Page 8 of Sebastian

He gives me a wink, then encourages the children to give me a thunderous round of applause, explaining that I’m a shy Mrs. Claus. The applause from hundreds of people fills the cold winter air and seems to go on forever. My cheeks burn with embarrassment for me and anger for him.

I stammer out a protest, my voice drowning in the blast of Christmas music as Sebastian goes over the instructions for pictures with Santa at the North Pole. My entire body is on fire, desperate to escape as each passing moment seals my powerless fate. He holds our joined hands in the air like prize fighters, reveling in the children’s applause and excitement. He then shoves the microphone toward my face to say something.

My voice, barely more than a whisper, squeaks out a feeble, “Merry Christmas to all.”

It starkly contrasts with Sebastian’s booming and confident announcement. The difference is as glaring as the spotlight surrounding us. Holding my hand up against the bright, intrusive light, I scan the sea of faces before me. My eyes lock onto a shocked Taylor, standing near the singing elves with wide eyes. Her disbelief is mirrored by Paolo, standing nearby, his hand over his mouth in a futile attempt to hide his laughter.

The children continue to cheer and clap, their enthusiasm undiminished by my awkward introduction as Mrs. Claus. Sebastian, ever the showman, capitalizes on the moment. He leans forward, enthusiastically addressing the kids.

“Now, who wants pictures with Mr. and Mrs. Claus?”

The children erupt into wilder yelling as they race toward the North Pole, where the elves form them into a line. Sebastian gestures toward a larger-than-life gingerbread house with candy canes lining the entryway, oversized gumdrops scattered across the snow, and towering nutcrackers standing as solemn guards over Santa’s throne.

My heart sinks as I realize there’s no escape from this unexpected role. I turn to Sebastian, trying to convey my desire to flee this spotlight.

“Sebastian, I don’t think I should?—”

But he cuts me off with a charming smile and moves the microphone out of range.

“Chloe, you must be included in the pictures. You’re Mrs. Claus, after all!”

I sigh in resignation, realizing that arguing with him would be futile. The children are already wide-eyed and hopeful, their faces glowing in the millions of lights covering this place. As much as I want to escape, I’d look like an asshole for sneaking out the side. I put on my best smile and prepare to take on the role of Mrs. Claus, even if it means enduring more of Sebastian’s antics.

I slip my arm around his portly waist and murmur near his bearded face.

“You’re going to pay for this.”

His hazel eyes shine victorious as my words sink in. Without missing a beat, he says, “I sure hope so. You can even borrow my belt when we’re done.”

His arm wraps around my body, hauling me closer to him, and the kids cheer harder.

“Be careful what you ask for because I’m very good with a belt, whip, or riding crop. Most any will do to keep an animal like you in line,” I seethe between my grin, waving at the innocent children below while visions of his balls under my boot come to mind. As we descend the stairs to our giant throne, his eyes darken, and his voice drips with innuendo.

“Why, Mrs. Claus, you should be on the naughty list with those proclivities.”

“Trust me, Chubby Claus, you have no idea how naughty I can be,” I smirk, intending to get him all hot and bothered in thatSanta suit and leave him high and dry to escape this party the second the picture parade is over. “Nor will you ever find out.”

I release his waist as we are almost to our post, with the excited kids becoming nearly too loud to shout over. The faster I get this over, the sooner I can leave and decompress in a hot bubble bath with a large glass of wine.

He waves his hand in the air, saying, “Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas.”

I give him and the families a dazzling smile and wave gracefully before sitting on the far end of the bench-like throne to allow the kids to sit next to Santa to relay their wishes. Somehow, I lost Taylor and Paolo in the crowd, but if I could spot them, I’d easily motion a slitting throat action to signify they are both dead meat when I get out of here.

I don’t know how yet, but both are going to be making this up to me for putting up with this oaf. Free office lunches are a good start. Unfortunately, he doesn’t take the hint of leaving room for the kids when he smashes me against the side of the bench.

“Get the fuck off me,” I blurt out and elbow his padded side.

“Oh, you won’t be saying that later tonight. You’ll be wanting mevery the fuck onyou. And in you,” he adds, utterly unaffected by my profanity. I wrinkle my nose in disgust and shove him away.

“Ugh, grow up.”

“Wait till you see how much I grow,” he mutters before a little boy breaks loose and comes barreling toward us, almost dropping his giant candy cane.

“Santa, Santa! I want a remote-control truck for Christmas!” he exclaims as Sebastian sets him on the bench between us. “And a bike.”

“Ho ho ho! Well, have you been a good boy this year?” Sebastian immediately shifts into character, his voice warm andjolly. “I’ll have to check my naughty and nice list to see which one you are on.”

His eyes flash to mine when he says naughty, and I look away to see a little girl halfway up the red carpet with wide, fearful eyes. She must be the sister to this chatty boy as her eyes look from Santa to her brother and back to me. Santa Claus’s size and booming voice might be too intimidating for her. I see her unease and extend my arms while offering a welcoming smile.

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