ‘It’s nice to meet you.’

’We have a lot of catching up to do!’ She ushers me into the house - a two story townhouse, the sort you see in movies where the main character has the husband, the kids and the dog. She leads me to a kitchen, tendrils of steam already licking like flames from the two teacups set on the table.

I follow her and sit at the table, scolding tea in hand. Taking a breath, I smile … and it is definitely an awkward smile. ‘Um … so early Christmas? Tristan said it’s been a family tradition for a while.’

The lines in her face deepened as she smiles. ‘Yes, yes. My late husband, God rest his soul, was a … well he was a bit unorganised.’ She chuckled, her eyes caught between the past and the present. It now makes sense as to why Tristan didn’t have any photos of his dad in his office. ‘Our first Christmas together, he got the date wrong. I woke up a few days before Christmas to him dressed as Santa leading me to open and bunch of Christmas presents that he’d left under the tree.’ She smiles wider, sadder. ‘We’ve done it every year sense.’

’That’s beautiful.’ I breathe. I know for a fact if my father had done that, my mother would have kicked him to the curb, and I never would have existed. ‘Thank you for inviting me.’

‘Thank you for whatever magic you’re working on my son. I haven’t seen him this happy in a long time.’ She grasps my hands. ’So, tell me about you. Tristan has told me that you like to dance?’

Before long the knot in my stomach unties as we chat, the kindness in her eyes truthful and open. It sets me at ease.

After a while, Tristan walks in. ‘Didn’t leave you to the wolves for too long, did I?’

His mother rolls his eyes. ’No, we’ve had a lovely chat haven’t we Scarlett?’

‘Oh yes, I’ve been learning all your dirty secrets.’ I jump up and Tristan pulls me under his arm.

‘Well, it’s pretty late so I think we should head to bed.’

‘No problem, dear. I’m making pancakes in the morning. You like pancakes right Scarlett?’

‘I love them.’ I beam.

After saying our goodnights, Tristan leads me out of the room, the warmth of his hands on my shoulders so comforting that I melt into it.

‘I like your mom.’ I whisper as we enter a large room that is a mixture between a guest room and a storage room for whatever Tristan didn’t take with him when he left for college.

’I think she likes you two.’ He whispers in my ear. His voice is low, sleepy and it sends me yawning.

I love this most about Tristan - the sides I get to see that stay hidden from everyone else. Sleepy Tristan is one of those sides.

Stripping, I Grab one of Tristan’s shirts and throw it on, the cotton soft against my skin. Tristan, already cocooned in the quilt, opens it, beckoning me into his warmth.

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