by Lisa Swallow
Dylan pushes his hood down. The tension he’s held since we arrived at the house hasn’t left after his walk, his blue eyes still wary and demeanour stiff. Dylan told me he’d rather face a crowd of thousands than meet my family, but he’s winning over Mum. After years of practice flashing that smile and turning on the charms, I don’t think Dylan even realises he’s doing it anymore.
“Come here,” I say and tip my head for a kiss as he approaches. Dylan places cold hands on my cheeks as he does. I wince and grab them. “Dylan!”
Chuckling, Dylan hops onto the couch next to me. “Told you I was cold. Warm me up.”
I wriggle away from him as he dives his large hands toward the edge of my sweater. “Keep your hands off me.” A cool finger brushes my skin, and I inhale sharply at the temperature. “Stop it!”
Dylan leans in for a soft kiss to warm my blood against the cool of his touch, and I curl my fingers around where his rest on my waist. “Keep your hands to yourself!”
He slides an arm around my back instead and pulls me against him, lips moving along my neck. I shiver as he closes his teeth over my earlobe. “I’m cold,” he whispers.
My skin heats beneath his hands because I know exactly where this is leading, and I pull the blanket around us both. “There you go, share the blanket.”
“That’s not what I had in mind.”
“Dylan. You need to behave yourself. Mum and Ed will be back from the shops soon.” My attempt at a stern voice is met with amusement.
Dylan lets me go and pulls at the blanket instead. “Good point. Your mum scares me.”
“She likes you.”
“Really? I’d never guess. She was very abrupt earlier.”
“She’s protective; you’re a big, bad rock star who’s going to break her daughter’s heart.”
Dylan grabs my hand and points at the gold band. “That’s unfair. I married you.”
“Mum thinks the same as the rest of the world will once our secret is out.” I catch his confused frown. “Everybody will say this marriage won’t work.”
His brow dips further. “I’m only getting married once. There’s no bloody point bothering unless I know the girl is the one I’ll spend my whole life with.”
“Well, I’m glad you ‘bothered.’” I stroke his cheek. “Mum will love you by the end of the holiday. I guarantee it.”
“Hmm.” The blanket drops, and Dylan pulls it back around us. “I’d rather Christmas was just me and you.”
“My family weren’t invited to our wedding. This was the compromise, remember?”
Dylan eyes the tree and mutters something about Christmas under his breath. He hasn’t mentioned his dislike of Christmas this year, but I’m aware this is hard for him. Dylan avoided celebrating for years, connecting the event with his mother’s death, but he needs to change.
“You’re part of my family now, Dylan, and this traditionally involves spending awkward Christmases with the in-laws.” I poke him. “Part of the deal, remember? If I’m swallowed by your life, you have to spend time in mine.”
“Yeah. Okay.” But he’s not convincing.
The log fire crackles as we sit in quiet for a few minutes, and I rest my face against Dylan’s chest. His heart thuds slowly against my ear, the sweater’s soft material warm against my cheek. Dylan strokes my hair, and we retreat to the peace of the moment.
The front door opens and slams closed, footsteps head down the hall, and my eight-year-old stepbrother halts as he looks at us. His cheeks are red from the cold, and he’s wrapped in a bulky blue coat, brown hair messy from being under his coat hood.
“Hey, Ed,” I say. “Did you and Mum find everything you needed?”
He scrunches his nose. “Dunno.” Without another word, he switches on the nearby TV and grabs his Xbox controller.
I glance at Dylan for a reaction to Ed’s rude behaviour, but he’s distracted as Mum walks into the room. She’s laden with shopping bags, her small figure swamped by a large coat, unruly blonde hair beneath her hood. We’re similar in many ways, and not just looks.
Dylan immediately stands. “Let me help, Karen.” He takes two large bags from Mum’s hands. “Is there anything else you need fetching from the car?”
She smiles. “No. That’s everything. Thank you.”
I’m unsure whether to be amused or happy about Dylan’s overpoliteness around Mum. I understand his nervousness because my mother is a forthright person. Her and me share a no-nonsense attitude to the world and people, and her suspicion around Dylan doesn’t surprise me. But Mum also knows me well enough to understand her opinion about Dylan won’t matter. Still, I’d prefer if she judged him based on who he is and not what she’s heard.
Part of her wariness is because Mum has no tolerance of infidelity. When she found out about Dad’s affair with a woman ten years younger than her, she didn’t hesitate in kicking him out of the house and moving on with her life. This involved a move to Spain a year later, when she met the newly retired Robert. I doubted Mum would take to Spanish life after spending her whole life in Bristol, but she’s happier than I ever remember.
Mum pulls her woollen gloves off and watches Dylan walk out of the room. “You’ve trained him well.” Her voice is deliberately loud and the words spoken in his direction.
“Don’t tease, Mum. He’s worried about making a good impression.”
“Dylan won’t have much chance to make an impression if you’re only staying until Boxing Day.” She gives me a pointed look.
“We have our honeymoon to start. We’ve already delayed for Liam’s wedding.”
At the topic of our wedding, Mum looks away. “Ed! Switch that off and help Dylan unpack the groceries.”
This should be interesting. I follow a grumbling Ed into the kitchen, to the man who doesn’t know how much food costs, and never buys or unpacks groceries himself. Unsurprisingly, Dylan hasn’t touched the contents of the bags.
“I’ll do this.” I pull a beer from the fridge and pass the bottle to Dylan. “Here. Sit down.”
Not needing to be asked twice, Dylan disappears with his beer. Mum watches, and I can practically hear the cogs whirring as she figures our relationship dynamic out.
“When we were at the shops, a couple of people asked about you two. Anna and Sabine invited themselves over, told me they have Christmas gifts for us.” Mum laughs. “I think they want to meet Dylan.”
“Mum,” I warn. “I hope you said no. Don’t turn Dylan into a tourist attraction.”
“Everybody in town knows you’re both here.”
“And? We came for a quiet Christmas.”
“From what I’ve seen, you two never have a quiet anything.” Mum turns to unload a bag of potatoes into the pantry. “A lot changed in your life.”
“It did.”
She pauses and turns around, eyes searching mine. “I worry about you, Sky. I hope you know what you’re getting into.”
“I married the man who loves me. Simple.”
“Dylan Morgan, not Grant Peters.”
“Mum!”
“I liked Grant. You were together such a long time. It’s a shame what happened between you.”
“I thought you of all people would understand. Grant cheated on me. Even if I hadn’t met Dylan, I wouldn’t want Grant again.”
Mum cups my cheek. “But so soon, Sky. You hardly know Dylan.”
“I know I love him more than I ever did Grant.”
She fights a smile. “I can see the attraction. I guess now I’ve seen the way he looks at you and how you are together I’m willing to give him a chance.”
“‘Willing to give him a chance’?” We share a laugh. “You’re funny.”
“But seriously, if he breaks my daughter’s heart, Dylan Morgan will regret it.” When I shake my head in warning, Mum pulls two glasses from a cupboard on the wall. “Time for a wine. Christmas Eve has officially started.”
“Robert isn’t home yet.”
“He’s on his way.�
�
A bottle of sparkling water pokes from one of the bags, and I pull it out. “I’ll have some of this, I don’t want any wine.”
“No?” Her reaction is exactly what I expected as she studies my face. “Is that the reason you’re married?”
“Because I don’t like wine?”
“No. Are you expecting?”
I swallow. Even though I’d prepared myself for the questions and knew they would push at the papered over hole in my heart, Mum’s words still hurt. “No.”
“Are you sure? Please don’t hide things from me. All those months and you never once explained what was happening with you and the rock star.” I look away, chewing inside my cheek, willing her to stop. “Nobody here will tell the press. We’re family.” Mum takes my hand, and I fight the growing pain spreading from my heart to my chest. “Sky?”
“I’m not pregnant. We…” I clear my throat. “I’m not drinking because we’re trying, and I don’t want any alcohol just in case.”
“Already? Sky, are you sure a baby is a good idea?”
My Mum is a mirror of the Sky from last year, the one who couldn’t trust in anything but cold logic. “Can we stop this conversation now?”
“Okay. But don’t hide anything from me.”
I force a smile, wanting out of this room and conversation. “Of course. I might take a rest before dinner if that’s okay?”
I can fool many people, but never my Mum. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
I hug her. “All good. And Mum?”
“Yes?”
“No surprise visitors please.”
Dylan copes well at Christmas Eve dinner with his in-laws. Ed’s excitement at the oncoming gifts adds a relaxed element to the meal. As the alcohol flows, Dylan unwinds, and it helps that Mum and Robert treat him as an ordinary guest and avoid talking about his life. We chat about our recent travels. Mum and Robert have visited some of the same places, which gives us common ground to talk about, and we veer away from the personal. In this moment, I relax. With these people, I’ll always be Sky, not a two-dimensional picture of a rock star’s wife.
My willpower fails, and I drink two glasses of wine. The disappointment on Dylan’s face is clear. He now knows the answer to the question he’s avoided asking.
Ed claims to still believe in Santa, but I’m guessing Ed’s at the age where he thinks denying Santa’s existence will result in less gifts beneath the tree. A bemused Dylan watches as Mum helps Ed place a plate under the Christmas tree. A mince pie and a carrot for Santa and his reindeers. What Christmas traditions will Dylan and me create with our family?
“I think we’ll head to bed too,” Mum says as she returns from putting Ed to bed. “I bet Ed will be up at 5:00 a.m.”
Robert groans. “Please don’t make me get up with him.”
“I told Ed he can open one gift, and then he has to wait for us, at least until 7:00 a.m.”
“If Ed’s smart, he’ll go through all the presents until he finds the box that’s obviously his laptop,” says Robert with a smile.
I grit my teeth. Ed is spoilt compared to mine and my brother’s childhood. Robert has more money, and I understand they want to treat him, but as Ed grows up, I’ve witnessed his growing demands for anything he wants. And Ed always gets what he wants, too. Eight years old and he’s about to own a laptop.
“I remember you’d wake up at stupid o’clock to open your presents, Sky,” says Mum.
“I don’t think I will this year.”
“Christmas is for kids.” Robert sets his empty whisky glass on the table. “The magic is still there.”
“Your kids will be lucky,” Mum says. Dylan stiffens next to me. “They’ll have everything they want.” I will her to stop, but after half a bottle of wine, she’s unlikely to. She sighs loudly. “I’m too young to be a grandmother.”
“Give us a chance, Mum.” I attempt to keep my tone light and shoot her a warning look as Dylan switches his attention to the contents of his glass.
Her mouth parts as the awkwardness dawns. “Okay. Bed for me. Don’t forget to switch the lights off on the tree.”
“I won’t. Night.” As Mum and Robert leave the room, I walk to the tree and flick the switch. A homemade decoration catches my eye, and I take the ceramic star from the tree. In the centre, a picture of a six-year-old Sky smiles back.
“Look at this.” I sit next to Dylan and dangle the star by the attached blue ribbon.
His dark features brighten. “Is that you? I’ve never seen pictures of you as a kid.”
“Sure is.”
He holds the star under the lamp for a clearer look. “Cute! You had a shitload more freckles.” I rub my nose self-consciously, and Dylan takes my hand away. “I love your freckles, you know I do.” He kisses my nose. “These.” Then my cheek. “And these.”
Dylan’s curls tickle my face, and I smile and rub my nose against his neck. If I close my eyes, I’m transported away from here and back to just me and him. He tightens his arms around my waist. “You’re drinking wine.”
“I like wine.” I bury my face further into his skin, inhaling Dylan’s familiar scent.
“I guess that means—”
“Don’t, Dylan. Please. Let’s enjoy Christmas.”
He kisses my hair and holds me tighter. “I love you, summer Sky.”
“You too, Mr Rock God.”
His breath warms my cheek as he sighs. “I just want life to be perfect.”
I look up, arrested by the truth of my situation. Looking back at me is the man who took my broken heart and mended it; he gave himself to me even before I was able to trust him. In Dylan’s striking blue eyes, I see the same love he’s shown over and over in the last year, and the same adoration and happiness the day we married.
I trace his face with my fingers. “And we’ll find as close to perfect as we can.”
Even the gentlest kiss from Dylan snatches my breath, and the tender kiss he gives switches to possessive as he holds my head and parts my lips to slide his tongue into my mouth. I kiss Dylan back, fall into him, the way I fall a little more each day. With this kiss, we can avoid the lingering sadness underpinning recent weeks.
There’s a movement somewhere in the house, and Dylan drops my face and looks around.
“Everybody is in bed, Dylan.”
Dylan nudges my nose with his. “Your mum still scares me. I can never tell if she’s serious or joking.”
“She’s my mum, why be surprised?”
“True, is every female member of your family snarky?” I poke my tongue out and he drags my legs across his lap. “I have something to tell you, and I think you’ll be mad with me.”
“What? Did you buy me something expensive again?”
“No.” He pushes a hand through his hair before reaching into a pocket for his phone. Dylan swipes his long fingers across the screen. “When I was out in London yesterday, buying you a Christmas gift, I drew some attention.”
“What?” I grab the phone. The images on the screen turn my stomach. Dylan walking along a street with a bag in his hand in one image; a smaller picture inset into the top left corner. The small image is a grainy, zoomed-in photo of his left hand.
More precisely, the gold band on his wedding finger.
No.
“Dylan, we agreed we’d wait until after Christmas to go public about this. What if the press arrive at Mum’s?”
He twists the wedding ring around his finger. “I forgot to take the ring off before I went out. I hate not wearing this. Sky, it’s pointless trying to hide what’s happened.”
“I know but—”
“The reason we hid was because we didn’t want to eclipse Liam and Cerys’s wedding, right? Well that doesn’t matter now because their wedding has happened.”
“You know I want everybody to know I’m Sky Morgan now too. I’m just scared about the reaction. Things have been calmer between us and the press recently.” I sigh. My words aren’t convincing him. “Sho
w me what’s on the site.”
The short article includes another image of our arrival at Heathrow a couple of days after the wedding and speculation we married in Bali. I splutter as I read out loud: “‘What’s that noise? The sound of a million girls’ hearts shattering as Dylan Morgan marries Sky Davis.’ Seriously? Who writes this stuff?”
“Ahem!” He nudges me. “Of course hearts are breaking! Don’t you know who I am?”
I shake my head as he bites back a smile. “Did you do this deliberately?”
“No. I honestly didn’t think because being married to you is part of me now. From now on this ring stays here.” He lifts up his hand. “Wherever I am.”
I smile, but inside the twisting fear starts. Memories of the times Dylan and me were pursued, and waking each day to face people thinking they own our lives now invade my happy Christmas bubble. The sooner we leave Spain and return to somewhere hidden the better because I don’t want life taken out of our hands again.
My biggest fear right now is waking up to a street full of paparazzi outside my Mum’s house, and our attempt at a normal Christmas Day with my family disintegrating into chaos.
13
SKY
Do paparazzi have a Christmas holiday?
No. They don’t.
Are Dylan and me allowed a normal Christmas?
Apparently not.
I honestly thought we had time before announcing we were married, but one slip up by Dylan and the world wants to know every detail. Mum’s phone constantly rings, the press camp outside the house, and one or two cheeky bastards even attempt to persuade us to answer the door.
The curtains remained drawn as we pretend this isn’t happening; that Christmas normality exists. I give credit to the determined pack who sit in their cars in the freezing cold weather, but they won’t get a picture of me. No way.
“I told you this was a mistake,” Mum remarks as I help her prepare vegetables in the kitchen.
“Marrying Dylan?”
“No, trying to hide it.”
I rip the peel from the potatoes, twice as fast as I usually would. “We managed to hide our wedding, which is what we wanted. Okay, we made a mistake not telling people, but the main reason was we didn’t want to overshadow Liam and Cerys.”
