Chapter 12

Samson

“It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas,” Regina sang and strung a long line of glittering tinsel around the tree. She swayed from side-to-side in her festive red evening dress. “Isn’t it lovely?” she asked. “Really coming together, isn’t it?”

The Christmas tree dominated the center of the living room, glinting with so much tinsel and so many lights it looked like a cheap hooker draped in costume jewelry. I sat back on the sofa and patted the spot beside me, sending a grin Blair’s way.

She returned it but hers was tight – she still hadn’t shed her anger from this morning.

Blair took a seat and propped her feet up on the coffee table. “It looks amazing,” she said. “It only took half the day.”

“But we’re saving the most important part for last,” Regina said and trundled down the steel ladder that I’d propped up beside the tree.

She stepped off it and onto the polished parquet flooring, then tiptoed over to the box propped on the armchair. She rummaged around inside and produced a massive golden star, intricate, filigree metalwork. It had a single red gem glinting at its heart.

“What is that?” Blair asked and leaned forward.

I slipped my arm behind her back and tugged her closer. Our hips touched, and she stiffened.

“That,” Regina said, “is our Christmas tree topper! It’s a hand-crafted plated gold star with a Swarovski crystal in the center.”

“Thank god,” Blair muttered. “I thought it was a ruby.”

I laughed and slipped my fingers under her sweater, pinching her side.

She jolted and shot me a heavy look. Boy, if it could’ve killed… but she didn’t shrug me off. Instead, she leaned closer.

“Yes,” Regina said and lifted the star. “This is perfect. In fact, I think I’ll ask Joseph to put it on the top of the tree when he gets here.”

“Joseph’s coming?” Blair asked, and any smidgeon of joy she’d held faded fast. “I thought it was just family tonight.”

“Joseph’s practically family,” Mom said.

“How long have you been dating?”

Regina’s crystal eyes glassed over, and she turned it on her daughter. “Long enough, sweetheart.” She lifted her arm and eyed the dainty watch on her wrist. “In fact, why don’t you go to the kitchen and fetch us a bottle of Veuve Clicquot and four glasses. Ooh, or we could crack out the eggnog.”

“No!” I’d been unable to hold that back. “Uh, no, thank you, Mrs. Scott.”

“Samson had a bad experience with eggnog,” Blair put in, and her voice tingled – light and on the cusp of laughter.

“The champagne then, darling. Hurry, now.” Regina fiddled with the star and stared down her daughter.

“I’ll get it,” I said.

“No, that’s fine. I don’t need any help.” Blair patted my thigh – a friendly slap delivered a little too hard – then got up and walked to the archway that led into the kitchen. Her hips swayed, that graceful walk that had appealed to me at the start of this weekend, and I enjoyed the moment.

Regina dropped the star in the top of the box and sidled over, taking the spot Blair had vacated. She dragged a finger down my cheek, then tickled under my beard. “Everything okay, Mr. Barnes? You seem tense. Have you and my daughter been fighting?”

I turned my head and speared her in place. Anger bubbled behind my eyes, a slow burn that wouldn’t take much stoking to leap into a full bonfire-sized blaze. “What are you doing, Regina?”

“What do you mean, sweetheart? I’m just being a supportive mother-in-law.” She pressed the backs of her fingers to my lips. “You’re hot.”

I scooched away from her. “And you’re inappropriate. I’m your daughter’s fiancé.”

“Oh, what’s a little fun time between friends? No one needs to know. It’s just harmless flirting.” She winked at me and pawed the air, her crimson nails sharp enough to cut. “Nothing wrong with flirting, right? Everybody does it.”

“Not me,” I replied. “I don’t flirt unless I mean it.”

“Do you mean it?”

“Not with you, Mrs. Scott.”

“Ahem.” Blair’s voice, melodic even in disgust, split the conversation wide open and left a gaping hole. It filled up with the worst possible atmosphere imaginable.

Regina went red as a beet and jumped up from the sofa. I turned my head toward the archway.

Blair stood beneath it, holding a silver tray, a bottle on top, accompanied by four crystal champagne flutes. “Sorry to interrupt,” she said. “But the champagne has arrived.”

“Darling, thank you. Put it on the coffee table,” Regina stammered, lacking her usual finesse. She stumbled for the box and caught herself on the table. “Good heavens. What’s the matter with me?”

“Nothing,” Blair said. “You’re exactly the same as you’ve always been.”

Regina’s flush deepened, so her complexion matched her Christmassy dress.

The buzzer in the front hall sounded. “Ah!” Regina threw up a finger. “That must be Joseph. Now, we can celebrate and put the topper on the tree.” She scooted out of the living room, heels clacking on the floor.

Blair placed the tray on the table and resumed her seat next to me. She held up a hand to forestall me. “Don’t speak. I don’t care.”

She must’ve heard enough to realize I told her mother to get bent. By someone other than me. But it didn’t matter. Family shit cut deep. I understood that better than anyone.

Laughter rang out in the hall, followed by footsteps and the low hum of talk. Regina swept into the living room and spread her arms. “Here it is, darling,” she said and gestured to the tree. “What do you think?”

Joseph trundled in after her, dressed in his best suit and doing a remarkable impression of a penguin. He grinned and tucked his hair behind his ear. “Fantastic, just fantastic, darling. I love it.”

“And we saved the star for you, dear,” Regina said and hurried to the box. She produced her pride and joy and handed it to her lover. “Up the ladder and on the top. We’ll pop the champagne while you’re up there.”

“You know how to put a man to work,” said the undertaker.

Regina leaned in and smacked a kiss on his mouth, smearing it with red lipstick. “You know it, gorgeous.”

Blair groaned and pressed her hand to her forehead.

Joseph scooted right on up the ladder and did his part, and Regina took a seat on the sofa across from ours. She gestured to the champagne. “Would you do the honors, Samson?”

I took the champagne bottle and waited until Joseph had returned to planet Earth – likely he’d get a fright and topple off his perch if I popped it while he was up there. He trundled down and took his place beside Regina, placing his hand on her upper thigh.

I stripped the cold paper off the top of the bottle and worked the cork out of its lip.

Pop!

Regina let out a squeal of delight and clapped her hands.

Joseph laughed along with her.

I poured the champagne into the glasses and passed them out. This entire scenario was surreal. These two strangers, one who’d thrown herself at me not five minutes ago, practically wrapped around each other and slurping down wine.

“A toast,” Regina said and raised her glass. “To family, new and old.”

I clinked my glass to Blair’s and met her gaze. She drank deeply from the glass, drained the golden liquid to the very last drop, then put out her glass for more. “Why not, right? It’s Christmas.”

“That’s the spirit,” Joseph said.

I filled the glasses with another round, then settled back against the sofa cushions beside Blair.

Regina and Joseph tittered and whispered to each other on the other sofa and ignored us completely, now. Her hand was on his thigh, too, high enough that she’d poke him in the nut sack if she twitched her pinkie.

“How are you doing?” I asked Blair.

She shrugged. “The same as always. You know how it is.”

“I don’t think I do,” I replied. “Why do you let her do this to you, Blair? You deserve better.”

“My mother,” she whispered, “has always been this way. She chases men, flirts with them, uses them, then throws them out like trash. Joseph probably won’t last another month, and if he does, she’ll marry him and divorce him later on. Her life is exactly the type of life I don’t want to have.”

“And that’s why you’re doing this,” I said and flicked a finger toward the rock on her left hand.

She nodded, her raven hair bopping along. “Exactly. I won’t be what she is.”

“You could never be that,” I replied and rested the side of my hand on her shoulder. My fingers tickled her throat, and I pressed them to her jawline. “You’re nothing like her.”

Another burst of hysterical laughter from Regina, and the pair rose from the sofa, champagne glasses empty. “I think we’ll retire for the evening,” she said. “If you two don’t mind?”

Joseph was the cat who got the cream, and he showed it by goosing Regina. She jumped and giggled again. “Sleep tight, you two. Merry Christmas!” They walked to the stairs in the corner and traversed them, footsteps creaking on the boards, and laughter reverberating off the ceiling.

“Thank god for that,” Blair said and set down her half-empty champagne glass. “I’m cultivating a full-on migraine. God, she makes me want to scream.”

“I understand.”

“You do?”

“Your mother reminds me of someone,” I said. I had to be crazy to tell her this. I didn’t make a habit of discussing my private life with anyone, least of all women I’d bedded and known for just two days.

But Blair’s frustration had finally bubbled away, and she sat up, paying rapt attention, her hazel eyes glistening – beautiful. “Who? Your mom?”

“No,” I said. “I don’t really talk to my mother. She gave me up when I was a baby.”

“Oh, my god.” Blair’s fingers flew to her lips. “I had no idea.”

“Of course, you didn’t,” I said, briskly. Usually, pity pissed me off. I didn’t take handouts, emotional or otherwise, from anybody but hers was pure. It wasn’t pity from Blair. It was empathy. “I don’t make a habit of telling people.”

“Who raised you?”

“My aunt. And I wouldn’t call it that. My aunt was a selfish prick. She treated me like a fucking bellboy and elevated my cousin to godlike status. I couldn’t get out of that house fast enough. Left when I was sixteen.”

Blair gripped my thigh. “That’s – sorry. I don’t know what to say.”

“Not to be clichéd about it but it is what it is. We don’t get to choose the straws we draw when we’re born. It just happens. I got a crappy mom who gave me to an even shittier aunt, and you got your own bundle of bull turd.”

“So, which one does my mom remind you of?”

“The aunt,” I said and drained the last of my champagne. I put the glass on the coffee table beside hers. “She ended up getting fat and having a heart attack, last I heard.”

“Harsh.”

“Is it? She didn’t physically abuse me. I know it could’ve been worse but she didn’t show me any pride, called me her little slave, and demeaned me every chance she got. I was one step short of sleeping under the stairs.”

“Like Harry Potter,” Blair said, and her lips writhed with suppressed mirth.

I laughed for her, to break the tension. “Yeah, exactly like that. I was a modern-day, non-magical Harry Potter. The rest is history, I guess.”

“But you’re happy, now,” Blair said. “And that’s all that matters.” Her gaze suddenly weighed a ton. She wanted me to tell her that the life I’d chosen had been successful, that following my path would equal success in her own choices.

“I can’t tell you what you want to hear, Blair. Everyone’s life is different. But I can tell you, that when I’m with you, fuck yeah, I’m happy.”

Her eyelids fluttered. “Are you serious?”

“Of course. I don’t do bullshit.”

Blair dragged her hand up my thigh, skipping over the thick fabric of my jeans. She slid it across my crotch and took hold of my dick. “You make me happy, too,” she said. “I didn’t think anything would until I got out of Harvard. But you do. What does that mean?”

I swelled beneath her touch, studied the curtain of dark hair that fell across that pale face, obscuring one cheek. She peered at me, past the veil, and licked her sumptuous lips.

“It means we’re going upstairs. Now.”