Page 2 of Sebastian

“Your shower is ready. Ms. Martha has your breakfast ready. Do you want to eat up here or in the breakfast room? As you may recall, the dining room is the staging area for the Miracle on Sugar Street candy station.”

That was my idea. I loved candy growing up, and my parents restricted it. To enter, the children will walk through a life-sized gingerbread house where elves will take their family picture against a North Pole backdrop. Holiday music will be piped through the property as they are offered hot chocolate with whipped cream and peppermint stirs on their way inside the sweet candy shop.

The kids can select from glass displays of candies and treats, glass jars filled with gumballs and jawbreakers, and decorative containers with chocolates and pralines while the parents enjoy croissants and coffee. Paolo even recommended the bakery where he met his girlfriend to cater it.

“I’ll eat downstairs. Any chance I can get a bloody Mary?”

I wiggle my eyebrows and then groan at the action. It’s far too much movement with this splitting headache.

“No,” Jiles says firmly, gathering my pants and shoes from the room and disappearing into my dressing closet.

“I didn’t think so,” I grumble, gritting my teeth as I slip from the bed to gingerly walk into the large bathroom with steam billowing from the top of the shower. It’s a terrible mistake that I don’t keep alcohol in here. It would be perfect to take a nip with the aspirin that I’m hunting through the medicine cabinet to find.

“Don’t take too long. Mr. Paolo is on his way over,” Jiles calls from the other room.

I mutter under my breath, aware that he can’t hear me as I swallow the pills dry, shed last night’s attire that reeks of a brewery, and step into the steamy water. The hot stream soothes my aching body, providing a momentary escape from last night’s indulgences. With each passing minute of it beating down on my stiff muscles, I start to wake up and begin to feel more like myself.

I rush through the rest of my shower routine, dry off, and wrap a plush towel around my waist. Deciding to postpone shaving, I opt for comfortable clothes and reserve the whole getting-ready process for later this afternoon. That’s when I’ll don my custom-made Santa suit—a tradition passed down from Papa. He dressed like Father Christmas and brought us presents after midnight mass on Christmas Eve when I was a kid.

As I descend the stairs to the first floor, I can’t help but be overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of the grand foyer, adorned with all of Mamma’s meticulously chosen decorations. Jiles had taken great care in preserving her sense of style, documenting everything for the estate and backing it up with photographs.

I used to scoff at their organized excessiveness but now, seeing everything precisely as she would have decorated it, I’m struck with nostalgic happiness and profound loneliness. It’s why I haven’t decorated the house in years—it brings up too many memories. Doing it for the children chases away some of the heartbreak.

When my feet hit the bottom step, Paolo’s striding through the double doors, letting out a low whistle as his eyes roam the foyer.

“Seb, this place looks incredible! Your mamma really had an eye for decorations.”

Paolo’s dressed casually, looking like he’s just come from the gym or something. I’d ask him to play tennis if I didn’t have this damn hangover and the courts weren’t already crowded with bouncy houses and other kid activities.

“Yeah, she did. Jiles made sure everything was decorated the way she would have liked it.” I clap him on the back to take it all in and feel a bittersweet pride.

Paolo’s eyes light up as they land on a child-sized toy train, positioned as if ready for one of the kids coming tonight to hop on for a ride.

“Hey, isn’t that the toy train we used to fight over, taking turns riding it around your house when we were kids?”

I chuckle at the memory. How Jiles managed to keep it running year after year was a mystery.

“You mean the same train that miraculously survived our epic fistfights over who got to ride it first? Yeah, that’s the one.”

Paolo grins, clearly feeling as nostalgic as I am. I can’t blame him. This time of year brings it out in everyone.

“I thought for sure we destroyed it that one year when you tackled me and sent me flying into the marble column in the kitchen. Your papa asked if there was a doctor in the house.Because of the ball, so many were in attendance that they argued over who was more qualified to set my broken arm.”

I throw my head back and laugh while gripping his shoulder even tighter. Paulo has always been tall and lanky, while I, thanks to Mamma’s side of the family, carried more bulk on my frame. He was a scrawny kid who usually got the short end of the stick when we wrestled.

“I forgot all about that. You were walling like a baby. What were we? Seven or eight?”

“You broke my arm. Of course, I was crying. And we weretwelve. The reason why I know this is because I missed my chance of playing at Cooperstown after my father pulled all those strings to get me on the team even though I was living back home in Milan at the time,” The dejection still rings in his words as if it had just happened.I give him a good shake before releasing him.

“Tell ya what, I can pull some strings and get you a private lesson with a guy on the Yankees. Will that make up for it?”

“And this is why you don’t understandteamsports.”

He shakes his head and walks over to one of the trees, his fingertips sending an ornament twirling as it hangs from the branch. I join him, standing off to the side as he continues touching various decorations as if recalling his own memories.

“Man, we were something else back then, weren’t we?”

I nod, feeling grateful that my childhood friend is still my family.

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