‘Right? A bit random, but they’re really good. Want one?’
‘Sounds great, sweetheart,’ I tell her, turning so I can drop a kiss on the top of her head. I can feel every eye in the place on me as I do.
A woman with curly auburn hair comes through from what I assume is the kitchen, holding an extremely full glass of white wine. This must be Stephen’s wife, Anna.
‘Anna, this is Adam,’ Nat tells her.
No context needed.This is Adam: the reason your husband only has one eye.
Anna looks me up and down, but it’s more like she’s getting the measure of me than judging me.
‘Adam. Hi. Merry Christmas.’ She shakes my hand briskly. Not only is she very attractive, but she has an instantly likeable face—one that suggests she’s smart and kind.
Somehow, seeing Anna and Chloe in the flesh, obtaining real, first-hand proof that Stephen is happy and thriving and loved, feels even more like closure than having him shake my hand.
Stephen approaches his wife and hands the baby to her. Chloe makes grabby hands as she goes, latching instantly on to one of Anna’s dangly gold earrings, and Stephen laughs and tuts.
I watch as he lovingly disentangles his daughter’s chubby little fingers from his wife’s earring.
For the first time in twenty years, I’m starting to understand that the scars from the terrible, terrible injuries I inflicted on him have healed more than I could ever have hoped.
I’m not just talking about prosthetic eyeballs.
I’m talking about hislife.
67
NATALIE
Choosing a gift for a billionaire is quite the daunting task.
Choosing a Christmas gift for the billionaire you’ve fallen in love with is even more daunting, especially when you’ve technically only been together for a few weeks. Firstly, I can’t compete with his spending power. Secondly, I want to find gifts that tell him how I feel about him and how grateful I am for all the care and attention he’s lavished upon me while not appearing to be a total psycho.
See what I mean?
Daunting.
But as I sit on the sofa in the library, sipping a deliciously festive flavour of Mariage Frères tea,Esprit de Noël, I know that being here with Adam on this day is far more important than whatever I’ve put under that macaron-laden tree for him.
I can’t begin to compensate for the memories he’s lost forever, but I hope I can help him to make some new ones.
‘Right,’ I say, setting down my china teacup and scooting over to the tree. ‘Me first.’
We’re both in fluffy white robes and slippers. Adam has already given me my first two Christmas presents—two excellent orgasms—but in that robe he looks more unwrappable than any gift.
‘Absolutely not,’ he says. ‘Anyway, you’ve already given me the best present I could have asked for.’
I smirk. ‘Well, you gave me two.’
He leans over and takes my hand. ‘I’m not talking about that, sweetheart. I’m talking about the fact that your family opened their doors to me and your brother shook me by the hand—on Christmas Eve, of all nights. Do you have any idea how impossible that moment has seemed up until a couple of weeks ago? There’s nothing you could give me that can match that.’
I nod, my eyes misty. Last night, Dad took me aside in the kitchen and told me that Adam seemed like agenuinely decent bloke, and Stephen suggested Adam and I go for tacos with him and Anna in the new year. Seeing the men of my family accepting my boyfriend for the person he is today was a profoundly moving experience for me, so I can’t imagine how emotional it’s been for him.
I lean forward so I can brush his lips lightly with mine. ‘I get that, but I got you some little things anyway. Just bits and pieces.’
‘Okay,’ he whispers against my mouth. ‘Thank you.’
He seems genuinely delighted with my gifts. There was a vintage-style photo booth at the New York party, and I had our strip of photos framed. In all of them, I’m kissing him on the cheek. I also bought him some fancy shaving foam from a tiny organic producer in Wales and a daily kimchi shot subscription. It’ll be delivered weekly to his office (the guy is as into fermented foods as he is into pulses).