Then my sister scoffed. “Family.”
Gemma slipped further down on her white wingback, clearly having started round ten on the pills. “Abigail was supposed to be allowed back.” She eyed Story. “The whores can come—”
“Shut the fuck up, Gemma,” I gritted.
She flipped me the bird, then looked back to Story with glassy eyes. “No offense. I guess.”
Story shrunk into her shoulders. West leaned over, whispering something into her ear. I couldn’t tell if it helped her, or hurt her.
I wasn’t sure which option fucked me up the most.
“Abigail chose to marry…” My mom waved a hand in the air, clearly done with the subject. “I’m sure we have more presents!”
Story stared at her lap, jaw clenched. I needed to know what she was thinking. What made her brow furrow like that?
“Sit down, Charlotte,” Lynette said.
“I’m fine,” she gritted, though she swayed so far she almost entirely blocked my view. I reached for her elbow to steady her—but Jack beat me to it.
He rushed to her from across where he sat on a wingback, crushing a few wrapped presents in his wake, grasping Lottie.
“Charlie?”
I paused at how Jack looked at Lottie, the gentle way he pushed hair out of her eyes. It looked…loving.
With two hands, Lottie shoved Jack off. “I said I’m fine!”
“Charlotte.” Lynette stood to her feet, hand at her heart. “Have you lost your mind?”
As Lynette stood, so did West. He grasped his mother’s elbow, holding her in place. Story glanced at him, the wrinkle in her brow deepening.
Gemma turned back to my mom. “Abigail is supposed to be here—”
“She didn’t want to come, Gemma!” my mother snapped, then shakily reached for her mulled wine, looking away.
And so the room devolved into what I’d always remembered Christmas to be: dysfunction carefully drenched in alcohol, to be forgotten tomorrow.
So no one noticed Story stand and leave.
And no one noticed me slip after her.
Story looked in a tinsel-framed mirror just outside the restroom, eyes lost in some thought I wished I could read. She didn’t hear me come up behind her, and I’d already wrapped my arms around her when her eyes met mine in the mirror.
I placed my lips against her neck. “Merry Christmas, little wife.”
“How are you…” she trailed off, lips lifting in a gorgeous smile. “Merry Christmas.” She melted into my hug.
“What were you thinking?” I asked.
“Honestly? About something West just said to me…” She worked her mouth to the side. “He tried to make me feel better.”
I worked to keep my voice steady. “Did it help?”
She shook her head. “I hate it when he’s nice.”
I pressed kisses up and down her neck, until the tension leaked from her body.
“I have a gift for you.” Still with an arm around her, I reached into my coat pocket, handing her the postcard. “It’s so much less than you deserve…the sonogram from our visit to the doctor. When we heard the heartbeat. I went back and had them print it out—”