Page 83 of So This Is Christmas

She thought back to Bashir, the school principal, saying that Matteo had been such a help with many of his students. The books were probably related to that. The candles, though... Well, who knew? Maybe he gave them to visiting dignitaries—a token from the land of Christmas. She headed for the tub. His bathroom was plain but fancy, if that was a thing. The floor and walls were white marble, but with subtle gray veining. The tub was porcelain, a freestanding soaker with a sloped back. A vanity ran the length of one wall and was made of smooth dark wood. She opened one of the cabinets in search of a towel and found instead his stash of man products. Her attention was drawn to a small bottle that read “Menthe Fraîche.” Ah, that had to be the source of his minty smell. She picked it up and spritzed a little on her wrist. Yep. That was him. She took another whiff. It smelled less complex, though, straight from the bottle. She sniffed again, but then she worried that he would arrive with her tea to find her trying on his cologne, or worse,smellinglike his cologne. So she started the bath, and as it began filling, stuck her wrist under the hot water and scrubbed.

She needn’t have worried. The gel she grabbed from his shower stall was also minty—a kind of warm, gingery mint, and he’d given her the go-ahead to use it. It did work as bubble bath, and the result, as she sank gratefully into the hot water, was divine.

She was almost asleep when he knocked. “May I come in with your tea?”

“Yes, thank you!” she called, grateful that the surface of the water was covered with bubbles. She wasn’t sure why she was suddenly shy. He’d seen it all just a while ago. Like, extremely up close.

He came in, set the tea on the vanity, and produced a tray from another cupboard. It was one of those ones meant to lay over a bathtub, and she couldn’t help but emit an appreciative “Ahh,” when he laid it in front of her. “Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome.” He paused, and his eyes snagged on her chest. Her hand instinctively went to the spot she knew he was looking at, on the side curve of her left breast, almost in her armpit. As if, after all these years, she could protect it.

“You have a tattoo. I noticed it while you were disrobing.”

He probably didn’t approve. “Yes. It’s in a spot where it’s almost always covered by my clothing.”

“I admit I was surprised by it. At first I thought it was a mole.”

“I don’t seem the tattoo type?”

“No, you do. I’m surprised by that particular design. I would have thought you’d have...” He looked at the ceiling as if trying to conjure an image.

“Flowers? Butterflies?” She tried not to make her scoffing too overt.

“No. This, perhaps.” He raised his hand in the Vulcan “live long and prosper” salute, and she laughed. “Or perhaps that Starfleet insignia they have on their uniforms?” he suggested, smiling along with her. “It’s almost the right spot for that.”

What possessed her to tell him the truth, she would never know. She’d never toldanyonethe truth. All she could think was that he was making to leave the room, and she wanted him to stay. She wanted to keep talking—to him. “When I was seventeen I was . . .” It was hard to say, to put the correct words to it. As she trailed off, he turned, shot her a questioning gaze. “Well, I was attacked, I suppose, by a boy I had a crush on.” His eyebrows shotup, and something happened to his face. She waited for him to object, to exclaim, to do or say something to interrupt her narrative, but he did not. He leaned back against the vanity as if settling in for a while. He was going to stay. She was relieved. “There was a scuffle. I was trying to get him off me, and he scratched me here.” She gestured to the small image. The Star Trek insignia would actually have been a great idea. “There was a scar. Not a deep one, and it probably would have faded eventually, but I couldn’t stand looking at it, so I had this tattooed over it.”

“A shoe.”

She smiled. “Yes. I was wearing a very high heel at the time, and I took it off and stabbed him with it.”

A bark of triumphant-sounding laughter escaped Matteo, but he quickly sobered and returned his attention to her. His commitment to letting her tell her story on her own terms was refreshing. But there wasn’t that much more to tell. “It disarmed him enough that I could get away. And I lost my shoe! It was just a cheap shoe from Famous Footwear, but money was so tight in our house, and I had splurged on it for a dance we were attending. So, I don’t know, I decided to memorialize it. The shoe that saved me.”

He surprised her by coming back over, sinking to the floor, and resting his arms on the edge of the tub so they were face to face. “It sounds more like you saved you.”

That was such a generous thing to say, and absurdly, it made her throat tighten with unshed tears.

“I find myself at a loss for words,” he said. “I am sorry that happened to you.”

“I’m not. I mean, I am. But I got away before he could hurt me.” Matteo winced. It was the truth, though. “I look back on itnow as a formative incident. It made me who I am. I’m always prepared now.”

“You do seem fond of extremely high heels.” He smiled to show he was teasing. “Still, I’m very sorry.”

“It’s not that uncommon a story, I’m sure,” she said, suddenly wanting to deflect his earnest concern. “Lots of girls find themselves in these kinds of situations.”

“Which must also mean lots of boys find themselves in these kinds of situations.”

“Right, but it isn’t formative for them. For them, it’s just entitlement. Taking what’s theirs.”

“Whereas for you, what? It made you harder?”

“I was born hard.” She’d meant it as a joke—even though it was true—but he didn’t laugh, or even smile, this time. “It’s more that it made me smart. I didn’t experience it as a terrible trauma. It gave me a burst of self-confidence, a sense that I could do anything. It taught me that I can rely on myself. I’m not going to say that I’m glad it happened... but it did give me something valuable.”

He still didn’t smile, or speak—or anything. She had said too much. She’d told him this weird, personal story that didn’t fit in with what they were doing here. This was a fling, and here she was trotting out her teenage sob story. Time to change the subject. “Well,” she said with artificial cheer, “we should talk about when we’re going to tell the king about Brad. CZT is meeting with lawyers this weekend, and they may end up calling the cops. Can we wait until after that, do you think, or should we talk to him tomorrow?”

“Why don’t I make arrangements for us to speak to him first thing Monday morning? We can move that up if need be, but if neither Noar nor Brad know anyone’s onto them, I’d rather waitand present the king with as much information as possible.” He shot her a smile. “That way you can have your Eldovian Christmas weekend.” He paused. “If you still want to.”

“I still want to.” She wanted it desperately, which made her a little wary.

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