Page 63 of The Black Trilogy

What would have happened if I hadn’t made the snap decision fourteen years ago to follow him to the other side of the world so he could turn me into what I was today? Would I be with a man like Luke, truly happy and content? Or lying in the gutter somewhere? I’d never know. I could only make the best of what I had now.

And as the snowstorm eased, I had a sudden urge to live my failed childhood. I got up and tugged my clothes on.

“Where are you going?” Luke asked.

“Come on, get dressed. Wear something warm!” I yelled over my shoulder as I ran towards the stairs.

Luke caught up with me as I got outside.

“What are you doing?”

“I want to build a snowman.”

“A snowman? How old are you?”

For a minute, I couldn’t remember. There was only one person in the world apart from me who knew my real birthday, so I just went off whatever passport I happened to be using.

“Uh, thirty-two. But I’ve never built a snowman before, so I think I’m entitled to have a go.”

“Never? What sort of childhood did you have?”

“Not a great one,” I admitted.

Luke sensed my change in mood and turned serious. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. I don’t even want to think about it. If I could erase it from my memory, I would. Can we just build the snowman?”

Luke wrapped me up in his arms and kissed my hair. “Sure.”

Like I said, he was sweet.

By the time daylight dimmed, we had a rather lopsided snowman sitting in the middle of Luke’s lawn, with a carrot for a nose and eyes made from dates. A cashmere scarf from Luke’s wardrobe completed the ensemble.

“His head’s wonky,” Luke said.

He was right. The snowman was looking down at his feet. At least, he would have been if he had any.

“Maybe he’s texting?” I suggested.

We gave him a pair of twiggy arms and stuck Luke’s phone to them. Yeah, that worked. I took a few photos of the snowman then aimed the lens at Luke. This was one of those rare days I wanted to remember. I hated cameras, but I put up with it when Luke reclaimed his phone and made me pose—today I was determined to have fun.

Snow crunched underfoot as we walked back to the house. I couldn’t resist—I bent and scooped up a handful, packed it into a ball, and launched it at Luke. He swiftly retaliated, and any pretence at being grown-ups stopped as we slung snowballs at each other across the garden.

“Where did you learn to throw? Did you play baseball or something?” Luke yelled at me, ducking.

“No, just beginner’s luck.”

Beginner’s luck. Right. It was incredibly useful to know I could throw an object and have it land bang on target, so I’d practised. A lot. I had a party trick with knives and fruit, but it wasn’t appropriate to show that one to Luke.

Eventually, he gave up trying to hit me and braved the barrage to stuff snow down my jacket.

“Hey, that’s freezing!”

I didn’t want to fight back, so I tripped him instead. We both ended up lying in the snow, breathing hard. I rolled over and made a snow angel, flapping my arms and legs to form the wings and dress. Being a child was fun. When we started to get cold, we retired to the den and Luke lit a wood fire. The flames were soon leaping into the chimney.

“You have any marshmallows?” I asked.

Turned out he had a sweet tooth too, so I taught him how to make s’mores.

---